Another funeral

The most touching, and also painful, memory, is when my (extended) uncle held mum's hand at the hospital and told her: "We have to be strong together... We are friends in illness..."

When I think of that scene, I can easily cry. Though he was undergoing treatment himself, he insisted on going to see her at the hospital. He was incredibly thin, more so than I remember him. Before he was so athletic, regularly went hiking and mountain climbing. When I saw him a he walked up to Mum's bedside, he was so frail, and a bit slow. Several surgeries in the brain weakened him, eroded him to just bone. And yet, he showed such warmth and such compassion. "Older sister, you are so much better than I am," I remember her telling my mum, "You only have one cancer to deal with. With me it's all over the place..."

My auntie (my distant relative's older sister) told me a story. When mum passed away, nobody dared to tell this uncle, perhaps fearing that it would sadden him greatly. But somehow he felt it, somehow he felt that my mum had passed away. He told his wife the news of Mum's passing, whereas nobody else knew at the time except for mum's immediate family members. Perhaps in suffering, perhaps in having this common illness called cancer, there