19072012.1314
Mum began going to the massage parlour back in 2009. The list of beauty treatments she underwent, from acupuncture to facial treatments, from scented massage therapy to steam room therapy, goes on for pages. Behind every treatment is her signature. Her own handwriting. I touched the pages and the pen marks.
"Mum was here... She left behind these marks..."
The last time she had a massage was 8 March of this year, a few days after she was discharged from the hospital for the first time after she began to severely vomit. I was with her that last time she was here. I remember that day vividly. She even threw up before entering the massage parlour, after she ate two pieces of sushi she bought at the nearby metro station. That was the beginning of a very excruciating and worrying period of vomiting and mum growing ever thinner. That was before anyone knew what was spreading and growing inside her bowels. That was then, when she was still around.
"How's your mother? Is she resting at home?" the masseuse who has known mum for these couple of years asked. yes, mum is resting alright. Brother and I had to explain what happened to mum.
For the next two hours or so, as the masseuse worked on my body, we talked about how mum was, and about how the end was. At points I felt like crying. Seeing those images of the final few weeks, of the final few days, is painful, even if they were just intangible memories temporarily flashing across my mind.
Mum began going to the massage parlour back in 2009. The list of beauty treatments she underwent, from acupuncture to facial treatments, from scented massage therapy to steam room therapy, goes on for pages. Behind every treatment is her signature. Her own handwriting. I touched the pages and the pen marks.
"Mum was here... She left behind these marks..."
The last time she had a massage was 8 March of this year, a few days after she was discharged from the hospital for the first time after she began to severely vomit. I was with her that last time she was here. I remember that day vividly. She even threw up before entering the massage parlour, after she ate two pieces of sushi she bought at the nearby metro station. That was the beginning of a very excruciating and worrying period of vomiting and mum growing ever thinner. That was before anyone knew what was spreading and growing inside her bowels. That was then, when she was still around.
"How's your mother? Is she resting at home?" the masseuse who has known mum for these couple of years asked. yes, mum is resting alright. Brother and I had to explain what happened to mum.
For the next two hours or so, as the masseuse worked on my body, we talked about how mum was, and about how the end was. At points I felt like crying. Seeing those images of the final few weeks, of the final few days, is painful, even if they were just intangible memories temporarily flashing across my mind.
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