I unpacked the bag. In it was mum's blanket, the one she used till the very last moment... In it was a cat cushion I bought her, which I gave her to use to keep the sores away... She also used it till the very end....
Four years ago, I took the blanket dad used to the very end. Now, I have that of mum. Four years later, dad's blanket is just a blanket I use often, one that is stained on one side with his blood, one that smells more of me than anything else... But the blanket will always be one that is special in my heart, that is so soft and gentle to the touch...
Tonight I also tidied my drawers and sorted through my old clothing. Seeing clothes mum bought me, or clothes I bought with mum was hard. Seeing clothes dad once wore, and which I took with me after he left, hurt more than I imagined. And perhaps with the fresh wound, I found myself wave in and weak again...
I picked up the phone and called the monk in Taiwan. It was the first time I called "home" since I left. I almost cried hearing the voices of home (there were other people at the monastery, all of whom I know...)
"I've been so sad and down..." I said. That is the only way I am and have been able to describe it. Sad. Down. Empty. Hurt. Distracted and confused.
The monk told me to watch those feelings, and reminded again that they will go. All the feelings will come and go. That much is certain. He told me to think of it this way: before I was in Canada and away from mum. Now it's more or less the same. She's away now, and you can think of her still, just not reach her. "Think of her when you want, and she's out there somewhere..."
I struggled hard to contain my years. Struggled so hard not to cry. And often the more you try to do that, the more you end up crying after you let go.
I hung up the phone, and steaks of tears flowed down. I could not help from crying. I still cannot help myself from crying...
The longing, the pain, the emptiness is so immense. So very immense...
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