Mother's Day

Mother's Day today. I spoke to mum just now. "Happy Mother's Day," I wished her as she picked up the phone. We only spoke briefly, as she said she was tired. It was very warm last night, and she did not sleep all that well, and she got up early in the morning to go out for a little walk around the sports park. The painkiller she took also made her drowsy, so she was just lying down for a rest. The carer just finished massaging her sore bones, so she was ready, and sounded ready, to close her eyes.


I could see her with my eyes closed, lying there, in the bed that I made for her a little over a week ago. I hope she still finds the bed, now with the special foam mattress on top, comfortable. Many times when she was not around, I would lie on the bed and close my eyes and imagine that positive and healing energies would pass from my body onto the bed. I fantasises that these energies would stay on the bed and 'bless' mum whenever she lies down, whether to rest, whether to nap or to sleep. I fantasised that she would feel less pain and her body would be more comfortable. How I do wish it were really so!

When I spoke to her yesterday, she said to me she was touched. "I have two children who are both filial. I have nothing to regret about..." She described how brother has been very caring and doing many things for her. He bought her a wheelchair to take her out for walks, he installed supports in the bathroom so mum can hold onto to something, especially as she is now weaker and more prone to falling. And he went to visit mum's friend, whose husband is a Taoist priest, and to whom mum has entrusted to take care of the "after-affairs". "We still have time, so I have to consider finding a place before ..." mum told me.

It has been a long time since she last talked about this. I know we have had this conversation many times before, and before it never really bothered me (though it is always emotional to talk about...). But when mum mentioned it today, I was moved to tears. I was again reminded of the reality of her condition, reminded how close she was just a month or so ago, and perhaps still is, to the end of her journey...

It should not scare me. It should not bother me. But when I talk about it, when I think about, I become moist in my eyes and have difficulty expressing myself. Since my return here a few days ago, I have more or less been burying myself under books and the blanket to overcome my jetlag. So I have had little time to think about or expose my emotions. And I do feel, I can sense that there are raw, painful feelings that are threatening to erupt, and that will erupt soon, somehow...

"I have asked [brother] to go pick up my will. I want to make some changes..." I remember going to the courthouse over a year ago and having it notarised, and how we together walked to the basement of the bank where she has rented a deposit box. I remember placing the will inside the box and thinking to myself that one day when I open it again, circumstances will be different... Now mum cannot even go down to the basement herself because she has difficulty in moving, because just a few steps can cause her body so much pain and discomfort.

It is hard to imagine... So hard to see screensaver pictures that flash across my idle computer to see pictures of mum and I traveling through the Rockies. I know, we had our time, and we lived those times together, we enjoyed those intimate moments together beautifully. I know, I should be grateful we had those moments and that we have those memories to think back to... But it hurts me to just think and know that mum can probably not go out and go so far again like she used to... And if it hurts me, how does it make mum feel, to be 'trapped' in a body that is declining and much of which is no longer hers to control? "The will is there, but the physical strength is not... (力不從心)" she told me several times when I try to walk with her just a short distance. Mum has become so weak... so very weak.

"Happy Mother's Day..." I said again, "You have to eat well, and  go out to exercise! This way, you can regain your strength again!" I say that to her often these days, and I repeated it again today. Do I believe what I say, because sometimes I catch a glimpse of cynicism and dark brooding thoughts as those words escape my mouth. Sometimes I feel like I am lying to her, lying to myself. But I truly do wish she could feel better, I truly do wish she can get back on her own feet again and walk around like she used to because she lost so much weight...

Because she has been a wonderful mother, who has given me, given us so much, who has made sacrifices  and toiled for so long. And it pains me, pains me so deeply, so powerfully, to see that when she has the time and the means to enjoy life and all the wonderful, beautiful things that this world has to offer, she has lost her health, her body...


Happy Mother's Day,  my dear, dear mother. May you be happy and at ease, today and everyday.



 --
I made a little donation on behalf of mum today, to World Vision, a charity that she supports. She does not know it, but it was for a "Pre/postnatal Care for Mother and Child", which is a very appropiate 'gift' in her name. And for a limited time, my donation is matched by a generous donor, so it will be double the impact! 

dream

There was blood everywhere.

Everywhere...

My hands were stained red.

I looked down at my wrinkled hands, and I was covered in blood...

Return to ER

I called home almost as soon as I got up. Brother didn't want to tell me, but he did anyways. "Mum went back to te hospital today. The bile juices are flowing out."

It's serious. It means the tube they inserted into the intestines in an attempt to lead the flow of bile naturally out of the body is not working. Perhaps the tumour is compressing on the tube too much that the flow is restricted.

Mum sounded tired, and she said she was tired. She went to ER, and was transferred immediately to the 11th floor where she had been staying all this time. They put the bile collecting pouch back on, so she will have to walk around with that now, until another solution can be found. But I suspect there is no other solution...

The conversation ended. Mum told me to study hard, and wished me good morning. I wished her goodnight.

When her voice vanished, everything else, her condition, her illness, her pouch, her smell, the warmth of her body seemed so far away.

I am so far away...

Recounting the past...

I knew it would be difficult. And it was. How do you recount in a few words the events of the past four months? How do you find the words to describe all the feelings, frustrations, trials and great fears mum and I have experienced over the period I was away from here?

"It was very difficult," I said, and kept on saying. "Difficult" does not quite begin to describe it, but it is the only word I could find, and the word that I kept on repeating. "It was very difficult..." Difficult. Difficult. Difficult... As if the mere repetition of the word could do justice to how truly, deeply difficult it has really been.

It was the reason why I do not want anyone to know my return here. I need no distractions at the moment. I need peace and quiet to collect myself, to settle back into my home and my comfort zone, to find my footing in life and try to make the most of the limited time I have to study. I need the concentration to do well in the exam, and to prove to myself that however adverse the circumstances have been, I still have the ability to study whenever I find the time, and I still have the ability to do well.

I told only my good friend and neighbour of my return so far. She came by for a quick visit. When she asked how mum is doing, I had to look away and stare into the distance. I could feel my eyes getting heavy with tears. I have not cried, not really cried since I returned. And I can feel the tears are being hidden and distracted by the hundreds of pages I have still to cover before this time next week.

Perhaps she was being polite, but she said mum looked good in the pictures she's seen on facebook. What else can you say? That she looks terrible? That she looks like she lost a terrible amount of weight and that she is just skin and bones? Mum looks as good as she looks now. She is thin, bony, but her mind is clear, and her will is so strong. She is so brave. She is my mum, and I am so proud of her. Because of all that she goes through, I tell myself again and again, there is nothing more difficult, nothing more testing. I motivate myself that way. I keep on going, keep on smiling, keep on laughing and trying to see the bright(er) things of life because of how mum inspires me, touches me, and makes me cry.

Difficult. Difficult. It truly was difficult.

But it, everything that I have seen and experienced, has now become a thing of the past. "What will happen does not matter. One day at a time..."

Back home...

I called home again, and it was a bit worrying that after two calls there was no reply. So I called my brother on Skype, and the call was rejected. My mind began to imagine all the things that may be happening... Emergency rush to the hospital... Accidental fall? Severe bleeding? High fever?

Then brother called back. Relief... The home phone was unplugged for some reason. Things are alright, though for the past two nights, mum has been running a high fever, 39C the night before, 38C last night. It's worrying, especially in her current state of health, and especially after what the doctor said about rushing to ER should she develop a fever. But luckily, with some icing and wipes with cold towels, mum's temperature subsides and comes down to normal. Mum says perhaps it is due to the winter blanket she is still using, when it is already Summer.

It feels strange to talk to mum at a distance and through a video screen now, especially after I have constantly been around her for the past four months. Stranger to see her lying down in her bed everytime I call. But she said she does feel a bit more energetic, at least better than before. Yesterday, brother posted pictures of him wheeling my mum to the park nearby in her new wheelchair. There was a scene in which mum is sitting side by side next to the baby buggy. Brother captioned it a "four wheeled race". I smiled at that, from afar, and wished I had been there to see mum's face as she smiled looking at my nephew in his race-car (pram). "Remember to go out again today!" I told her. She said it hurts when the wheelchair goes over the uneven pavement, especially where she has an open wound with the bile tube connected, but also where she recently had the bypass surgery. Even so, she must go out and walk about more and get more exposure to the sun and fresh air. It will do her good.

So it has been four days since the carer came to our house. My brother was talking to her today about the possibility of having her around for the long term. She proposed to have  a set wage and to forgo the agent. It does seem like a good idea, especially as it would spare us, and in particular mum, the trouble of finding, training and getting used to a whole new carer. Wait a bit more and see how things are so you can have a better assessment, I suggested.

Seems like things are going relatively well, or at least stable so far. It does reassure my mind, but in some little way, suspicious and perhaps too thoughtful as I can be, I do wonder whether they are not telling me things so as not to worry me and distract me from my exam next week.

Home again...

I walked into my home. It's been over 130 days since I last closed the main door. Opening it filled me with a sense of familiarity and excitement. My own home. My quiet little kingdom. My very own place where I feel so safe and so comfortable.

It was clean and very organised, save for the boxes of things that my ex left behind after his recent move away. I'll have to find time to organise everything and to unpack my suitcases. But that can wait.

At yul

Touch down... 23.51.
Almost home.

Almost home after soooo very long...

回「加」真好！

NRT-YVR

07052012.1840 NRT TIME

Ten minutes into the flight. When I saw the maple leaf logo, I was reminded of the last time I saw that symbol of Canada. I remember at the time I wondered in my mind when it would be till I see Canada again. And that time has come...

Just read the news to catch up on what I have been missing in Canada (and the world) over the past four months or so. Managed to get an upgrade on the long flight, despite being told twice that I could not. Maybe they made a mistake, for they only want 6upgrade points for a trans-Pacific crossing, which is perhaps three times less than I expected. Oh well...

Perhaps I could get some sleep on the lie flat bed, and adjust to the time difference, so I get back "adjusted" and able to cram everything I've yet to study. I made a start, an hour or so before people started talking loudly on the phone in the business centre of the lounge. It's been over a week since I last studied, and I have less than a week to go till the exam...

I'm a bit tired, as I managed to sleep only four hours or so last night. I lay awake for a while, thinking about all the things at home, and what I'll be facing once at get home. I fell asleep, and I swear I remember dreaming of being with mum and being with a carer. A strange and intense dream.
I woke up at around three, and found mum was moving, and I imagine awake. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn't say much. I massaged her a bit on the shoulders, but she told me to go to sleep. I don't know if she managed to sleep after that...

Before boarding the flight, I called home. Brother had good news, as mum's neurosurgeon approved and signed forms necessary for mum to hire a foreign carer. This may mean she could get one within a month or two. If all goes well, we may not have to "bribe" people, which I was so disgusted by when I first heard about that possible need.

But mum threw up a lot today, so I was told, more than she took in. Brother said she was feeling unwell when she went to the hospital for a check up appointment, and threw up stomach liquids, which mum claims is bile due to the colour. it was worrying to hear that, for she was doing so very well yesterday. And brother panicked, and asked me whether mum should return to the hospital, which I know mum opposes resolutely. That day when she developed a fever close to 39C, I urged her to return to the hospital, but she resisted strongly. Luckily, with some icing and constant monitoring of her temperature, the fever subsided. So with the latest vomiting, I told brother to monitor the situation and see.

What happened today, after I left? What is happening now, 18 hours since I left home? As I told mum again and again before I left, mood can have a profound influence on your state of health and well being. And I just hope, I can only hope, now that I am inching further and further away with every passing second, that she is at ease in her mind and that her body is comfortable.

Lounge

I was shaken awake by the alarm. Did I sleep? I'm not sure. But close my eyes I did and let myself just relax and the soft music and soothing scent wash over me...

Almost one hour I lay here on the comfy chair waiting for the check in to open.

Three more hours till my flight....

Departure

"Quietly, quietly I left, as if I quietly, quietly came..." ( 悄悄的我走了，. 正如我悄悄的來)

Those are the words of a famous poet, and every time I leave home I am reminded of those words.

I called mum just before I boarded the flight. She sounded tired. And then it struck me: from now on I'll only be able to hear her voice, at best perhaps see grainy her on the computer. I will not be able to touch her, hold her like I've gotten so used to doing...

Just before leaving home, I lay next to her. Mum did not want to get up. She looked so sad, and said very little. She also looked like she was in pain. I put her arm around me, and she stroked my hair, my forehead. "Go and work hard..." she said, wishing me luck on my studying and in my exam next week.

I did nor cry. I was perhaps over crying. But I can't speak for mum. I stayed by her bedside till the very last minute. I stroked her thin arms, held her hands. In my heart was a quiet calm. No fear, no regrets, no frustrations, no deep heart-wrenching pain as I had anticipated and dreaded. Just this calm. "May you be well... May you be happy... May you be at ease... May you eat and be healthy..." I wished mum silently with my eyes closed. I could smell the scent of mint, the scent of the massage oil that she uses to ease the bloated feelings of her bowels and to momentarily drift away and be free from discomforts. Mum said very little. When I looked at her, she had her eyes closed most of the time and was frowning.

I got up and inspected my suitcase again, and returned to touch mum again. This I did several times. Mum did not want to get up, which was disappointing, for it was hard to see her lying there as I was about to leave for an indefinite period of time. But again I reassured her I would be back again.

"Go quickly," mum said, "Don't keep the driver waiting..." It was a bit disappointing, as I was hoping she'd say something "touching". But I imagine she was saddened (and tired... It as barely six in the morning).

I hugged mum one last time, gently, for I was afraid to hurt her open wound and to push too hard on her frail body frame. "Take good care! Eat well and exercise!" I reminded her again, "Next time I see you, I hope to see be stronger and gain more weight..."
Even as I said those words, there was a disturbing image mum getting thinner and even more frail than she is now, if it is even possible.

I stroked her arm again, and silently wished positive energy and healing vibes would pass through me to her. I left her room, and headed out to put on my shoes, and almost made it out the door. But I turned back again, and went to mum's room one last time. She had her thin arm placed over her eyes. "Take good care, mama. I'm really going." Perhaps I should not have come back and said good bye again, for it would only prolong the pain and the inevitable leaving.

I left mum lying in her bed, left her in the hands of my brother and the carer. I left behind four months of many difficult days and many tough moments of agony and frustrations. But it is all in the past now.

I boarded the taxi, and my cousin came along to the airport with me. It probably made the journey to the airport less sad, less difficult.

It was a clear, beautiful day. Another day I left home to go back home...

Cam on rat nhieu!

06052012.2240


I placed a little note, quietly and clandestinely in the carer's pillow when she was not looking. I looked up the words I wanted to express online.

"Cam on rat nhieu!" (accents are missing!)

She was surprised and smiled when she saw my note. She asked who put that there, and I admitted it was me.

"Thank you so much," I said to her, as I gently placed my hand on her shoulder, "Thank you for taking care of my mum."

It came from my heart, which in seeing her at work around the house over the past two days is filled with indescribably gratitude. This morning, she walked up to mum's bed and smiled so brightly and told mum to get up in an energetic and motivating voice. "Auntie, get up and exercise!" she said, and waved her arms around to demonstrate how to train the flexibility of the arms and hands. Later, when mum mentioned she wanted to eat pho, she went out and tried to get all the necessary ingredients and made a light and very appetising chicken pho soup. Seeing mum eat a bowl of it without throwing up filled my heart with joy and gratitude to the girl (she's around my age).

"Don't you worry! Just go back and work hard, and call home often!" she said to me.

"I will," I said, and deep down I was thinking that perhaps I'll be calling too often! Twice, thrice a day!

Eve of departure

06052012.2344

In a few hours I'll be leaving here. I don't felt sad. Is there a reason to be sad, to feel sad? Or maybe the feelings will come flooding when I board the taxi or the plane tomorrow (provided I'm not too distracted by the excitement of boarding a special livery plane...!)

Mum was already very sleepy and her eye lids were closing when I sat next to her on her bed and massaged her arms and hands one last time. I told her the usual things. "Eat well! Exercise! Be happy! Don't think too much about anything else!"

I told her I'll be back soon, even though I did not want to for I wanted to surprise her, like I've done so many times in the past. But things are different now, and I felt I needed to tell mum, reassure her, that I won't be gone for long, so she has something to look forward to. And I felt I needed to tell her I'll be back soon, so that she is not too overwhelmed by sadness, for she has on several occasions expressed to me how painful it would be when I leave. And I am leaving. By this time tomorrow, I'll be gone...

"You've been here too long. Half a year almost..." she said.

"No, it's only been four months," I said, and counted the months to let her know it really hasn't been all that long. Because I know she feels terribly guilty I've stayed around for much longer than before this time. It was necessary, and I don't regret anything. As I told the monk in the mountains on the phone earlier, I think I have done all I could, and perhaps that is the source of my calm, and in a way also quiet bliss.

I've done all I could, I've tried to do everything I know I could, tried to arrange things, and pass on the knowledge of caregiving to my brother and the new carer, and even stocked up on some items that I know mum would need. And I think I've given mum hope, a renewed chance to recover and live with dignity and the knowledge that she has overcome a very difficult struggle. Whatever happens, and even if there are more difficult days ahead, mum can think back and hopefully remind herself of how brave and how very strong she is to cling onto to dear on through even the most testing of times.

"I'll go back and work hard! I know I can do it when I return and concentrate of my studying!" I told mum. And I reminded her of the promise she made me, that she would also work hard and get up and out so she can recover her strength and be able to stand on her own two feet again. We both have work cut out for us ahead, and I hoped that in knowing that, even though we will be kilometres apart, we are connected in an additional way through the challenges we must face and overcome separately, but in a way also together.

The night is already ripening, and I have not much longer to rest. I must sleep, and will fall asleep to the sound of mum's breathing, and the quiet solace in knowing these few months have come and gone, and I have survived, and gotten stronger, and a little bit wiser...