"I'm not going to cry now... These thirty years as colleagues, friends, all these memories. Going mountain climbing, going shopping, going for afternoon tea, going for meditation. You never shed a tear, even as you went though so much difficulties..."
Mum last saw this friend of over thirty years back in February. I was there when she came to visit back then. This time, mum is no longer here.
She cried as she said all those words before mum's shrine. When I called her up the other day and told her about mum's passing, she was ever so grateful. But I know they are very close, and that they only grew apart because mum's friend's own mother has been very sickly these past five years. I know exactly how much of a burden it weighs on your shoulders to take care of a sick parent.
She sat with us for a few hours in the living room, where whenever guests come, I hook up my computer to the big TV screen and let the slideshow containing mum's pictures run. That way, people can see mum in all different poses, at different times, see how she has changed, see how she has kept that smile of hers, even though in the background we know she is hurting and in great discomfort, even though behind the scenes, cancer is lurking around.
The auntie saw my brother and I grow up, for my brother is thirty-two this year, and mum began working at the office where she met this auntie around the same time three decades ago. "Your mother is such a dear friend. She never cried or complained. She never let us know anything, and swallowed her own pain..." Yes, that was my dear, brave mother.
At the end of the visit, the friend wrote on a piece of paper a few words for mum: "Kind, compassionate, warm spirited". These are the memories this auntie has when she thinks of mum. And these words, these memories will join a dozen others to commemorate a remarkable human being, who passed on too soon...
07 July 2012
Kitchen towels
I first saw him as I was heading out. He sat by a pillar on the side of the pavement and smiled at me as I approached him. He looked at me with crossed eyes, and just smiled. At his feet was a big shoulder bag, filled with kitchen towels and other cleaning products. On the streets of Taiwan, often you see handicapped persons sell such similar goods or chewing gum and sweets. It's probably their only source of income, which is not only dependent on the weather, buy also the compassion of passerbys.
I didn't buy anything, but made a note to do so when I walked home. Half an hour later as I headed home, I saw him at the opposite side of of a large intersection. The same man, and it was only then I noticed he was on crutches and that he has a severe deformity in his legs.
I watched from a distance as he crossed the road with this massive shoulder bag strapped around his neck. He limped so slowly, at a turtle's pace while others passed him by. I watched him limp and stop to take a breath before limping further onward. The road must have been around 30metres or so wide, and before even getting to the midway point, the pedestrian lights turned red. Cars began to move around him, but he limped on.
I wanted to help him, but I was stuck on the other side of the road, stuck and could only watch as he battled traffic and painstakingly limped across the road with his heavy bag of wares around his neck and shoulders. A hundred people, at least, must have walked passed him. But did anyone notice him? Did anyone stop to help this man?
An idea swelled up in my head, and I ran to the nearest supermarket and bought a bottle of mineral water. From experience, I know a lot of these people do not like charity or donations, but some will accept water and food. When I came out of the supermarket, I approached him. He began talking to me before I reached him.
"Young man, can you help me? Help me carry this bag to the stairs of the supermarket?" He meant the same supermarket where I got the bottle of ice cold water I intended to give him.
"Of course! And I want to buy some towels too!" He was very grateful, and we began chatting.
"Haven't I seen you before? Didn't you buy something before from me?" he said he comes to this area at weekends, when there's more of a crowd. He described to me his route, and how towards the end of the evening he stores his bag of goods at a fruit vendors around half a kilometre down the road from where we were. I wondered how long it would take him to limp all the way there...
He looked at me with crossed eyes, but he was talking to me "normally". I saw how one of his foot is completely twisted up side down, and the other is also misshapen. Every step he makes takes strenuous effort, and from the muscles in his arms you could tell he uses a lot of arm strength to get around. His forehead was shiny with beads of sweat, and his body smelled of sweat. The vendor handed me his shoulder bag, and thanked me numerous times in the process.
His bag was at least ten kilos heavy, and the straps felt moist and also smelt of sweat. I carried it over my shoulder, and it was then that I admired the man even more. How does he do this everyday? Despite his Misshapen feet, he limps from place to place with such a heavy bag. How does he do it? How can any able bodied person complain of tired and complain of feet pains when for this brave man before me, hauling a big sack of his wares in the sweltering heat of a summer's eve is all part of an honest day's work?
I put down the bag where he wanted it, and he sat down to rest. I told him I "just happen" to have a bottle of cold water and handed it to him. He thanked me again and again.
"Take care," I said to him as I turned to leave. And I caught myself smiling...
A good deed was done, and I know who I have to thank for this opportunity... The man with a bag of kitchen towels, and my mother watching over me, who in her motherly ways taught about life and compassion.
I didn't buy anything, but made a note to do so when I walked home. Half an hour later as I headed home, I saw him at the opposite side of of a large intersection. The same man, and it was only then I noticed he was on crutches and that he has a severe deformity in his legs.
I watched from a distance as he crossed the road with this massive shoulder bag strapped around his neck. He limped so slowly, at a turtle's pace while others passed him by. I watched him limp and stop to take a breath before limping further onward. The road must have been around 30metres or so wide, and before even getting to the midway point, the pedestrian lights turned red. Cars began to move around him, but he limped on.
I wanted to help him, but I was stuck on the other side of the road, stuck and could only watch as he battled traffic and painstakingly limped across the road with his heavy bag of wares around his neck and shoulders. A hundred people, at least, must have walked passed him. But did anyone notice him? Did anyone stop to help this man?
An idea swelled up in my head, and I ran to the nearest supermarket and bought a bottle of mineral water. From experience, I know a lot of these people do not like charity or donations, but some will accept water and food. When I came out of the supermarket, I approached him. He began talking to me before I reached him.
"Young man, can you help me? Help me carry this bag to the stairs of the supermarket?" He meant the same supermarket where I got the bottle of ice cold water I intended to give him.
"Of course! And I want to buy some towels too!" He was very grateful, and we began chatting.
"Haven't I seen you before? Didn't you buy something before from me?" he said he comes to this area at weekends, when there's more of a crowd. He described to me his route, and how towards the end of the evening he stores his bag of goods at a fruit vendors around half a kilometre down the road from where we were. I wondered how long it would take him to limp all the way there...
He looked at me with crossed eyes, but he was talking to me "normally". I saw how one of his foot is completely twisted up side down, and the other is also misshapen. Every step he makes takes strenuous effort, and from the muscles in his arms you could tell he uses a lot of arm strength to get around. His forehead was shiny with beads of sweat, and his body smelled of sweat. The vendor handed me his shoulder bag, and thanked me numerous times in the process.
His bag was at least ten kilos heavy, and the straps felt moist and also smelt of sweat. I carried it over my shoulder, and it was then that I admired the man even more. How does he do this everyday? Despite his Misshapen feet, he limps from place to place with such a heavy bag. How does he do it? How can any able bodied person complain of tired and complain of feet pains when for this brave man before me, hauling a big sack of his wares in the sweltering heat of a summer's eve is all part of an honest day's work?
I put down the bag where he wanted it, and he sat down to rest. I told him I "just happen" to have a bottle of cold water and handed it to him. He thanked me again and again.
"Take care," I said to him as I turned to leave. And I caught myself smiling...
A good deed was done, and I know who I have to thank for this opportunity... The man with a bag of kitchen towels, and my mother watching over me, who in her motherly ways taught about life and compassion.
Biking
Mum's youngest sisters came today. At one moment, a picture of mum biking in the woods flashed across the screen.
"Your mum loved to bike! She would bike to school, bike everywhere! When she was in university, she asked for a bike to be sent to her. She would bike around campus all the time!" My aunt was smiling while she reminisced mum's biking habits. A few moments later, there was another picture of her on a bike, when she biked with me on a trip a few year back, to the eastern part of the island.
I too smiled. I now know more about mum, even though she is gone. I know now where I get my biking interest from, and why every time I bike I feel so happy and so free...
"Your mum loved to bike! She would bike to school, bike everywhere! When she was in university, she asked for a bike to be sent to her. She would bike around campus all the time!" My aunt was smiling while she reminisced mum's biking habits. A few moments later, there was another picture of her on a bike, when she biked with me on a trip a few year back, to the eastern part of the island.
I too smiled. I now know more about mum, even though she is gone. I know now where I get my biking interest from, and why every time I bike I feel so happy and so free...
Having cried is good
(Liberty Times)
"Sometimes, don't know why, you just really want to cry.
Then just have a good cry, let your tears fall then. In your subconscious too much pain and fatigue has accumulated, something you cannot find the reason for. But your soul knows, you need an episode of internal cleaning, and let everything out.
So if you want to cry, just cry. And then tell yourself, there's nothing wrong, haven cried is good.
Really, darling, haven cried, your heart is cleansed, and everything is over..."
"Sometimes, don't know why, you just really want to cry.
Then just have a good cry, let your tears fall then. In your subconscious too much pain and fatigue has accumulated, something you cannot find the reason for. But your soul knows, you need an episode of internal cleaning, and let everything out.
So if you want to cry, just cry. And then tell yourself, there's nothing wrong, haven cried is good.
Really, darling, haven cried, your heart is cleansed, and everything is over..."
06 July 2012
Holding mum's hand
The night before it all was perhaps the most restless I have ever seen mum. She could not sleep. She would close her eyes, and moments later open them again. In her pupils was this strange emotion, a mixture of discomfort, agitation, perhaps even fear. The look of those eyes worried me greatly, and hurt me deeply. I sat by her bedside for several hours, held her hand, stroked her hair, leaned in close to let her feel my presence. I tried what I thought would comfort her, but nothing calmed mum down. I asked her many times what was wrong and whether there was something I could do for her. But she did not answer me. She could not answer me. At the end, the body, and I imagine, the mind is so weak every ounce of strength left is focused on surviving, focused on fending off the inevitable onslaught of death. At the end, the body is dying, dying…
Looking back, a lot is a blur, and what happened seemed like a jumble of images and events and emotions that I cannot one hundred percent recall the chronology of. I realise only now that the memo the doctor gave us earlier the day before had described this stage of life at the end of life. The last forty-eight to twenty-four hours of life is perhaps the most agonising of all. It is when the body is quickly losing its functions. The person can feel it. The person can feel death approaching. But I did not realise it, for according to the doctor only earlier that day, mum still had “two, three days”. >>> DETAILS MEMO
But we never know for sure when death will come and how. It's in the breath. All in the breath. The breath can tell you whether a person is still alive, still breath-ing. The breath is the first to come at birth, and the last to go.
After a long and restless night, I only managed to go to sleep at around three in the morning. Mum struggled and was agitated in bed for hours before falling asleep around midnight that night, after the nurse gave her an extra dosage of morphine and some sedative to calm her mind. She fell asleep, breathed laboriously, but at least she was asleep.
Come morning, I was woken up by the noise of nurses coming in to exchange shifts and check up on mum. It must have been around seven or so, but I was so tired, so drained from having watched mum fall asleep and sitting in my little side room writing about the day’s events, that I closed my eyes and went back to bed. The carer closed the door to my room, and shut out what was happening for a few hours. When the door was shut, I could no longer hear the harsh raspy sound of mum breathing.
How I was hurt when the carer told me later, when I woke up, that mum was awake at around four. She was again agitated and writhing in bed in great discomfort and pain. The carer asked if I should be waken up, but mum said no. That was the last chance to speak to mum, last chance when mum was coherent, but I was sleeping... Even in her most agonising moment, even when she was in great discomfort and pain, she wanted to let her sleeping child sleep…
Two days before it happened, mum began to breathe more and more laboriously. The breathing was at times loud, and at times more a gasp. The breathing was at times a wheezing sound, at times a soft sigh of breath. I would watch as mum breathed, towards the end, almost entirely through the mouth. As she had trouble breathing and her oxygen levels were constantly falling and at times dangerously low, we placed a tube close to her mouth. Every now and then, whenever mum moved, I would adjust the tube so that it is close to the mouth. Every now and then, whenever I noticed mum’s chapped lips were getting dry, I would apply some lip balm and spray a bit of tea (as the nurse recommended) to moisten her parched mouth. Towards the end, the body no longer needs to drink, and the doctor said it is not necessary to give her any water any more.
That morning, when I finally got up at around nine, I went to sit by mum’s bed immediately, as I have been doing every single morning. And like every single morning, I asked her whether she had eaten, and what she would like to eat. She looked at me, I remember, just looked at me, and then closed her eyes. The carer said mum did not eat, and that she did not feel like eating. I sat by her side and held her hand. I had a feeling. I knew. Though she breathed, and her breathing became noticeably louder, mum never opened her eyes again.
My brother and his family came to visit later in the morning, as did a number of mum’s closest friends. They all had planned to visit that day. Perhaps they too had a feeling, or perhaps as they say here, those with whom you are closest knit to have the fortune bidding a final farewell. “It’s been hard on you,” a friend of mum said, “Your sons are both very talented and well raised, you can go in peace now and follow the Bodhisattva…” Many eyes were moist that morning, and dried only by the sight of my nephew cute little moves and his baby cries and babble. The doctor and an entourage of nurses came in close to mid-day. “Let her rest,” the doctor said, “She is resting, let her rest.” Even at that point, outside the room the doctor had said “two, three days”.
I did not want to leave the hospital to rest a little at home as my brother told me to, for I just had this feeling. And even at home, I did not manage to fall asleep, for brother called to let me know that mum’s condition was worsening. When I returned to the hospital at around six, the evening nurse happened to be there and was checking on mum’s vitals. It took a while, for none of the machines could detect her breathing or heartbeat. Even the nurse, with her fingers, had difficulty measuring mum’s pulse. It was then that she advised my brother to stay the night, something she never did before.
We sat around mum and got out dinner. As part of what had become a ritual, I tuned in to my favourite cartoon, Doraemon, and we watched it together over dinner. Mum’s breathing slowed down. “Do you notice?” brother asked, “Notice how it’s close to ten seconds per breath?” I did. I did but did not say it. Earlier in the afternoon, it was still five seconds between each gasp for air. By this time, each breath took almost twice as long.
I knew. I knew. I don’t know how I knew. Perhaps because of the series of strange dreams I have been having—terrifying dreams that would leave me so drained of energy and with such a headache in the morning. Perhaps because of the images of death and that final moments I “saw” whenever I closed my eyes to rest. Perhaps, if you believe in it, I knew because mum’s heart and mine somehow had this intimate connection to prepare me for what was to come later… But I knew.
I leaned in close, so close our cheeks touched, so close I could feel her breath, her ever laborious breath, each of which could at that moment have been the last. “Mama, please do not be afraid. I am here with here, and I am holding your hand. There is nothing to be afraid of. This body is dying, but it does not matter. Let go of this body, let go of this world…” My voice was calm, a calm that flowed from this strange tranquility which seemed to find its source deep within. There was no fear, there were no tears. There was just this calm, this meditative calm I have rarely felt, and I have only ever felt when I knelt next to dad’s hospital bed four years ago, when very similar words flowed from my lips. On the TV screen were scenes from Switzerland, perhaps mum’s favourite country in the world, a country she has visited perhaps ten times before.
“Mama, thank you for everything you have given me… Thank you for all the care and love you have given me… Thank you for this opportunity to be my mother in this lifetime. Do not worry, I will be alright. I will be fine in the future. I am loved and taken care of…” Twenty-eight years of my life, she has been there, even from afar. Twenty-eight years, day or night, she was within reach and never relinquished her role as mother and mentor. She held me, hugged me, comforted me, consoled me when I was sad and crying. She smiled for me, praised me, congratulated me and told me she was proud of me in my moments of joy and achievements. Mum showed me the meaning of compassion, reminded me to be grateful for everything we have and are fortunate to hold dear to our hearts. Mum showed me what it means to be resilient, to forebear under pain and pressure, to smile in the face of adversity, to boldly struggle on even when you know you will one day be defeated. I held her hand tightly, and felt her hand was getting colder and paler. Her breath was slowing down, slowing down, slowing down… I held her hand even tighter, even tighter, even tighter…
I called my brother to come back into mum’s hospice room, for he went to the corridor to make a call. I knew it was time. The time we for so long all feared and dreaded we could not be together, but we were. I sat on one side, and my brother on the other. I held one hand, my brother held the other. He began to sob, lowered his head close to mum’s arm and sobbed. I reached over mum’s body, felt the heavy, slow heaving of her chest, and held his hand. For a few moments, the three of us, what is left of our family, were connected together. In my touch, I wished to convey to my brother, and also to my mother, I will be and am here no matter what. We are family, and not even mum’s departure will change that. We are family, and we will be stronger and closer together than ever before… Whatever disagreements, arguments, unhappiness and painful memories in the past melted away. Death means that someone is leaving, but it strangely also brings people together.
Mum’s breathing slowed even more. Fifteen seconds between each breath, twenty seconds between each breath. From her gaping mouth and with each drawn out breath emanated this smell, this strong, unpleasant smell. I cannot describe the smell, for it is so very particular and very peculiar. In my mind this was what death smelled like. But the smell did not scare me, and I felt this urge to get even closer to mum.
With my lips, I kissed her cheeks. With my lips, I kissed her forehead. “Thank you, mama… Thank you for everything…” I rested my head on her shoulders and hugged her. In those moments when I was resting in her embrace, I felt this gentle calm and gratitude. “Be happy, mum, be happy and free… Let go, let go of this body, let go…” My eyes were closed, and my lips upturned in a gentle smile. The cancer is soon no more… The pain and suffering is no more…
Following those final few breaths were gargling sounds from the back of the throat. The sound of death which I have heard about, read about. It escaped mum’s half open mouth. It was a painful and traumatic sound. The nurse stood by the side, while the carer cried at the end of the bed.
Each of those final few breaths seemed to be the last. I held my breath and waited several times to see if there would be another one. I turned to the clock, and it was four past eight. I held mum’s hand with both of mine. “Let go, let go… Be happy, be happy…” Those words echoed in my head, echoed in my heart, and I hoped mum heard them. I felt myself smiling gently again. It was not a smile because I was happy, but a smile because it was all so beautiful. Soft meditation music played in the background, on the TV screen colourful photographs bearing memories of the exciting life mum has led appeared and faded away. Brother was there, I was there, and my sister-in-law and mum’s source of joy, true joy and smiles over the past few months—my nephew—were on their way. There could be no more beautiful end to a life full of hard work and sacrifice, a life adorned with travels to far away places and fine cuisine, a life of which touched and moved many people’s hearts. “Let go, mama, just let everything go…”
In life, even at the very end, everything is in the breath. In, out, in, out, in, out… The interval between each in and out breath gets longer and longer toward the end. Until at the very end, it is just in. Out. In.
And out.
Visit
My ex called to say he booked his ticket to come visit. This time two days from now, he will be here, most likely lying next to me. That is wonderful, and I feel I need someone close I could talk to.
We had a tense discussion about when is the best time to visit. I preferred him to arrive just before the funeral, which is next Friday, but he says if he does that, he can stay a maximum of four days. He wasn't "comfortable" to fly so long and fly so far to stay that short a time. Best for him is to come now, and leave right after the funeral. And that's what he's doing.
I appreciate him coming all this way for me, and I know with his work schedule he's hemmed in for time. but I have some little reservations about visiting at this time. Aside from the confusion and things unsaid between us, I still feel confused why he would come all this way to see me and be with me. What are we to one another? I guess I just want to know, need to know, before I can fully open myself up to him again, like I used to do so uninhibitedly. And I'm afraid to just open myself up and make myself vulnerable and delude myself there is something there between us more than just friends, when he is still caught in a tangled love affair that has not yet ended.
Other than this, I feel so unprepared for the funeral for a number of reasons. I really have no idea what will be happening next week in the run up to the funeral itself. And I haven't even really mourned or let mum's passing affect me too much. I have difficulty with the fact I've not even cried at all. And when I worship mum and offer her food, I feel I do it so hastily and half-heartfelt. I've not even had the opportunity or time to make her a proper meal, which I did for dad every day, twice a day, back when he passed away... It is as if mum's death doesnt bother me at all. And that's disturbing...
I think need the time to really cry, really mourn, and I feel (fear?) my ex's visit might just delay that expression of emotions (or maybe will do the exact opposite?). I know when he is around I will really want to entertain him, and make him feel welcome, but I'm afraid I won't be able to do that properly if I'm busy attending to arrangements and dealing with things as they happen...
Or maybe as a friend said to me, just let him come to the funeral. The rest can be the rest...
We had a tense discussion about when is the best time to visit. I preferred him to arrive just before the funeral, which is next Friday, but he says if he does that, he can stay a maximum of four days. He wasn't "comfortable" to fly so long and fly so far to stay that short a time. Best for him is to come now, and leave right after the funeral. And that's what he's doing.
I appreciate him coming all this way for me, and I know with his work schedule he's hemmed in for time. but I have some little reservations about visiting at this time. Aside from the confusion and things unsaid between us, I still feel confused why he would come all this way to see me and be with me. What are we to one another? I guess I just want to know, need to know, before I can fully open myself up to him again, like I used to do so uninhibitedly. And I'm afraid to just open myself up and make myself vulnerable and delude myself there is something there between us more than just friends, when he is still caught in a tangled love affair that has not yet ended.
Other than this, I feel so unprepared for the funeral for a number of reasons. I really have no idea what will be happening next week in the run up to the funeral itself. And I haven't even really mourned or let mum's passing affect me too much. I have difficulty with the fact I've not even cried at all. And when I worship mum and offer her food, I feel I do it so hastily and half-heartfelt. I've not even had the opportunity or time to make her a proper meal, which I did for dad every day, twice a day, back when he passed away... It is as if mum's death doesnt bother me at all. And that's disturbing...
I think need the time to really cry, really mourn, and I feel (fear?) my ex's visit might just delay that expression of emotions (or maybe will do the exact opposite?). I know when he is around I will really want to entertain him, and make him feel welcome, but I'm afraid I won't be able to do that properly if I'm busy attending to arrangements and dealing with things as they happen...
Or maybe as a friend said to me, just let him come to the funeral. The rest can be the rest...
People problems
I wanted to spend the first weekiversary of mum's passing quietly and reflect on what happened...
But worldly affairs kept me occupied, and that moment, 20.05, came and went, never to return again. Mum passed away, moved on to a world away from this one that is full of issues and conflicts, full of problems created by people and misunderstandings. I do not know what is in the world beyond, but really often I wonder why if the world is already so full of discontents and imperfections, people must still somehow find a way to create even more problems.
Just spent over ten minutes on the phone with the priest who is supposed to take care of mum's funeral arrangements and make sure her transition from this world to the next takes place as smoothly as possible. This morning he called to say he quit, because of disagreements with my uncle (mum's second brother). "A personality problem," the priest said, and explained everything comes down to respect, mutual respect. I don't know what clash of personality has taken place, all I know is that the priest and my uncle were on the phone for over an hour last night.
Brother is close to tears now that the priest quit. "All I want is to make sure everything goes smoothly, and that mum can go peacefully..." After spending so long on the phone with the priest, I had to comfort him, reassure him that even if he quits, it does not really matter.
"It is all just rituals and rites. And so if not everything is perfectly followed according to how it should be done?" I told him. In my mind, what matters most is our intentions and our actions. And I believe that my brother and I have done everything we possibly could to be with mum and to give her a beautiful end to a life well lived. Just because there are certain rites and rituals that are not followed properly and conducted under the guidance of a priest trained in the 'invisible arts', does that mean that mum's spirit will suffer and that she will forever be condemned to a life of pain and suffering in the hereafter?
I believe in karma, not mysticism and rituals thought up by people. If we do good, we put good energy into the universe, and we will receive good energy in return. And I believe mum has been a good person, and that she has done a lot of good in her life. Even the monk in the mountains said so, for why else would she be surrounded by so many loved ones and have so much good fortune throughout her life, and especially at the end of it?
Problems are created, and are never there in the physical sense. They are mental states, just like emotions and feelings are. And they are created by people.
But worldly affairs kept me occupied, and that moment, 20.05, came and went, never to return again. Mum passed away, moved on to a world away from this one that is full of issues and conflicts, full of problems created by people and misunderstandings. I do not know what is in the world beyond, but really often I wonder why if the world is already so full of discontents and imperfections, people must still somehow find a way to create even more problems.
Just spent over ten minutes on the phone with the priest who is supposed to take care of mum's funeral arrangements and make sure her transition from this world to the next takes place as smoothly as possible. This morning he called to say he quit, because of disagreements with my uncle (mum's second brother). "A personality problem," the priest said, and explained everything comes down to respect, mutual respect. I don't know what clash of personality has taken place, all I know is that the priest and my uncle were on the phone for over an hour last night.
Brother is close to tears now that the priest quit. "All I want is to make sure everything goes smoothly, and that mum can go peacefully..." After spending so long on the phone with the priest, I had to comfort him, reassure him that even if he quits, it does not really matter.
"It is all just rituals and rites. And so if not everything is perfectly followed according to how it should be done?" I told him. In my mind, what matters most is our intentions and our actions. And I believe that my brother and I have done everything we possibly could to be with mum and to give her a beautiful end to a life well lived. Just because there are certain rites and rituals that are not followed properly and conducted under the guidance of a priest trained in the 'invisible arts', does that mean that mum's spirit will suffer and that she will forever be condemned to a life of pain and suffering in the hereafter?
I believe in karma, not mysticism and rituals thought up by people. If we do good, we put good energy into the universe, and we will receive good energy in return. And I believe mum has been a good person, and that she has done a lot of good in her life. Even the monk in the mountains said so, for why else would she be surrounded by so many loved ones and have so much good fortune throughout her life, and especially at the end of it?
Problems are created, and are never there in the physical sense. They are mental states, just like emotions and feelings are. And they are created by people.
If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.
Dalai Lama
Empty chair
Mum used to love sitting in that chair. Sometimes she would get up, and the first thing she would do is sit in that chair. The chair leans back, and she can put her entire weight on it, and rest her sore arms and numb hands... She can lean back and temporarily at least not feel the pain of her shoulders and back, pain she told me many times feels like her bones are being torn apart...
The chair is now empty...
The chair is now empty...
05 July 2012
Emptiness
I was told before even emptiness is a feeling. It is just the feeling of emptiness. A lack of feeling is also a feeling. It just is.
And I feel it strangely now, coming to the first week after mum passed away. Brother just asked me if I miss mum or think of her. To be honest, not much. I see her everyday in the living room, I prepare food for her (but admittedly, I've not been very diligent, but mostly bought take away, instead of cooking her favourite dishes for her as I should do...). I smile at her, smile when I see pictures of her. Even today, sorting throughout old photo albums and looking for pictures to use at the funeral, I could only smile and laugh at the clothes and hair-dos back then, smile and laugh at the days when I was young, when mum and dad were still mum and dad...
Brother says he thinks of mum when he's alone by himself. When he's not busy taking care of the baby or running around dealing with affairs, he thinks of mum... He wonders where mum is now... Whether mum met up with dad... How mum is doing... He thinks of her. He says he thinks of mum's body lying there in the icebox at the funeral home...
But I do not.
And I feel "guilty" for not feeling, for feeling as if her passing was a non-event. Why that is, I do not know, for she was so dear and so close to me. She was (almost) my everything and what I woke up to every morning for the past few months. When she hurt, I felt frustrated and hoped I could do something, anything to take away her pain... When she was moody, I was sad and agitated, and wondered what I did to make sad and wondered what I could do to cheer her up... When he passed away, I wished her happiness and peace, and other than that did not really feel any sense of loss... But lose someone so dear, so intimate, I certainly did. But I have yet to fully feel the effects of it...
It explains why I've not managed to sit down and write anything about that eventful day. It's been almost a week, and yet I feel this block. I so want to get the words and emotions out, but I can't, I don't know where or how to start. Start from the beginning? Start from the days before when she slowly stopped eating and began to sleep more and more with the morphine drips? Start from when she started to slowdown her rate of breathing...? How do I capture those final moments in words? All I can think of is one word: beautiful. But the details seem to be so vague, seem to be fading with each passing day...
There is this emptiness within. Not that I do not love mum or care about her. Because I know I do, and did, more than anyone else I've come across in my life. And I know she loved/loves me and cared/cares about me more than anyone else ever did (and perhaps ever will...?). Still, there is this emptiness within.
But emptiness is a feeling too.
And I feel it strangely now, coming to the first week after mum passed away. Brother just asked me if I miss mum or think of her. To be honest, not much. I see her everyday in the living room, I prepare food for her (but admittedly, I've not been very diligent, but mostly bought take away, instead of cooking her favourite dishes for her as I should do...). I smile at her, smile when I see pictures of her. Even today, sorting throughout old photo albums and looking for pictures to use at the funeral, I could only smile and laugh at the clothes and hair-dos back then, smile and laugh at the days when I was young, when mum and dad were still mum and dad...
Brother says he thinks of mum when he's alone by himself. When he's not busy taking care of the baby or running around dealing with affairs, he thinks of mum... He wonders where mum is now... Whether mum met up with dad... How mum is doing... He thinks of her. He says he thinks of mum's body lying there in the icebox at the funeral home...
But I do not.
And I feel "guilty" for not feeling, for feeling as if her passing was a non-event. Why that is, I do not know, for she was so dear and so close to me. She was (almost) my everything and what I woke up to every morning for the past few months. When she hurt, I felt frustrated and hoped I could do something, anything to take away her pain... When she was moody, I was sad and agitated, and wondered what I did to make sad and wondered what I could do to cheer her up... When he passed away, I wished her happiness and peace, and other than that did not really feel any sense of loss... But lose someone so dear, so intimate, I certainly did. But I have yet to fully feel the effects of it...
It explains why I've not managed to sit down and write anything about that eventful day. It's been almost a week, and yet I feel this block. I so want to get the words and emotions out, but I can't, I don't know where or how to start. Start from the beginning? Start from the days before when she slowly stopped eating and began to sleep more and more with the morphine drips? Start from when she started to slowdown her rate of breathing...? How do I capture those final moments in words? All I can think of is one word: beautiful. But the details seem to be so vague, seem to be fading with each passing day...
There is this emptiness within. Not that I do not love mum or care about her. Because I know I do, and did, more than anyone else I've come across in my life. And I know she loved/loves me and cared/cares about me more than anyone else ever did (and perhaps ever will...?). Still, there is this emptiness within.
But emptiness is a feeling too.
04 July 2012
Clearing up
I got out a box marked "photographs and stamps". I packed it myself four years ago after dad passed away. Nobody has opened it since...
I cut away the tape, last sealed by my own fingers and hands. I opened the box. Memories flooded back... Memories captured in an instant in time of people and faces, sceneries in far away places... The photographs captured moments gone and never to return.
Moments when mum, and dad, were still around, still smiling, still with me...
I cut away the tape, last sealed by my own fingers and hands. I opened the box. Memories flooded back... Memories captured in an instant in time of people and faces, sceneries in far away places... The photographs captured moments gone and never to return.
Moments when mum, and dad, were still around, still smiling, still with me...
Arrival of the ex
On way to the airport. My ex is about to arrive, after journey close to twenty four hours to get here. It means a lot, says a lot, and I am grateful someone would do that for me.
But in a way, I'm also scared. What is he doing here? Why is he here and in what capacity? Has he freed himself from the emotional mess he got himself into, and has he had the courage to finally let go of his emotional baggage? Do I dare to open up go him and to lean on him for support and comfort? How will I feel in these coming days dealing with an upcoming funeral and my ex being here?
No use worrying about things or thinking about things too much.
Whatever will be, will be...
But in a way, I'm also scared. What is he doing here? Why is he here and in what capacity? Has he freed himself from the emotional mess he got himself into, and has he had the courage to finally let go of his emotional baggage? Do I dare to open up go him and to lean on him for support and comfort? How will I feel in these coming days dealing with an upcoming funeral and my ex being here?
No use worrying about things or thinking about things too much.
Whatever will be, will be...
Ceremony
To be honest, often I did not know what was being chanted. I'm not sure anyone knows. The text is a collection of words that make a symphony of sounds, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes touching, sometimes invigorating. The chanting is supposed to welcome the spirit home and guide the spirit to a finer place beyond this realm. And the ceremony master said mum is home.
The ritual of tou-chi took place tonight, and we concluded a little after eleven, which is symbolically the beginning of the seventh day after passing. Looking back at dad's passing four years ago, I realised there is one similarity: both with dad and mum today, we went to the household registration office (city hall if you like) to have the person officially registered as no longer living.
The funeral planner came by again and explained to us the details of the funeral next Friday, and gave us a breakdown of the costs. I explained to him the little personal touches I want to include during the ceremony, and he said it will not be a problem. It is not, I hope, going to be a sad event. With a slideshow of pictures and notes left behind by people, it is going to be a review of a colourful life well lived by a person who touched many hearts. Especially mine.
The ceremony was a little delayed, because initially we could not begin right away. We had to wait for mum's spirit to return, which we could know by posing questions and looking for signs by tossing coins (the ritual is explained here...). For a while, mum did not return, and then we thought of why. We were only my brother, my sister-in-law and I, and my nephew stayed away at a hotel, for it is way past his bedtime. We explained to mum why my nephew stayed away, and immediately there was a sign that she was present, an that we could begin.
We chanted for over an hour, from various sutras. I followed the text, but my eyes kept on wandering to the digital photo-frame I had prepared and loaded with pictures of mum. Seeing her pictures make me smile, and various times, as the three ladies who came to chant were deep in chanting mode, I had to contain my smile and try to keep a serious face. Seeing mum in various poses, at various locations on so many pictures, each with its own story and anecdotes, made me smile and feel so blessed...
At the closing of the ceremony tonight, we were asked to kneel and bow on the floor as a sign of deep reverence and reflection. Again, I wished mum happiness in the hereafter, happiness and peace, calm and liberation. I told her in my heart that she can go in peace and that I will be alright. I know I will be, because I am her child. I know I will be, because I have her watching over me.
The ritual of tou-chi took place tonight, and we concluded a little after eleven, which is symbolically the beginning of the seventh day after passing. Looking back at dad's passing four years ago, I realised there is one similarity: both with dad and mum today, we went to the household registration office (city hall if you like) to have the person officially registered as no longer living.
The funeral planner came by again and explained to us the details of the funeral next Friday, and gave us a breakdown of the costs. I explained to him the little personal touches I want to include during the ceremony, and he said it will not be a problem. It is not, I hope, going to be a sad event. With a slideshow of pictures and notes left behind by people, it is going to be a review of a colourful life well lived by a person who touched many hearts. Especially mine.
The ceremony was a little delayed, because initially we could not begin right away. We had to wait for mum's spirit to return, which we could know by posing questions and looking for signs by tossing coins (the ritual is explained here...). For a while, mum did not return, and then we thought of why. We were only my brother, my sister-in-law and I, and my nephew stayed away at a hotel, for it is way past his bedtime. We explained to mum why my nephew stayed away, and immediately there was a sign that she was present, an that we could begin.
We chanted for over an hour, from various sutras. I followed the text, but my eyes kept on wandering to the digital photo-frame I had prepared and loaded with pictures of mum. Seeing her pictures make me smile, and various times, as the three ladies who came to chant were deep in chanting mode, I had to contain my smile and try to keep a serious face. Seeing mum in various poses, at various locations on so many pictures, each with its own story and anecdotes, made me smile and feel so blessed...
At the closing of the ceremony tonight, we were asked to kneel and bow on the floor as a sign of deep reverence and reflection. Again, I wished mum happiness in the hereafter, happiness and peace, calm and liberation. I told her in my heart that she can go in peace and that I will be alright. I know I will be, because I am her child. I know I will be, because I have her watching over me.
Homosexual marriage act
Just read in the news: an act to legalise same-sex marriage will be sent to Taiwan's parliament to be read and most likely passed!
The act will amend the civil law and do away with the mention of gender in the context of any union between two people. It will change the idea of what is a family. The idea of "partnership" means that any two people willing to enter a union and form a family can apply for legal recognition.
If passed, Taiwan will be the first Asian nation to recognise same sex marriage! Only recently, the government published a guidebook on arranging funeral affairs which informs family and funeral homes to take into account same sex couples and those who are not legally married but are cohabiting.
Proud of my birth-country!
The act will amend the civil law and do away with the mention of gender in the context of any union between two people. It will change the idea of what is a family. The idea of "partnership" means that any two people willing to enter a union and form a family can apply for legal recognition.
If passed, Taiwan will be the first Asian nation to recognise same sex marriage! Only recently, the government published a guidebook on arranging funeral affairs which informs family and funeral homes to take into account same sex couples and those who are not legally married but are cohabiting.
Proud of my birth-country!
Seventh day
The seventh day after passing is a crucial milestone. Tradition says the deceased comes back to bid farewell to those left behind and to take a good look at where the home where the deceased used to reside in. As the day of passing counts as the first day, and as according to the lunar calendar, a new day begins at eleven at night, tonight we will cross over to the seventh day.
A two hour chanting session is planned for tonight from nine till eleven. The chanting of (Mahayana) Buddhist prayers can aid mum on her way toward freeing herself from wandering around the world. It is supposed to help her move on to the world hereafter. It's also believed the chanting will give merit to the deceased, those left behind chant to the deity of the underworld to help guide mum on her way toward liberation...
Many relatives came today, as did several of mum's colleagues from her last work place close to the seaside. The colleagues found put yesterday when I called one of mum's closest friends. She broke down during re conversation and had to hang up and call back later to collect herself. They used to chat regularly, and mum helped his auntie a lot. While mum worked there, she used to buy car food to feed the strays in the back of the office. Yes, my mum was a cat lover, and a compassionate person. Once one of the strays was injured, and mum arranged to take it to the vet. Another time, a mother gave birth to a litter of kittens, and mum helped to have them vaccinated. This auntie took over the feeding and taking care of the cats.
Many on dad's side of the family came today, and they sat around for a while looking at pictures of mum. My big aunt (dad's oldest sister) at one point cried and said that mum was so kind and that mum went "too soon". I told them, as I tell everyone who comes to visit, how peacefully mum left, and how her life was one well lived. I told them that all with a smile. Seeing pictures of mum and I on one of our many adventures does not make me sad or emotional (not yet?) When I see mum on pictures, when I see her smile, an at times at my insistence, strike a "cute pose" with one of my stuffed animals, I cannot but smile and recall sweet, sweet times we had...
I am tired still, and have barely had time to really mourn. My brother seems to be in such a hurry to deal with affairs, which at times irritates me. There's no hurry, but he seems eager to get all the legal stuff and paperwork done. Maybe it is an attempt to jeep busy so as not to feel or cry? I don't know. I just feel it's all so soon, for it's barely been a week, and between planning for the funeral, informing relatives and friends, and entertaining visitors, we've not really had time to sit down and collect ourselves.
I still have yet to write down what happened, what really happened, that day...
A two hour chanting session is planned for tonight from nine till eleven. The chanting of (Mahayana) Buddhist prayers can aid mum on her way toward freeing herself from wandering around the world. It is supposed to help her move on to the world hereafter. It's also believed the chanting will give merit to the deceased, those left behind chant to the deity of the underworld to help guide mum on her way toward liberation...
Many relatives came today, as did several of mum's colleagues from her last work place close to the seaside. The colleagues found put yesterday when I called one of mum's closest friends. She broke down during re conversation and had to hang up and call back later to collect herself. They used to chat regularly, and mum helped his auntie a lot. While mum worked there, she used to buy car food to feed the strays in the back of the office. Yes, my mum was a cat lover, and a compassionate person. Once one of the strays was injured, and mum arranged to take it to the vet. Another time, a mother gave birth to a litter of kittens, and mum helped to have them vaccinated. This auntie took over the feeding and taking care of the cats.
Many on dad's side of the family came today, and they sat around for a while looking at pictures of mum. My big aunt (dad's oldest sister) at one point cried and said that mum was so kind and that mum went "too soon". I told them, as I tell everyone who comes to visit, how peacefully mum left, and how her life was one well lived. I told them that all with a smile. Seeing pictures of mum and I on one of our many adventures does not make me sad or emotional (not yet?) When I see mum on pictures, when I see her smile, an at times at my insistence, strike a "cute pose" with one of my stuffed animals, I cannot but smile and recall sweet, sweet times we had...
I am tired still, and have barely had time to really mourn. My brother seems to be in such a hurry to deal with affairs, which at times irritates me. There's no hurry, but he seems eager to get all the legal stuff and paperwork done. Maybe it is an attempt to jeep busy so as not to feel or cry? I don't know. I just feel it's all so soon, for it's barely been a week, and between planning for the funeral, informing relatives and friends, and entertaining visitors, we've not really had time to sit down and collect ourselves.
I still have yet to write down what happened, what really happened, that day...
02 July 2012
Beset by dreams
Took a little nap in the morning, just after talking to my ex for a little while. As always, it feels nice to talk to him, to joke and talk like we've always managed to.
I fell asleep, but was disturbed by a number of dreams, of which i can only remember one, the last one.
I was traveling with my ex (who is my boyfriend in the dream) somewhere most likely in Vancouver or thereabouts. We checked into a hotel room, and I was busy unpacking and getting ready to go out. I prepared a number of little surprises for him, and headed out the door.
I saw him the corridor. He was shocked to see me, shocked and speechless. I turned around, and there was the other boy. I've never me him in real life, and in the dream it was the first time we met. He too looked shocked. it was clear they were prepared to go out together, but were caught in the act by me.
Momentarily I was calm, and extended my hand to introduce myself. My ex just stood there, frozen and speechless. The boy, looking so awkward around the corridor, did not say anything either.
"No need to say anything..." I said, smiling. But deep down inside, my heart was shattering from the deepest feeling betrayal I have ever experienced. I turned and walked away, did not look at my ex. I was hurting so bad, so terribly bad.
"Enjoy yourselves," i said bitterly. And I turned to walk away....
Knowing what you want
A friend came by to visit today, someone who was in my year. She knows mum, and has in the past four years been very supportive of mum and I. She happens to live in Taipei, and on occasion has even come to visit mum when I was not around. And a number of times on Mother's Day, she would send mum a text message.
We share not just the year we began our studies. Her mum passed away several years ago, also due to cancer. She knows the battle of a cancer warrior, and she knows even better the role and pains of a cancer warriors sidekick.
She came by after work to pay respects to mum. Her eyes were moist almost as soon as she stood before the altar. And throughout the evening, as she recounted her experience and listened to mine, she would sniff her nose. I know it is difficult to recall memories. And she reminded me that even after many years the memories will make you tear and cry.
"Give yourself the time to cry..." she said. She said she didn't allow herself that opportunity, for she worked and worked, and her only form of release was when she drank herself silly and poured her emotions out. She regretted that.
We shared stories about the intricacies of Taiwanese funeral rites and traditions and taboos surrounding mourning. Some things make us laugh, others make us feel so strange and upsetting, especially when relatives try to meddle and come in acting as I they know best. Fortunately, we have not had much of that (yet?), as in mum's will she clearly stated that she wanted her two children to take care of the funeral arrangements. And I will of course not disappoint.
"Having gone through this, I think we both know what we want in life..." she said, "We want someone who will be true and lasting, because really life is already so short and there is even less time to love!"
My friend described how when her mother passed away, her boyfriend put his job on hold for a while and immediately rushed back from the US to be with her throughout the entire process. "That is a show of real love..."
And when her boyfriend's mother passed away, she arranged him to travel home so that he could see her again before she left this world. Experiences like this build a relationship, consolidate how much two people mean to one another. Perhaps nothing really brings people together than death, grief and mourning. Death makes you realise how feeble and how temporary we are, and makes you treasure more what you have. Experiencing death in the family makes you love and realise that really, in the end only love matters, and that love will conquer everything.
"Your ex wanting to all the way here is not just out of friendship," he reminded me. "it's a long way to travel and a lot of effort just for a friend..."
Is it?
It is.
We share not just the year we began our studies. Her mum passed away several years ago, also due to cancer. She knows the battle of a cancer warrior, and she knows even better the role and pains of a cancer warriors sidekick.
She came by after work to pay respects to mum. Her eyes were moist almost as soon as she stood before the altar. And throughout the evening, as she recounted her experience and listened to mine, she would sniff her nose. I know it is difficult to recall memories. And she reminded me that even after many years the memories will make you tear and cry.
"Give yourself the time to cry..." she said. She said she didn't allow herself that opportunity, for she worked and worked, and her only form of release was when she drank herself silly and poured her emotions out. She regretted that.
We shared stories about the intricacies of Taiwanese funeral rites and traditions and taboos surrounding mourning. Some things make us laugh, others make us feel so strange and upsetting, especially when relatives try to meddle and come in acting as I they know best. Fortunately, we have not had much of that (yet?), as in mum's will she clearly stated that she wanted her two children to take care of the funeral arrangements. And I will of course not disappoint.
"Having gone through this, I think we both know what we want in life..." she said, "We want someone who will be true and lasting, because really life is already so short and there is even less time to love!"
My friend described how when her mother passed away, her boyfriend put his job on hold for a while and immediately rushed back from the US to be with her throughout the entire process. "That is a show of real love..."
And when her boyfriend's mother passed away, she arranged him to travel home so that he could see her again before she left this world. Experiences like this build a relationship, consolidate how much two people mean to one another. Perhaps nothing really brings people together than death, grief and mourning. Death makes you realise how feeble and how temporary we are, and makes you treasure more what you have. Experiencing death in the family makes you love and realise that really, in the end only love matters, and that love will conquer everything.
"Your ex wanting to all the way here is not just out of friendship," he reminded me. "it's a long way to travel and a lot of effort just for a friend..."
Is it?
It is.
01 July 2012
Call to the monk
I just called the monk in the mountains who knew mum and came to see her just last week. He was saddened by the news of mum's passing.
He asked me how I'm feeling, and I told him honestly, I seem alright. I know the emotions, tears and pain will come, but for now I can only look back to four days ago and remember how beautiful, quick and "smooth" (if death is ever so...) it went. "I was strangely calm, just like when it happened with dad..."
I was, I really was. With dad it was so sudden, but I managed to stay composed and wish him well and happiness. With mum, I thought I would be much harder because there's much more attachment and considerably deeper emotions given how much time I've spent with her and how mug we've gone through together. But again, it was (and I am) rather calm and so far I've been subdued (admittedly, there are moments of sudden longing and sadness, but no real outbursts of emotions. Just yet...).
"It's the ultimate test," the monk said. Test of how much I've engrained the teachings of the Buddha into real life, a test to see how deep I realise the meaning of impermanence and temporariness of everything, of everyone... And so far, I've been strong I believe much thanks to those teachings and to the many day of mediation practice and retreats at monasteries.
"I'm more emotional when I think of how so many people have been so supportive and encouraging over these years..." I said, and I felt tears well up and my voice waver. Truly, I am so grateful and indebted to so many people, friends and family, who helped mum, helped me, make this journey easier and just that little bit less overwhelming.
I am so grateful, and at ease to know after all this, mum is at peace...
He asked me how I'm feeling, and I told him honestly, I seem alright. I know the emotions, tears and pain will come, but for now I can only look back to four days ago and remember how beautiful, quick and "smooth" (if death is ever so...) it went. "I was strangely calm, just like when it happened with dad..."
I was, I really was. With dad it was so sudden, but I managed to stay composed and wish him well and happiness. With mum, I thought I would be much harder because there's much more attachment and considerably deeper emotions given how much time I've spent with her and how mug we've gone through together. But again, it was (and I am) rather calm and so far I've been subdued (admittedly, there are moments of sudden longing and sadness, but no real outbursts of emotions. Just yet...).
"It's the ultimate test," the monk said. Test of how much I've engrained the teachings of the Buddha into real life, a test to see how deep I realise the meaning of impermanence and temporariness of everything, of everyone... And so far, I've been strong I believe much thanks to those teachings and to the many day of mediation practice and retreats at monasteries.
"I'm more emotional when I think of how so many people have been so supportive and encouraging over these years..." I said, and I felt tears well up and my voice waver. Truly, I am so grateful and indebted to so many people, friends and family, who helped mum, helped me, make this journey easier and just that little bit less overwhelming.
I am so grateful, and at ease to know after all this, mum is at peace...
Rough wake up
I slept barely for three hours last night. I was hungry suddenly and got up to eat something. Brother too could not sleep, and we think it's related to the fact that Incense is constantly burning in a small space, making our throats dry and head ache. So we ended up watching part of the eufa finals.
I had another reason why I could not sleep, and so I got it off my chest and wrote to my ex. My mind has been thinking of him a lot, but I do not at all feel any liberty to call him after how things were suddenly left hanging between us. So I found myself in these past few weeks, perhaps the most emotionally challenging few weeks, restraining myself from calling him. And I found myself questioning the use of him being present at the funeral. Why ask someone to come all the way here, half way around the world, when for all I know he is still attached to someone else and in a relationship? I just don't want to be confused and having to restrain myself when I see him here, because I know I will throw myself at him, perhaps even pour my heart and tears out on him. And I can't do that, am not comfortable doing that, if he himself has unresolved issues.
I know, the situation with my ex seems so trivial to whom I have just lost and what depths of emotions I still need to work through. But I can't explain why: my mum's passing and the uncertainties with my ex are interrelated, and both have been constraining my ability to move on and move forward in life. Both issues, both dealing with my love and care for two diffident and very important people in my life, touch my heart to the core. One issue is resolved, and I feel more liberated after a beautiful farewell to mum. Now I want to resolve the other issue, however way, so I can start my life afresh and free from the past...
Only after writing an email did I manage to fall asleep. But even sleep was broken and not deep. I woke up with a terrible headache, and terrible sores. But a new day begins, and I must get mum ready to wash herself and eat, and get ready for perhaps more mourners who will drop by throughout the day...
I had another reason why I could not sleep, and so I got it off my chest and wrote to my ex. My mind has been thinking of him a lot, but I do not at all feel any liberty to call him after how things were suddenly left hanging between us. So I found myself in these past few weeks, perhaps the most emotionally challenging few weeks, restraining myself from calling him. And I found myself questioning the use of him being present at the funeral. Why ask someone to come all the way here, half way around the world, when for all I know he is still attached to someone else and in a relationship? I just don't want to be confused and having to restrain myself when I see him here, because I know I will throw myself at him, perhaps even pour my heart and tears out on him. And I can't do that, am not comfortable doing that, if he himself has unresolved issues.
I know, the situation with my ex seems so trivial to whom I have just lost and what depths of emotions I still need to work through. But I can't explain why: my mum's passing and the uncertainties with my ex are interrelated, and both have been constraining my ability to move on and move forward in life. Both issues, both dealing with my love and care for two diffident and very important people in my life, touch my heart to the core. One issue is resolved, and I feel more liberated after a beautiful farewell to mum. Now I want to resolve the other issue, however way, so I can start my life afresh and free from the past...
Only after writing an email did I manage to fall asleep. But even sleep was broken and not deep. I woke up with a terrible headache, and terrible sores. But a new day begins, and I must get mum ready to wash herself and eat, and get ready for perhaps more mourners who will drop by throughout the day...
Sleeplessness
I was just about to fall asleep after a long struggle to fall asleep. Somehow my body feels so tired and sore and so much longs to sleep, but my mind is agitated, disrupted and not at ease.
I was just about to drift away and fall asleep when suddenly I felt something shake me awake. My body shivered and I felt my muscles twitch, and a sudden rise of goosebumps.
Something, or someone, shook me awake, and I'm awake again.
I was just about to drift away and fall asleep when suddenly I felt something shake me awake. My body shivered and I felt my muscles twitch, and a sudden rise of goosebumps.
Something, or someone, shook me awake, and I'm awake again.
Calling mum
Just lying in bed trying to sleep. Another long day filled with family and friends visiting and paying respects to mum at home. A lot of smiles, and trying to host and 'entertain' people when they come. It's only the second day, but it's tiring to call up people and deliver sad news, and to tell people how it all happened. I know I still have to write down what happened that day in detail last Friday, but I'm too tired to do so. And every time I tell recount that moment when mum passed away, it is as if I relive it again. I can see the scene, feel mum's last breath, feel her hands grow colder. Feel her body stop moving forever...
Just now, my brother picked up the phone and said: "Mama..."
I had my eyes closed, but when I heard those words, I instinctively opened my eyes. Of course, I realised a few sentences later, he was talking to his mother in law. After mum left, my brother still, in a way, has someone to call "mother".
I have none. And this thought made me so sad, and feel so alone...
I know it's very different, and perhaps the comparison is horrible because I do, or at least did, have parents. But I feel like I am an orphan now. There were moments before mum passed away when I imagined what it would be like to be "parentless". And now I know what if feels like...
Empty. Alone. Abandoned. Left to discover the world without someone I can turn to for advice or guidance. All on my own now. Who can I call "mama" now? Who can I phone when I want to talk to someone dear and close, and not feel like I'm imposing myself? Who can I visit and feel welcomed and at home every-time? Who will care for me and love me unconditionally and unquestionably, hold me and comfort me no matter what or when?
Perhaps I have not yet realised what I just lost, but the effects and consequences of losing my remaining parent is dawning on me.
And I'm beginning to hurt, more and more.
Just now, my brother picked up the phone and said: "Mama..."
I had my eyes closed, but when I heard those words, I instinctively opened my eyes. Of course, I realised a few sentences later, he was talking to his mother in law. After mum left, my brother still, in a way, has someone to call "mother".
I have none. And this thought made me so sad, and feel so alone...
I know it's very different, and perhaps the comparison is horrible because I do, or at least did, have parents. But I feel like I am an orphan now. There were moments before mum passed away when I imagined what it would be like to be "parentless". And now I know what if feels like...
Empty. Alone. Abandoned. Left to discover the world without someone I can turn to for advice or guidance. All on my own now. Who can I call "mama" now? Who can I phone when I want to talk to someone dear and close, and not feel like I'm imposing myself? Who can I visit and feel welcomed and at home every-time? Who will care for me and love me unconditionally and unquestionably, hold me and comfort me no matter what or when?
Perhaps I have not yet realised what I just lost, but the effects and consequences of losing my remaining parent is dawning on me.
And I'm beginning to hurt, more and more.
Presence
"I can feel there is a presence here," my cousin's wife said. She has always had a sensitivity for things you cannot see with your naked eye. She has a "feel" for these things.
"I felt something as soon as I walked through the door. Your mum is here, here at home," she said. I did not feel afraid. Instead, I felt comforted. Perhaps she is watching me, or even sitting next to me, as I type these words on the dining table! "There is a warm and very peaceful feeling here in this house."
I smiled, and eyed mum's altar. Since last night, I have put up lots of pictures of mum all over the altar, and on a wall I have put up pictures of places she has been to and pictures of nature. In a way, to symbolise the return to nature, from we all come and shall one day return to. Mum (and dad) have already led the way...
"I felt something as soon as I walked through the door. Your mum is here, here at home," she said. I did not feel afraid. Instead, I felt comforted. Perhaps she is watching me, or even sitting next to me, as I type these words on the dining table! "There is a warm and very peaceful feeling here in this house."
I smiled, and eyed mum's altar. Since last night, I have put up lots of pictures of mum all over the altar, and on a wall I have put up pictures of places she has been to and pictures of nature. In a way, to symbolise the return to nature, from we all come and shall one day return to. Mum (and dad) have already led the way...
Trip for friends
Brother and I gathered before mum's altar with her two very close old colleagues. The two aunties worked with mum for over ten years, and their children went to English lessons with mum brother. They have helped mum so much over the years, and were also witnesses when mum made changes to her will at the beginning of June. Even now, even after mum has passed away, they kept on telling us if there is anything we need help with, we can call them.
Brother and I agreed to tell the aunties about one of mum's life wish when they came to see mum at home (it's customary for family and friends to pay respects at the home of the deceased). Sometime ago, she said she is very grateful for their friendship, and would like me to arrange a trip to Europe for both aunties. "The best time is in Spring. April and May, when the flowers are blooming," she said. Mum may not be able to see the flowers bloom in person again, but she would like her closest friends to go and see it themselves.
Both aunties began crying. Brother's voice wavered as he explained that it is mum's wish, and asked them accept. I too began to tear a little (even now, thinking back to that moment is very emotional...). "This is your mother... always thinking of others..." one auntie said trying hard not to choke on her words.
They aunties resisted at first, but eventually said we can talk about it later. Just as they were about to leave, they stood before mum's altar and prayed. Again, their eyes were moist, for a dear friend has already departed, and yet this friend is still thinking of them, wishing them happiness from the world beyond.
Brother and I agreed to tell the aunties about one of mum's life wish when they came to see mum at home (it's customary for family and friends to pay respects at the home of the deceased). Sometime ago, she said she is very grateful for their friendship, and would like me to arrange a trip to Europe for both aunties. "The best time is in Spring. April and May, when the flowers are blooming," she said. Mum may not be able to see the flowers bloom in person again, but she would like her closest friends to go and see it themselves.
Both aunties began crying. Brother's voice wavered as he explained that it is mum's wish, and asked them accept. I too began to tear a little (even now, thinking back to that moment is very emotional...). "This is your mother... always thinking of others..." one auntie said trying hard not to choke on her words.
They aunties resisted at first, but eventually said we can talk about it later. Just as they were about to leave, they stood before mum's altar and prayed. Again, their eyes were moist, for a dear friend has already departed, and yet this friend is still thinking of them, wishing them happiness from the world beyond.
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