Dream: father and mother

All I can remember is me crying with such force and vigour. I saw myself sitting in a room by myself. It was some kind of classroom, and people were coming and going. I remember it was some kind of special occassion, like father's day or mother's day, or some kind of family holiday. Everyone had their parents with them. I was all alone by myself. All alone, and  just sitting there.

Seeing all these people with their parents reminded me of how parentless and 'abandoned' I really am. I buried my face in my arms and began to howl and sob. Nobody came to comfort me. I just sat there and cried, and the crying was so real that when I woke up, I instinctively went to wipe my eyes (but there were no tears).

Nightmare

I collapsed on the floor and slept for a good hour or so after getting home from a whole day of errands. Paperwork and dealing with banks and bureaucracy is for some reason so draining...

Repeatedly, I had to write mum's name, and hand over copies of mum's death certificate. Repeatedly, I have to say she "passed on", "left", "moved on", "is no longer around". And it feels heavy every single time I say it. It feels like a reminder, just in case I did not fully realise what happened two weeks ago.

In my dream, mum and dad appeared. Perhaps it is related to the fact that we were trying to get documentation to prove that indeed they are our parents, and that they are both indeed deceased. They looked well, and were smiling. I think the scene was our old home, the place where I lived for two, three years before moving abroad at the age of seven or so. They were wearing clothes I could immediately associate with them.

Seeing them was enough to make me drown in sorrow and suddenly cry. Seeing them both in my dream was a powerful and painful reminder of what I have lost, and will never have again...

That is loss. True loss of the most painful and terrifying kind...

Rush

"What's the rush...?" I asked him, "Why do you want to clear out everything already?" Brother has been telling us to get packing and clear out the drawers and cupboards. He says there's little time left, and that he doesn't want to leave everything till the last minute. But we have around a month a ten days left till either of us are supposed to leave the country. Sure, for about two weeks or so, I plan to take a break and do some traveling (hopefully, make it around the island by bike...).  That still leaves many days for us to stay home and clear out mum's belongings.

It was already difficult to start doing so when I began to empty some drawers this afternoon. And it is part of the reason why I am so resistant, which gets on my brother's nerves, because he's very eager to see everything out of the shelves and packed into boxes ready to be shipped away. All those cups, all of mum's bone china collection and memorabilia from her travels. Brother wants them all divided and wrapped and in boxes.

I tell him not to  rush so much, because frankly, it'll be depressing to look at empty shelves and to live in an empty home. Mum has already left, dad already left... if everything on the shelves are to be cleared away, then what is the point of living at home? Why even stick around here?

I need time to process things. It's just me. I need time to allow the reality of mum's absence to sink in before I can start clearing away her belongings. Besides, local tradition suggests that the deceased will often 'return' to the old residence to take another look or to stay around for a while before really moving onto the world hereafter. "How would mum feel if she were to come back to an empty house?" I asked my brother.

That would look so sad, so depressing... And it is already sad and depressing enough that we are in mourning...

Memories

It is difficult enough to shift through mum's belongings, to see pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia that sheds life to the person I just lost...

It is even more painful when shifting through the boxes and cupboards I find pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia belonging to dad.

After I do this, after I clean up this house and clear everything away, there is nothing else left... There will be no one else left...

Longing

There are moments when the depth and degree of emptiness and loneliness is overwhelming. The moments are especially felt when it is quiet at night, and when everyone has gone to sleep. Nothing, not even stuffed animals or memories of the past can fill that emptiness.

There are moments when you realise again just what you lost, and can never have back. And the realisation is so painful, so very very painful. Even more painful because nobody, nobody, can fully know or understand how painful it all is.

媽媽，我想妳...

Disturbed sleep

Three nights in a row my sleep is so disturbed...

I close my eyes and try to rest my tired body and exhausted mind, and yet i wake up after an hour or two disturbed by dreams and thoughts and images... Random images and thoughts that don't make any sense at all, but that keep me from sleeping, properly sleeping.

So tired, so tormented.

I need to get out of here. I need to free my mind and thoughts.

Mum's words

Mum wrote down these words on 12 February 2011. She showed it to be earlier this year, and told me to show it to my brother when she is gone.

I showed it to him today when I came across the booklet it was written in. His eyes became moist.

"Humans must learn to let go.
Let go the unwillingness to let go in the heart.
Let go and be able to cut away and get rid of the love between parents and children.

Because your child does not belong to you. (s)he is a symbol of humankind's continuation of life. However much intimacy, love and respect there may be between family members, everything will ultimate be covered with dust.

Let us then, with tears in our eyes, silently pray and hope:

Child, take my full, full blessing and bravely go be yourself.
There is no need to turn back your head."

Massage

19072012.1314

Mum began going to the massage parlour back in 2009. The list of beauty treatments she underwent, from acupuncture to facial treatments, from scented massage therapy to steam room therapy, goes on for pages. Behind every treatment is her signature. Her own handwriting. I touched the pages and the pen marks.

"Mum was here... She left behind these marks..."

The last time she had a massage was 8 March of this year, a few days after she was discharged from the hospital for the first time after she began to severely vomit. I was with her that last time she was here. I remember that day vividly. She even threw up before entering the massage parlour, after she ate two pieces of sushi she bought at the nearby metro station. That was the beginning of a very excruciating and worrying period of vomiting and mum growing ever thinner. That was before anyone knew what was spreading and growing inside her bowels. That was then, when she was still around.

"How's your mother? Is she resting at home?" the masseuse who has known mum for these couple of years asked. yes, mum is resting alright. Brother and I had to explain what happened to mum.

For the next two hours or so, as the masseuse worked on my body, we talked about how mum was, and about how the end was. At points I felt like crying. Seeing those images of the final few weeks, of the final few days, is painful, even if they were just intangible memories temporarily flashing across my mind.

Haunted

Death, death, signs of death everywhere... Horrible, horrible dream that just woke me up And left me gasping for air, barely screaming...

I kept seeing the urn, mum's urn. It was somewhere in this old, rundown house in some foreign country (Singapore for some bizarre reason...). The priest was performing some kind of ritual, I was present, but so was mum. But whose urn was it if mum was there too?

The urn was half buried in the ground. The priest gestured wildly with his arms and body, he chanted some kind of spell. I was so frightened in the dream, and it was made worse by the fact it was in the middle of the night, and it was pouring with rain.

Another scene: we were inside a house, and I heard mum suddenly scream. I turned to her, and she was holding an underwear. She said the deceased (whoever the person was...) wore the same underwear. I tried to calm mum down, but I broke into tears. A bunch of people rushed over to see what was going on. I was sobbing so heavily, sobbing and crying and in such a terrible state of mind. My mum was on the side, looking shocked and wild eyed and confused. I could not stop crying, and the image of the urn half buried in the ground haunted me so...

Deposit box

Last time I opened the safety deposit box, mum was with me. We had just come from the court with a legalised copies of her will. I remember it was my birthday, over a year ago. Before mum placed her will inside the safe, she showed me some pieces of jewelries, some passed down from my grandparents' parents generation, or even earlier than that. There were some pieces of Canadian gold coins, which mum had intended to leave to me. As we left, she turned to me and said that she had one less thing to worry about. I, on the other hand, thought to myself as we left the bank that the next time I open this box, mum would no longer be around.

Indeed, when brother and I opened the safety deposit box, mum was not with us. Instead, there was a taxman, who came to assess the value of the contents of the box for tax purposes. When he found out that mum was a colleague of sorts (she also worked at the internal revenue service) and that she passed away barely two years after her retirement, he expressed his sincere sympathies. "So young..." he said.

The key to the deposit box clung to a keyring, which bore a little reproduction of "The Angelus". Millet's famous painting of two people deep in prayer felt just right for that moment. I stroked the face of the deposit box, and slowly turned the key. Carefully I got out the contents, and saw the very same jewelry boxes mum had shown me a year or so ago. I stroked the soft fabric of the boxes, and opened one of those. In it were some rings and amulets. In other boxes were coins and a pearl necklace. I held onto these items, and struggled hard to contain my tears. I touched each item briefly and softly. "Mum touched and held these before..." That thought crossed my mind, and a sense of sadness arose from deep within.

One thing dealt with, and many other things to deal with until mum's estate is settled. I came home late afternoon, exhausted and just collapsed into a deep sleep for close to an hour. Besides dealing with the deposit box containing mum's valuables, we also went to the local borough office to officially take mum off of the national health insurance plan. For some reason, the last month that mum was alive, she did not need to pay her premium. The lady who helped us said we can decide what to do with the national health insurance chip card. "Keep it as a momento..." I said to my brother. On it, is a beautiful picture of mum taken a few years ago for her work place. It is the same picture that was used to make her funeral portrait. On the chip card, hundreds of files contain details of mum's treatment, medicine use and an entire history of mum's appointments and health condition. I have handled this card so many times, and taken it at times on her behalf to make appointments and to check her in and out of hospital when it was not convenient for her to do so by herself. So this card contains many memories of mum and I together. I will keep in, keep it safe along with a box of personal items I am collecting and planning to take home with me back to Canada...

Later in the day, brother and I  went to the tax bureau to get an official declaration that no taxes are owed. With this, we can now go to financial institutions where mum held  accounts and close them one by one. Over the coming weeks, there will be a lot of running around, going to places where mum  previously went to to deal with her banking affairs and trade stocks. It will in a way be trips to places I had accompanied her many times since I was young, and I can imagine when I see the buildings, the offices, and even some of the bank employers, to whom we have to stoically explain that mum has passed on, the heart will ache and the mind will have to relive those final moments again...

Now that the funeral arrangements are over, another stage of clearing up mum's affairs is just beginning.

Return to the hospice

Brother has not gone back to the hospice ward since mum checked out almost three weeks ago. I did return, last week, with my ex, and showed him around a bit. I teared somewhat walking down the same corridors and feeling the memories come back. A nurse I met, the one who was mum's main nurse during her stay, said most do not return ever again, because it is too painful. But return brother and I did, because we wanted to thank the staff for their dedication and wonderful care in mum's final days and moments.

We ordered a  flower arrangement to be delivered at 10 in the morning, and sure enough when we got there, we saw the beautiful pot of orchids sitting on the counter at the nurses' station. The head nurse were surprised (and happy) to see us again, and moments later the nurse who was there and who helped mum in those final moments walked in.

They asked us how we are feeling, and how the "arrangements" have been. Tiring, but everything was well organised, dignified and beautiful, just as mum would have wanted it. We thanked them for their hard work and commitment, and I could see brother was not only a little speechless, but also moved close to tears again reminiscing those days.

The corridor looked the same as before. The same long corridor, with more or less the same decor on the walls. And in the air was soft classical music playing. We did not venture to the entrance of mum's room (Room 20), like I did a few days earlier, but we did walk into the common room, and I put some more donations into a box. Donations that would go to the hospice ward, and help keep it going.

 To our surprise, one of the nurses told us that this department is probably the most "loss making" and underfunded, for there are many more nurses to each patient and a lot of the equipment that are used are much better than the wards on the lower floors. I wanted to already, and I will do it soon, but I intend to write to the director of the hospital commending the staff at the hospice for their exemplary work and efforts, and hopefully motivate the hospital to dedicate more funding and resources to the crucial the end-of-life health care system.

We also met the doctor who was responsible for monitoring mum's day-to-day condition at the hospice. Gratefully, I bowed and thanked him again and again for making mum's final journey a peaceful and relatively easy one. He and the nurse told us that we have been wonderful with our mothers, and that they learned a lot from us and our dedication to mum as well.

Nightfall

"Now that your friends are gone, you have to be strong..." my brother said to me before heading to his room. I was surprised by the comment. But then again, death brings people together, death brings out the humanness and unexpressed words in people. Death cements love in a whole new way and at a whole different level.

Yes, after my ex left, another dear friend who came to visit for a couple of days, left this afternoon. And after a week of being surrounded by people, after a hectic week of funeral arrangements and rituals, it has suddenly become so quiet. I knew this was coming. I knew after being surrounded by visitors, mourners and friends, there would be a moment of quiet. Sad quietness. Lonely quietness. Quietness that eats the heart. Quietness that before would occasionally be broken by mum calling my name or her moving about in the kitchen or in her bedroom...

We spent the evening watching a movie I picked up the other day on the recommendation of a friend of mine. "Seven Days in Heaven" it's called, a Taiwanese black comedy that aims to portray and mock a lot of the local rituals surrounding death in the family. My friend told me it would be a cartharsis and good way to begin purging our emotions after two emotionally charged two weeks from the moment mum passed away and to bidding farewell to mum just two days ago.

It was, and at bits made me smile at the ridiculousness of a lot of rituals, and made me glad that our own funeral was less complicated and less regimented, and that we were not completely bound to the pressures of following traditions and the word of the elders in our family.

Even so, the final scene moved me so, and gnawed at the fears and pain deep inside. You see the daughter, who throughout has been so brave and so strong, so stoic and kept her sanity in the face of insanely long and at times absurd rituals, break down. She breaks down because for a split second or so, a memory, a thought of her late dad crossed her mind. But that split second was good enough to create an outpouring of tears for an hour and a half.

That could be me.

That could be me at any point, at any place.