How do I keep from crying?

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These days, I feel this heaviness in my heart, a heaviness that brings me close to tears. Someone I know wrote me an email and reminded me that it is still "VERY early days". This means the real mourning and pain is yet to set in. I realised today that it has only been a month and a week or so since mum passed away.

I watched a moving movie today, about an elderly woman and her final journey facing illness and death. It is moving especially because I saw and experienced that deterioration, that steady decline and move from a 'normal' functioning lady to one bound to a wheelchair and dependent on others. This is life...



Earlier I spoke to the priest who (claims he) can communicate with the deceased. I have not spoken to him since the funeral, which was almost a month ago. I asked him how mum was, and whether she said anything. And I told him about the dreams I had with mum in them.

"Your mum is worried about you..." he said, "She was especially worried that you went biking when the typhoon was approaching." I heard that and almost burst into tears. Whether you believe it or not (and I choose to believe), mum is still around and is still caring about me, looking after me like she always did. She is just not able to tell me so much in person, but she still looks out for me and worries about me.

"Don't be too sad and think of her too much," the priest told me, "The more you think of her, the less willing she will be to let go and leave this world. And she should move on." I know that. I know she should move on, and I also told her to move on. But I cannot control myself or my emotions. I cannot help it that many things I see or remember bring me such painful memories and bring me to the verge of crying... 

How do I keep from crying? Maybe I should just cry...

Dad's passbook

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When I was down in my parents' hometown, my aunt (dad's older sister) handed me a green booklet. It is dad's passbook from the year 1971, when dad was just 24.

He was in university then, studying Economics at what is now part of National Taipei University. There was a large deposit of over five thousand New Taiwan Dollars.

Broken

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"Auntie was broken..." In a four year old's mind, the world is simple and uncomplicated. Broken means ill, and my second cousin was referring to my mum when she went to see my mum at the hospital around a month and a half ago. "Auntie was broken, auntie was broken. And she's dead." It was a surprise to hear that word, first of all because she, a four year old, seems to understand already what dead means.

And it was a surprise also because for a long time seemed to be a taboo word. But that's what mum is. In the mind of a four year old, there are no niceties and pleasantries of euphemisms and trying to find words to make things sound less serious or severe than things really are.

 Dead is dead. "Auntie is dead. Like grandpa!" My second cousin lost her grandpa, my aunt's husband, back in March.

Nanshi

I began to feel pain in the knees about yesterday afternoon, and the left was more severe than the right. It's strange, for normally it's my right knee that aches when I bike. And last night, when I went to bed, I felt pain when I straightened my left leg.

I slept for over seven hours straight and was waken up by a call. It was my uncle, who had so kindly arranged for me to stay at a very luxurious hotel, which gave the the opportunity to have a nice soak and such long sleep (though, the sleep was disturbed by disturbing dreams...)

After biking for around twenty kilometers or so this morning I saw a bike shop and went in to get a knee strap. I only have, and didn't know I would need two for both my legs. The nice guy at the bike shop and I chatted a bit. It's hard to hide, especially with my bike and luggage carriers and flag of the shape of Taiwan, that I'm on a long bike trip. The guy recommended not only I get straps, but also get some glucosamine for my joints.

So i went to the pharmacy, and the kind lady there showed me some products. She suggested I stop biking altogether, to prevent further staining u knee, for the pain is already a warning that I need to take more care... She gave me some painkillers and also additional sachets of glucosamine for free. "I'd give you an applause for your efforts but your knee is injured...!" she joked as she sent me on my way.

After a break at a convenient store just after leaving Miaoli. When I tried to walk and take the bike up a steep hill, my left knee felt so very sore. Unbearably sore... More so when I straighten my leg entirely. I walked on a bit more, and got on the bike to peddle for a bit, but the pain did not go away...

Then I are a sign pointing to a station. Curiously I went to the empty platform and coincidentally saw the bright headlight of a train coming my way. It was a train I needed. So I hopped aboard.

The pain truly is unbearable, and I really need to quit while I'm ahead to avoid a terrible I injury. Quit, at least for now...

Another funeral

The most touching, and also painful, memory, is when my (extended) uncle held mum's hand at the hospital and told her: "We have to be strong together... We are friends in illness..."

When I think of that scene, I can easily cry. Though he was undergoing treatment himself, he insisted on going to see her at the hospital. He was incredibly thin, more so than I remember him. Before he was so athletic, regularly went hiking and mountain climbing. When I saw him a he walked up to Mum's bedside, he was so frail, and a bit slow. Several surgeries in the brain weakened him, eroded him to just bone. And yet, he showed such warmth and such compassion. "Older sister, you are so much better than I am," I remember her telling my mum, "You only have one cancer to deal with. With me it's all over the place..."

My auntie (my distant relative's older sister) told me a story. When mum passed away, nobody dared to tell this uncle, perhaps fearing that it would sadden him greatly. But somehow he felt it, somehow he felt that my mum had passed away. He told his wife the news of Mum's passing, whereas nobody else knew at the time except for mum's immediate family members. Perhaps in suffering, perhaps in having this common illness called cancer, there

Tears

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I arrived at my grandma's place, but she was out at the market. the next door neighbour, a 93 year old lady who had poor eye sight, heard my voice, she immediately recognised me as my Mum's child. "Did your mum come back?" she asked.

"She returned..." I quietly said. "returned" being a Taiwanese euphemism for passing away, returning to the heavens from where we all come from.

"Returned to Holland?"

"No, she returned..."

The old lady, her face full of wrinkles, raised her hands to her eyes and broke into tears when she realised what I meant. "So young... She used to come visit every so often, and was always so kind..." The sadness and pain kept on building up throughout the day. "She was so kind..." Yes, mum truly was, and every reminder of her kindness, every memory of her shared by Mum's family members added to the pain and sadness.

My grandma (mum's (step)mother) returned, and soon enough she was wiping away her tears as we sat down to chat. It was the first time i saw her since mum's passing. I too had difficulty holding tears back. "I didn't go to the funeral, because it's too painful... I was afraid when I start crying I won't stop..." she said, "I hope you can understand..."

I understood. What it must be like for a mother to lose a child, even if it's a stepmother. I looked at the empty chairs in the living room. Mum would sit on the chair opposite me or sometimes beside me whenever we visit grandma together. But today, it was just my grandma and me, and the sound of the ceiling fan cutting through the emptiness of the air.

Throughout the morning and even during lunch as we talked a about mum, my grandma went silent and shed tears several times. I sat next to her during lunch, so I could see clearly how tears streamed out of her eyes. What she must be thinking about... What she must be remembering about mum...

I went to see her by myself in the morning, for I had a mission. Mum had included grandma in her will, and it is Mum's wish to leave some money to her (step)mother as appreciation for bringing mum up. I went to my grandma's with a red envelop full of cash and I explained to her Mum's wish.

She became sad and did not want to take the money. With a shaken voice: "Her thoughts and kindness I have received but I cannot take the money..." We sat down and for a while went back and forth on the issue. I insisted it is Mum's will, but my grandma said she has means and didn't want to take anything. Her regret is that she did not have a last chance to see mum before she passed away, for my grandma was herself injured after a fall in the month of June. "Your mum was such a caring and filial daughter..."

"And like your grandpa, she really loved to travel, really enjoyed fine food. My grandpa was disabled from the waist down about fifteen years before he passed away. So almost as long as I could remember he would sit in this rattan chair and smile everytime mum and I went through the door, and cry everytime we left. Mum brought him his favorite foods everytime she visited. "And he could tell which food stall from another..." grandma said, "He could take one bite and know that where you bought the food. Your mum also had a fine taste for food. Like father, like daughter..." I smiled as I learned a bit more about mum, and also in a way about where I came from.

"I'm worried about you most of all, as was your mum..." grandma said. For a good while, she went on about how she was worried about how I will fare now that I am parentless. "You have no one to turn to now, so you have to be strong and brave..." Her regret is that she did not get to see mum before she went, for she herself was injured after a bad fall back in June. "You have to do good and not disappoint your mother..."
I nodded and said I understood.

I know myself how much mum (and dad) have given me, and how fortunate I am, even though they are no longer around. I know I am blessed, even though I can no longer turn to them for advice or call them up.

At one moment, I snuck away to let the pain and tears drain out of me. I wandered to a small temple close to where my grandma lives. In the basement of the temple my grandpa's (Mum's dad) memorial is sheltered.

I stood before my grandpa's little memorial plaque and held an incense stick and prayed. I shed more tears as I silently prayed: "Grandpa, now you and mum are reunited, I hope you will take good care of her, and show her the way..." in my mind, I saw my grandpa and mum, saw them sitting in heaven and laughing... It was a beautiful image, but also so very sad... So very sad.

Another victim

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He came to see mum at the hospital, I remember, back in April. Mum was on the eleventh floor, and I believe it was just after her digestive bypass surgery.

He is the younger brother of my uncle's wife (mum's first brother), so in a way, he's an uncle too, albeit a distant one. Growing up, when I was much younger, I would spend some time in the south, and this uncle would often pass by after work and bring lots of goodies and dessert. I remember him as a strong and athletic man, a medic in the air force, always so cheerful and energetic.

Cancer changed all that. It has been over a decade since I last spoke to him. I saw him once only in this period of time, last year and from a distance, as he was just about to leave in a car after going to see my grandma (Mum's side). I was shocked to see how thin he'd grown, and how on his scalp there are the markings of a surgical incision.

I had heard that he has cancer and has been battling it for several years, perhaps for longer than my mum. His is a rare form of brain tumour, and he went through several surgeries and treatments, but still the cancer kept coming back and getting stronger.

When he came to see mum, he sat down next to her and held her hand. "We must be strong together..." It was such a touching scene, and I was almost crying when I saw that. He said he's become a sort of lab rat, and the doctors are giving him clinical trial drugs at no charge. In his stage of advanced cancer, you just try to do what you can. Or as they say here: "treat a dead horse as if it were still alive".

Before heading down to the south, I called my aunt (my uncle's wife) to see whether we could get together with all of mum's siblings for a meal. She told me the news then. I was speechless.

But in a way I knew also its for the best, for he no longer has to undergo treatment and pain. The saddest is that he still has two young children...

Mum's youngest sister

"Even though she's gone now, you still have to come back and visit me..." my aunt said. There was sadness in her eyes, in her voice. She said she watched me grow up, took care of me when I was a baby, took me in whenever I visited mum's hometown. And throughout these years, mum's youngest sister stayed with mum on and off for extended periods of time to be there whenever mum was doing chemo. Though there are differences, I am very grateful toward her for her presence and help, even right up to the end.

We sat in my auntie's living room and chatted. She told me the story of how she got her new TV. "It's because of your mum..." Mum came here sometime last year, and stayed a night. When mum saw that the old TV was displaying images double, she urged her sister to get a new TV. So she did. When it was delivered at the end of December, my aunt rushed to the north, to Taipei, to be with mum as she was admitted into the emergency room for spinal surgery. So for a long time, the TV was unopened because I was with your mum at the hospital..."  Every thing holds a memory, everything, if you think a little, can be tied to mum and to a memory of when she was still around... This trip to mum's (and dad's) hometown will be an emotional and difficult one. Today mum's sister, tomorrow mum's (step)mother... I must be strong.

My aunt told me she saw mum in a dream. She grabbed a tissue as she told me about the dream. "Your mum was just in front of me, and I was talking to her. She did not say anything but she was smiling back at me. She looked peaceful and was healthy..." It is similar to a dream I had of mum, just three days or so after she passed away. I too saw her, smiling before me, in a dress I chose for her. 

"Don't be a stranger. Come visit and stay over, because you're always welcome here. You're far too modest and never want to trouble anyone. You're like your mum..." she said.

I smiled, but deep down, I was tearing. I am my mother's child, and now a motherless child.