I never imagined it would be so painful going to see mum again. I started crying as soon as I saw her little shrine... The pictures of mum, one smiling on the train, the other of mum laughing because a cat climbed on her shoulder, made it more unbearable. The gilded maple leaf and the pink tulip are there with her, reminders of the Canada she so enjoyed visiting and the Netherlands she so loved living in.
I promised her i would be strong, and that I'd be happy and go be myself. But truly the loss of a parent cannot be easily consoled, the pain cannot be easily soothed. And the void inside cannot be so quickly filled. I promised mum I would not cry, that I would be strong and find myself again. But truly, my body and mind is so tired, so very tired, and therefore so very weak.
I wiped away my tears, knelt on the floor and bowed deeply. "Be well, mama, be happy..."
The waves are jumping in the wind, flying and tumbling and roaring as they crash their way onto the tranquil shores... Such roughness! Such turbulence!
It's almost been a month since I put her to rest. I miss mum, more and more so, and more and more I feel an emptiness grow and grow inside me... An emptiness like no other that is causing me much grief and to want to withdraw.
After the failed attempt to bike around the island (and the great personal disappointment in failing to realise my dream...) and the emotional journey to mum's hometown, I feel a sudden urge to go see mum (or perhaps let her "see" me...). I want to let her know despite a lot of setback and repressed emotions, I'm hanging on, and that I will be alright. My heart may be heavy, my body may feel so tired and listless, but I will pull through somehow. I know I will.
And I want to mum things that I want her to know, and to ask her questions that only she can answer, even though she is no longer around...
It will be another emotional affair and perhaps painful experience. But as someone reminded me a day or so ago, this is only the "VERY" beginning of losing someone, really losing someone. This is not like losing a friend or losing a lover... This is losing a part of your life, a part that is so fundamental to who you are and how you grew up. The pain and loss will get worse before it gradually, gradually dulls, I know. I know.
And however fatigued and drained I already am after the months leading up to mum's death and the weeks after her death, I need to toughen up and be prepared.
I dragged my feet and only at the very last moment did I press "delete".
Deleted were all her personal data, her email account, her Facebook account and her skype account. Deleted were all the music I uploaded onto the pad for her, music that would make her calm and less bored at the hospital, music that would send her to sleep.
Deleted were the pictures I uploaded onto her pad to remind her of just a little bit of what wonderful trips she made throughout her life time.
Deleted was all trace of mum, as If she never existed. Deleted forever, never to be retrieved. Gone.
I touched the screen gently, and closed my eyes... She once swiped her fingers across the same screen. She once scrolled up and down Facebook pages of her grandchild... She once looked into the camera and smiled and smiled as she video chatted with my brother and his family...
I bought the pad for her, especially for her. But now she's gone, what use is this pad now? I have no use for it, even though I remember at the time when I bought it for her (really, it was for her...) I told her I would take it with me when she no longer needs it (so she wouldn't nag about how I'm wasting money...). Now she no longer needs it, and I have no use for it. Looking at it, using it would only bring back painful, painful memories...
Brother choked on his tears as he mentioned how he and mum went to the restaurant together sometime last year. It would be his last time with mum. "We sat over there..." he said and pointed to a table behind us.
"And I sat with mum there," I said as I pointed to the table next to the one he pointed to. Last time mum and I went there was in February. Just after a visit to the hospital in southern Taipei, I believe it was after a routine check up after her CyberKnife treatments. I mentioned the Thai restaurant as it was on our way home. Mum agreed to go. And surprisingly she ate quite a bit, even though she had been vomiting for some time already.
Tonight I suggested to brother to go to the same restaurant, knowing fully well that the place has a special place in our hearts. Mum brought us there first over ten years ago. We fell in love with Their shrimp pancake and water crest with shrimp paste. These are two dishes we order every time we frequent the restaurant. And we ordered the same dishes today as well. A tribute to mum, in a way.
Mum was on both our minds.
Mum is on both our minds...
I first watched this movie with mum when it premiered on tv over four months ago. A bitter sweet comedy with some dirty jokes and a dose of romanticism and reality.
I am watching it again now, or at least parts of it. It seemed like such a long time ago, sitting there on the sofa of mum's private hospital room. Mum was still relatively alright back then. She could still get up and out of bed on her own, even though her health was already steadily declining due to the fact she had not properly eaten for weeks at that point. I remember watching the movie, feeling a bit awkward when there were sexual references and scenes of masturbation, and I remember laughing at the funny bits, and turning to look at mum who also smiled quietly.
We watched the movie till the end together, which was a surprise, because the movie was over two hours long, and by the time it ended it was already past eleven. She turned to me when the movie ended and said: "This is how it was in those days..." By "those days" she meant the days of her youth, the days of her high school years when girls and boys beginning to discover one another, but are still too conservative to make moves. I remember thinking to myself how lovely it is for mum to have a look back at her youth...
I watch the movie by myself now, sitting in the living room all alone. Mum's portrait and dad's portrait are the only signs of company, for my brother already retreated into his room (which was mum's room...). Back then, just four months or so ago, I could reach over to touch mum whenever I wanted. And I believe I even massaged her arms and legs, as I did nightly before bedtime. Back then, she spoke to me when I spoke to her, even though her voice and lifeline was already weakening. Now when I speak to her, there is only a deadly silence...
This bitter sweet movie is bringing me bitter sweet memories...
