I spoke about what happened then. The words came out and then broke as the images and memories flowed in my mind. The way it ended... The way mum was that last day or so. The last thing mum said to me... It broke me almost trying to remember.
How did I put that all away? Did I consciously try not to remember? Did I try to forget? The monk asked me how it was, that final day... I remembered her last words to me were to go eat something after I'd just gotten up. It was such a rough night, and I couldn't really rest till after three in the morning. I wanted to be up when the nurses and doctor came, but I was too tired. Had I done that, maybe I would have had more moments with mum when he was conscious.
The caregiver we hired told me that mum was struggling that morning around five. She asked mum whether she should wake me. Mum said no, mum wanted me to sleep. I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anything. I missed moments with mum when she was in great discomfort just a dozen or so hours before she left this world...
I stayed around mum the whole day. I hesitated going home to rest. Did I even go home to rest? I don't remember now...
All I remember is what came after that. I was having dinner, was watching Doraemon, I believe, like every evening around dinner time next to mum's bedside. Her breathing slowed down. I could tell because the whole day her breathing was laboured and loud. I called brother to ask him to come.
Slowly mum's breathing slowed. I sat by her side the whole time. I held her hand, I stroked her face. I spoke to her. I told her to let go, to let go of this sick and weak body, to let go of this world that has grown so tiring.
Mum was in my arms when she passed away. Her mouth was half open when that gargling sound, the sound of death escaped her throat. I did not cry. I gave her a wry smile, as I promised I would in a letter I wrote earlier that afternoon. I said I would smile because the cancer is no more, because the suffering is no more.
Her body still felt warm. It would slowly, slowly turn cold. I did not cry. I kissed her cheeks goodbye. I did not cry. I helped to bathe her one last time. I did not cry. I dressed her in an outfit I had chosen for her. I did not cry. At least not until much, much later...
I did not cry as I recounted the events. I could so easily cry, but I felt again, like so often in the past year, that I was an observer, like I was only watching everything take place. Again, like an observer observing from afar, I felt oppressed and this pinch of sympathy and compassion for myself , for how difficult it all was, how trying, how overwhelming to experience it all. I shuddered as I spoke. My words and voice broke as I spoke, as if it were difficult to empty these memories, as if it were difficult to recount those final moments with mum.
But Little by little I am getting better. Little by little, with encouragements and care, reminders of all that I've done for mum, of all we have experienced together, of all the travels that make so many envious of the bond between mother and son, I am getting better.
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