Brief stop in the UK

Just finished with a whirlwind visit to my friend's parents. At first I thought it would be awakes, but turned out to be quite lovely. Nice conversation over a traditional English roast dinner (Yorkshire pudding, peas, gravy and all!), and we continued after dinner into the night, till after 11 before hitting the sack.

Conversation centred around travels, wonderful  experiences and grievances overseas, and of course landed on dealing with illness and loss. Those years with mum really taught me a lot, things that cannot be learned in books but life experiences have added such depth and understanding of how to cope and react in times of distress and helplessness. It is a gift, in a way, one learned through tears and much pain at times, but a gift of experience that I am so happy to pass on to those who are going through the toils treatment.

There were moments I observed her silently. Behind the natural wrinkles and spots of old age was a human being trying to deal with a harsh reality, one that till just a few months ago was unthinkable. "Why me?" She said, as would many cancer patients having to deal with the emotional toll that more often is weightier than the physical. "Ive always been so well, never sick..." Yet our bodies, our fates, our lives are always changing and never predictable. What if it were me? How would I cope with it? Would I be so calm and collected as I am facing the illness of people who have succumbed to cancer around me? The dad admitted to me as he took me to the airport station later that it has been hard dealing with the emotional reality.

I brought liquid propolis spray , thinking that perhaps my friend's mum would be getting sores on the insides of her cheeks after treatment. Sure enough, she said she started feeling some aches in the middle of the night, and the spray seems to help immensely.

In the morning, I saw strands of hair in the washroom, and earlier the mother spoke about her fear of losing her hair. I remember it was one of the great fears and sources of distress for mum, and my mind flashed back to memories of me frantically sweeping the floor when she's not watching so she doesn't see she's losing hers (luckily, in a sense, she never lost it all, it only thinned somewhat). Hair is for women, in particular, such a defining characteristic of womanhood.

As I said goodbye, I kissed her on the cheeks and wished her well. I would have wanted to give her a hug, but then would have to overcome that British awkwardness with showing too much emotions.

I wish the words could do more, say more than the mere words of "take good care".