Visitation

There she lay, in a beautiful,  elegant black dress. Thick makeup,  wig, eyes closed. I stood there before her,  as so many stood before her open casket quietly. Our dearly beloved, a caring,  warm, kind and so loving person, now a cold corpse. It's surreal. It's cruel and hard to get your head around.

I've yet to really shed a tear. Ive gone through , been that stoic,  strong person,  at least on the outside. But I fear it's just a matter of time.

Several came up to me and asked if I'm family , hugged and comforted me as if I were part of the family. I feel like an intruder,  but the real family as really taken me in  as if I were part of their own, even though I've only known them and my late friend for just over two and a half years.  But how I've received such kindness,  such love and care from her... Like an older sister or loving auntie I've never had.

I was asked to help carry the carry tomorrow/in 5 or so hours... A great honour，a solemn walk with the loved ones and our dearly departed till her final resting  place... Perhaps this explains why I cannot sleep, even though it's been such S long and tiring month of hospitals and work, and seeing her gradual decline...

The departed...

My friend passed at 01.58, around two hours ago. I was still awake when I received the text from her husband, just setting the alarm to wake up early in the morning to see her. There's no need anymore.

I feel deep down a sense of guilt... had I stayed longer, spent more time with her! Had I followed that gut feeling I had when I left the hospital this evening and stayed around! But what would have happened would have happened, whether I was there or not. She chose to spend her final moments with her beloved husband, took off the breathing mask that was keeping her alive  after the last of the friends and family had left the hospital.

The last thing I said to her was "Relax... It'll be ok" (放鬆，沒關係...) The past couple of days I kept on saying to her, in between those rare moments of consciousness, "Relax...", in Mandarin, because earlier her husband told me that was what she had said to her father as his time drew near. Somehow, in my mind, speaking to her in Mandarin, perhaps the only person able to do that in these final few weeks and days, was supposed to reassure and calm her. I could only pray that my words, those words, gave her the comfort and soothing effect I intended them to have...

Could I have said more? Done more? Spent more time with her? Now that she has departed, the questions are coming... While others were able to joke and make her laugh, all I could do was hold her hand and be there, fan her and do what she needed to keep her cool. Perhaps I should have asked what she wanted, but I was afraid to broach the subject of death and dying. For she had such hope, such longing to keep on fighting, to battle the cancer till the end. I was afraid to upset her, and her husband, by talking about the possibilities and opening up about acceptance and making peace with the inevitable.

There were signs, I saw them. Was it just instinct, or from experience? Or from the honour of attending that "Conversation" the doctors had with her husband, which I was pulled into for moral support and "just in case" he could not digest what was being said. I somehow had a feeling, but kept quiet. All I could do was visit whenever I could, spend time there to relief the husband so he could go home and rest or run errands. Perhaps I could have done... But all those questions are moot.

Over the past couple of days, friends and her husband's relatives poured in from near and far. We were all united by her ability to touch our lives, by her inate ability to make us laugh. She was a strong, and at time stubborn person, who stood for justice, who would not take nonsense, who cared so deeply, deeply for cats and all the persons she encountered. Whether colleagues, homeless people, loved ones, feral cats... we are all united by the fact that she touched our lives and made our lives all the more richer and warmed with the care and love she showed us.

That love is now gone...
She is no more.

But her suffering, the pain and great discomfort she has had to endure are also no more.

I remember telling her one day to "forebear", a word I used with my own mother.
In many ways, there are similarities between that experience almost 5 years ago and the past two weeks. 
The breathlessness, the loss of appetite, the slipping in and out of consciousness, the need to rest and constant fatgiue and restlessness... There were all these signs. 

I went in and just stood there or sat by her side. That was all I could offer.

On my birthday, I dressed up in a nice shirt and went to see her in the morning. She was perkier that day as the breathing tubes were removed the day earlier and she was much more comfortable. And that day she was scheduled to have her feedbing tube removed. I told her how much I wanted to be with her on my birthday, and how she should not worry about taking my time (or the fact I cancelled a work trip to stay with her). She wanted to listen to stories of my time in Israel, and she was very alert that day as I narrated my experiences... how I encountered questioning upon departure at the airport, how I went into the Palestinian Territories and lit a candle for her at the Nativity Church, how I got her all these goodies (honey and dates and pine nuts) from Israel so she can enjoy them when she goes home...

Later, when she had her feeding tube removed, I  jumped on the occasion to make her something special. She said she wanted congee, so I made congee out of 5 different kinds of grains, steamed an egg and red beets, brought seaweed and olives, sliced up some ginger... and made a pineapple, blackberry and raspberry smoothie. A great big feast.
But it was all devastated by a chat with the oncologist who said despite her perkiness the prognosis has not improved.

And it all went quickly downhill... I did not visit the day after my birthday (21 Feb), but did visit today (23 Feb), when she was obviously struggling for breath and panting profusely. There were so many waiting to see her and spend time with her, so many we were taking turns, and in between sitting in the waiting room reminiscing what a wonderful lady she is and how she, made us laugh with her unique character and personality. Strangers bonded by this lively, jovial and spirited person who touched our lives and touched the lives of so many she did not know, including the dozens of kitty cats she rescued and nursed back to health...

To me, she was like an older sister, perhaps even a mother. When we first met, I remember she said a special (?) person would come into her life, as her tarot card readings had predicted that. Friends joked and asked whether they have adopted me as the son they never had. She often called or texted to ask me how I'm doing, how work is progressing. .She and her husband have been inviting me to all the big holidays, because they know I'm all alone and feeling crappy during these family events. She made me feel less like an orphan, she cared, genuinely cared and loved me... What brief time we knew one another, she made me  heal and feel cared for again more than anyone has been able to since mum left... I may not realise the pain and loss I truly feel until later. I've been able to be strong, but for how much longer...?

Now she joins the countless cancer warriors, like the friend who passed two weeks earlier, joins her beloved parents and uncle whom she cared for till the very end... joins the cats she has cared for till their final moments.

I was not there, but I imagine she had a peaceful passing, and is welcomed in wherever beautiful, loving, caring souls go after leaving the world of pain and suffering and drudgery in the hospital intensive care ward.

Cancer steals from us again, but cannot and can never rob us of our memories and love for the dearly departed...

A day in February 2017

Hospitals... such a hub of activity, sometimes joyful,  but more often than not a place you visit when someone is ill, or when your are yourself ill. The incessant background noise, the code blues, the whirring and wheezing of machinery, beeping of monitors,  the heaving of sick patients, the tears and sobs of loved ones. It's not a place for the faint of heart. It's a place I dreaded stepping into for so long after mums final visit , a place of sickness and death, of pain and suffering... But also a place of love,  and hope. if there were no love,  no hope,  what else is there to life? 

It's coming  up to two weeks since my friend has been admitted to hospital. Much of last week she was heavily sedated and there were talks she would not last long. It's been heavy, for the husband especially,  and for the friends and colleagues who love and care about. She's still in, intubated and unable to speak, reddish fluid, probably toxic and putrid with cancerous cells and growth, keep draining her lungs. There's talk of removing the tubes now that she's more conscious,  and seemingly stronger,  but there's the fear she won't be able to breathe on  her own now that one lung has completely collapsed,  and the other is punctured. All the while,  tumour growth keep multiplying and producing fluids that build up and must be drained,  otherwise it's like the person is drowning on  the inside. 

What cruel, unimaginable twist in the story did some mighty being add to torture such a beautiful soul? Why all this pain,  this suffering, and the constant struggle for life at an age that in today's day and age is still so youthful and the prime of someone's life? 

It's hard to watch her in such a state,  for she's always been a vocal, lively lady,  so full of life,  full of love and always caring about others-- about me, for since we met, she's always had a soft spot for me and seen me as an "orphan". There's really little I, or anyone else,  can do but be there. Wait, watch,  keep her company,  remind her in her waking moments we are waiting and there with her every step of the way. Hold her hand, stroke her arms and legs and let her know again and again we are there. Though we cannot take away the pain,  the anxiety or agony,  we are there with her. 

 

I was supposed to go somewhere far for work, but I cancelled (though after days of struggle, trying to convince myself that work is far less important than life and friendship, even though I knew deep down inside what I wanted all along). My boss told me how he admires me for my humanity, for my strength... but would not everyone do the same for a friend or loved one in need? My only regret js not being able to see roos and koalas again. But they're around and not threatened. My friend may not be for ever. 

It's a beautiful day out today, and I find myself sitting on a park bench writing this, sitting under a column of vines, in a setting that, before sitting down,  gave me a flashback to the park and vines next to the hospital mum (and dad)  was at . Different times,  different people in my life... but all the same,  facing death, confronted by illness, fighting f-ucking cancer and all the nausea,  pain,  suffering and hopelessness and all the rest of it. Am I stronger? Better prepared and collected?  Is that my "gift" to be able to sit there and calmly hold her hand and not (or at least barely...) flinch with every dire diagnosis?

all the while,  the world keeps spinning and turning and life moves on.