Memories

I went back to the hospital that dad passed away in barely a week ago. This time, it was because of my mum, who has an appointment to undergo the second phase of her chemo therapy. She had to postpone it, because the funeral arrangements will most likely take up the better part of this and next week, and the doctor said he will schedule a time soon for her to go in and receive her injection of toxins necessary to kill those cancerous cells.

Hospitals are never a happy place. All those ill people and sick patients, the stale air, the masks, and coughing... it makes me feel somewhat just being in the hospital. Imagine how dad had to spend many, many hours and days at the hospital, and all alone by himself.

I heard more about dad's final days from my mum. Ironically, tomorrow dad would be going into the hospital for the second part of his treatment. He had so much faith in the doctors, but his body did not. His body failed him, and could not take the poison any longer. He was nauseatic and dizzy after the last chemo therapy session. He went home, and stayed in bed for almost ten days, throwing up and unable to eat or drink. Just the thought of food made dad sick and throw up. It was as if his body rejected the drugs intended to kill the cancerous cells that had spread to his lungs. And in doing so, dad's body could no longer cope and slowly shut down.

His kidneys were already failing, and his liver functions too. And he was getting extreme pains in the chest area, for his lungs had slowly begun to be infected with cancer. But even so, the when he was taken up in hospital, he would beg my mum to take him outside for a cigarette. She did as dad wished, but felt embarrased, as dad always chose to smoke on a terrace right next to a sign which explicitly says that smoking is prohibited. I went to that place, and stood there for a while, imagining dad puffing away at his cigarettes, his arm wired to the infusion tube. In the bushes I found a cigarette butt bearing the markings of his favourite brand.

Next mum took me to a place where dad once stood and waved goodbye to her at night. Whenever she came to visit, dad would tell her to go home and rest, worried that mum might tire herself out. Dad would accompany mum to the main door, and stand there while he waved goodbye. Once, he stood there, but could not hold his urine in, and had to urinate there and then. This happened a couple of times as his illness worsened in those final days. Dad was too embarrassed to tell anyone, too embarrassed to let others clean up after him. But if only he had realised it was only natural and nothing to be ashamed of...

Despite his ailing health, dad remained humble and grateful. Mum recalled conversations they shared while he was in hospital. He thanked her genuinely for her company, and for her support and care. Once, even though he was already so frail and so weak, he even got out of bed and thanked the doctors for their attention and treatment. By his deathbed, in those final moments as life slipped away, I held his hands and told me how thankful I am for his being and his presence.

According to Taiwanese tradition, the deceased would wander the world for seven days and not realise that he has passed on to another plane of existence. And on the seventh day, which is tomorrow, the dead comes back home to revisit family members.

Will dad come back tomorrow?