Music

Once more, much of the food was untouched. We sat down to a quiet dinner, and seeing mum eat so little, how could I eat?

In the background, the stereo played one of mum's favourite music pieces. "The sound of bell emitted in the evening from an ancient temple" (古剎晚鐘) it is called. A beautiful recording of the chiming of bells and percussion instruments that evoke a feeling of serenity as well as awe. Mum said the music used to make her cry whenever she heard it. Sitting opposite me at the dinner table tonight, her eyes seemed to water.

She recounted the days in the past while dad was still around. Though they did not speak much to one another, it was still somewhat 'comforting' to know someone is at home with you. After I am gone coming Saturday, there will just be an empty house.　

I really cannot say much, except console her by telling her that it will not be that bad. There are plenty of things she can do to fulfill her time... like do caligraphy writing and drawing, do TaiChi, and meet up with her good friends for a day of fun and food. She seemed to be less sad after I said that.

The soup became cold as we chatted. Mum recalled a CD which I had not had the opportunity to open yet. Perhaps I unconsciously dread seeing the contents... I first got ahold of it on the eve of dad's death. The doctors had burned a CD containing dad's medical records and X-Rays, which they wanted to show us. But dad passed away even before there was a chance to do so. Mum said she cannot bear to see those pictures, at least not yet. Her eyes watered as she told me that it was in January when they first discovered that the cancer had started to spread from dad's liver to his lungs. Then, there were only a few gray areas on his lungs... within a month those gray areas had become large patches of fresh infection. "How quick it happened... too quick..."

Speaking to mum in the past few weeks, I think dad's passing has had a great impact on her in many ways. Not just losing someone she's been married to almost three decades, but also a subtle realisation of the seriousness of her own illness. Before she would be unable to let go of her work and worry about all sorts of things, but now she is slowly realising nothing is more precious than dear life. Or at least, that is what she says.

I looked at her, and told her like I have repeatedly said many times before. Be happy... be happy and enjoy every moment that life has to offer. Everything else is but an extra.