Flowers

I picked white lilies, white roses, pink lilies and some pink carnations. They made beautiful bouquet.

Mum would have liked the flowers, some are her favourite. I imagine she would give me a scolding if I gave her the bouquet, but I also know she would probably be touched and smiling inside.

"Beautiful flowers... Who are they for?" The nice florist asked as she carefully arranged them.

"for my mum..." I said, though with some hesitation at first, for I felt I was lying even though the truth is they really are for mum.

"She's a lucky mother. And you're a good son..."

I smiled, and said nothing. Was I, was I really?

The flowers are more than the scenery and beauty they bring into the room, they are more than just a symbol of remembrance as I commemorate one hundred days since mum's passing tomorrow. The flowers are from me to her, to tell her how I miss her, and how even she is no longer around, she is still my mother...

Checking out

04052012.1345

We fought in front of mum, which I know is not pleasant for her to see. In the chaos of checking out the hospital, with so many things to pack, and documents to sign, bills to pay for, and follow up appointments to be made, it did not help that brother made a fuss about what happens after mum returns home.

"I can't take care of her! I don't know what to do!" he kept on saying.

I got upset. "What about me? Did I know what to do? You just learn as you go along!" I retorted, "I can't believe that you two cannot manage to take care of mum when I managed by myself all these months!" I know, it doesn't help to deescalate the situation, but it's been bothering me. He's not even tried to do much since he got back home (admittedly, he was struck down by the cold, but still, he has so far done sorrily little for mum or spent much time with her.

As brother and I exchanged words, mum lay languishing in bed, in great discomfort. I didn't expect him to miraculously know what to do, nor did I expect him to give mum (frankly...) the same level of attentiveness and care I give her. But I did just want him to take some initiative. Take some Initiative, not just be away with his family in another part of the country while mum needs support and as I am about to leave.

Brother got upset when I shouted back at him, something I rarely do. And he started to just throw things around as he packed them. Very mature. "Is this how you want to be?" I asked him, "How can you make mum so insecure and feel some uncomfortable about going home, when she's been so looking forward to returning to the comfort of her own home after being in hospital for so many weeks?"

The main problem is that we've gotten used to having a 24hr carer over the past two weeks. She has even exceptionally good at making mum feel assured, and making sure mum eats and gets up to exercise and walk about at regular intervals. And importantly, the carer could help mum go to the washroom and shower, which can be an awkward experience if I or brother both boys, were to do it. At first we thought that perhaps she could come back home with us, at least for a few days for us to find another live-in carer, but her agent refused to let her go home with us, and arranged for another shift at the hospital as soon as they heard mum could be discharged. That was the reason for brother's panic. he even proposed that mum stay in hospital a few more days so we can take advantage of the carer in the hospital, which was ridiculous, as mum, if she could and had the energy to, would sooner jump out of her hospital bed and rush home. She has been so looking forward to going home!

But panic, and a bit of angry goading from me, is good. Brother got on the phone and started calling and making arrangements, trying to get ahold of human resources agencies who could dispatch a carer within short notice.

I sat with mum and tried to reassure her it would be alright, told her not to be afraid. Deep down, I was planning to change my departure if need be, to stay around to help out more so brother does not become overwhelmed and lost.

We wheeled mum out the hospital, the first time she breathed fresh air, the first time she left the hospital building since she checked in on 20 March. She was very frail, still very weak. I held her hand throughout the ride home. "Almost home," I told her, "it's been far too long..."

When she got off the taxi, there was a step, and she could barely make that step. Her legs had really very little strength, her body had very controllability. It was then that I saw she really needed help, and that it would be a long, tricky road ahead for her to recover and be well enough to walk around on her own. If ever.

We put mum in her own bed. I had rushed home straight from my trip south and before I headed to the hospital to tidy her room a little and make it presentable. Most important of all, I put the mattress top I bought her clandestinely over her bed and under fresh, clean sheets. I hoped she would not notice, but how could she not when there's an obvious difference in "elevation" between where there is a memory foam padding and where there is none?

"What did you buy?" mum asked as she lay on it, "How much was it? How much?"

I didn't answer her question, or at least I answered her with a question. "Is it comfortable? It's supposed to support your whole body so you feel less sores and pains." And that is all that matters, however many times she asked me the price, and even saying she would go back to that store to check the price on her customer records.

"It doesn't matter how much. You're home now and I hope comfortable..."

New bike

Rarely do I buy myself something big, but this year I wanted to buy something for my (planned) upcoming trip: a bike.

I've been looking around and comparing prices, and found a Giant dealership nearby which give me everything I needed at a 10% discount. I bargained hard, and that was the best they could offer me, but the guy and his mother did offer me many useful tips on how to survive the long road trip.

So I went to pick up the bike today, a beautiful and speak black bike with blue lines. I added all the essentials: a carrier bag, lights, tool kit, bottle holders (two, because there are sections where there are no shops for dozens of kilometres...). And for the first time I bought a helmet, a bike jacket, padded biking pants, gloves, and even fashionable sunglasses. All together for around NT$ 28,000 (some $950). It's a lot of money I'm spending on myself in one go, but there are organised bike tours that charge that amount, if not more, and in the end you don't have a bike.

I happily rode my bike, the first 1.5km home. Mum greeted me, and i showed her my latest purchase. On the way home I bought some red bean soup and bean curd dessert, and gave some to mum as a little dessert.

She ate everything quickly. But within minutes everything came out quickly as well...

She held onto the toilet bowl and vomited again and again. "I'm so bad," she said apologetically, "That's the freshly squeezed juice from lunch..." It was so painful, so very painful to hear mum blame herself for vomiting...

Just as I thought the vomiting stopped, she coughed a bit, and again rushed to the toilet. This time even more came out. Mostly liquid form, but she threw up at least five times, everytime endless flows of liquid and food just poured out. I patted her back, but inside felt such pangs of pain, such a deep, deep sense of helplessness... Everything it seemed came out. Mum washed her mouth, but there was even more to come. Something is wrong I fear with her digestive system. It has been over three weeks since she began vomiting almost daily, and just yesterday I was saying how she seemed to be getting better, she apparently is not.

Weakened, she sat down, looked so very tired... I too sat down, somewhat guilty at the excitement and happiness I felt on my first brand new bike purchase in perhaps fifteen years...

I looked at mum, who looked so unwell, who was struggling to open a little package of her herbal medicine with her now clumsy hands and fingers...

Can I really go on this trip and leave her here all on her own? Can I leave her at all...? My bike stood in the corner and no longer looked so new and bright.