Brother tearing

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I saw him turn away for a few moments. I wasn't sure until he wiped the corner of his eyes. And when he turned back and tried to force a smile, I saw his eyes were moist and red.

What made him cry? Has brother been crying silently while I was away? He had just come to the hospital from home, where he slept. He found us on the rooftop garden. I was crouching next to mum, smiling I believe, and asking her what she would like for lunch. I proposed to go home and cook some fish soup and vegetables. Was that what made brother cry? Or perhaps the fact that I am finally back again, that I made it home, and that all that worry and fear of not making it back on time have been allayed made him cry?

It doesn't really matter what the reason was. What matters is that we are together as a family, and we will be together till the very end.

Back home...

It has been a  month, a month since I last saw mum, touched mum, hugged mum. I slowly opened the door to Room 20. Already during the long elevator ride to the twenty-first floor, my heart was pounding, my mind was wondering what I would see, how I would react to what I see. Nothing prepared me for the reality.

Things seemed to just happen, with nothing planned, nothing calculated. I opened the door slowly, and walked in. The first person I saw was the new carer, who sat resting on the sofa. Then I saw mum, who lay  on her bed and had her eyes open. She must have been counting the minutes to my arrival. Brother told me later that she was counting down the days till I arrived. And before I left home, I called to say I'd be there within fifteen minutes. Mum must have been watching the hands of the clock hanging on the wall opposite her bed.

Brother sat next to mum's bed. I approached him and wanted to hug him, but he was sitting down, and it was an awkward position, so instead I patted his back a couple of times instead. "I'm back... It must have been hard on you..."

Mum's eyes opened even wider seeing me. Everything happened so quickly. She lay in bed and barely moved, but she took her arms out from under her blanket. I leaned in close and wanted to hug her, but I was afraid also of crushing her under my weight. I put my arms gently around her, and it was then that I felt just how much she has thinned since I saw her last. I was afraid to hurt her, so I only lightly wrapped my arms around her and leaned  in closer to her cheeks. I pressed my cheeks against hers, and in her ear I whispered: "Mama, I'm back. I'm back. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long..."


We bonded starting with my long trek across half the globe to be back here. Fate was with me. In all my times of flying home, I have never landed at the downtown airport. Partly due to the prohibitive price of connecting in Tokyo to Taipei the same day I arrived (which was yesterday...), I decided to stay overnight and book a more affordable flight the next morning. As I was staying overnight, I decided to fly from Haneda (HND) to Songsan (TSA), which is downtown to downtown, instead of using the international airports which are both some distance away from Tokyo and Taipei. Fate was with me, for the very day I chose to fly into the downtown airport, Taiwan was ravaged by a terrible storm. The international airport I normally fly into (Taoyuan International, TPE) was shut down for several hours. Flights were redirected, baggage handlers could not go out to work because of lightning strikes. Passengers were stranded for several hours, some till midnight until the storm eventually died down. I was at the hospital within an hour of landing...

I carried very little to the hospital, and just had a plastic bag with me, albeit a big bag. I took out of graduation cap and placed it on my head. Mum smiled. She had seen pictures of me on facebook, but this is different. She could see me up close, feel the red and white tassel. She could (and did) personally wish me congratulations. I held her hand, stroked her head and her hair. "Thank you... thank you for everything you did to support me. This is for you, like it says in my thesis..." I hope she still remembers what I wrote on the acknowledgement page of my thesis, because this one is really for her. "The first degree was dedicated to dad. And this one to you," I said, "And if I choose to do a PhD, I wonder who I can dedicate it to. To my cat perhaps?" That made mum smile. When she smiled, she did not look like a patient. When she smiled, she was not afflicted by cancer. When she smiled, I do not notice the thinness of her arms, the dark tone of her skin, or the yellow hue of her eyes from jaundice... When she smiles, she is my beautiful mother as I will always remember her...

The nurses came in, a bunch of them. "You must be the second son!" Brother has been doing some broadcasting and prepared them for my arrival. "Your mum has been anticipating your return!" I was still wearing my graduation cap and leaning close to mum on her  bed. "Why, you two seem very close!" I was a little embarrassed.

That mum looks more ill than before did not escape me. I saw immediately she had trouble breathing, saw that her collar bones have now become clearly visible. I noticed how wrinkled her skin looks, how dry and also bloated her arms and legs were. From occasional grimaces and suppressed moans, I could tell mum was in some degree of discomfort. The details of her condition would be revealed later when I spoke to the doctor. "It's very unlikely she'll live more than three months. Two months, one months maybe. But every patient is different, and we will do what we can to make her comfortable..."

Nothing, not the feel of her bony arms, not what the doctor just told me, not the reality of mum lying in the hospice ward scared me or made me cry. It was not as I expected at all. Strangely, ever since I stepped into the hospice, I could only smile at mum. Smile as I rubbed her arms, smile as I stroked her hair and head, smile as I recounted my month away in Canada. Smile as I reassured her that I would be with her no matter what...





I stayed with mum the entire day and night

HND-TSA

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On board Eva Air plane which will take me straight to downtown Taipei. To my surprise, it is another Hello Kitty jet. Life is full of unexpected surprises...

A quick turnaround in tokyo, and now on the final leg of my journey home. This is such a difficult journey. My heart is racing and my mind is so agitated. The contrast of my feelings and the cuteness of the plane interior is extreme. I just got a reply from my friend, the one who has gone before down this difficult, difficult road of losing one's mother. She wrote: "... do not question the events, just live them. What has to come, will come."

What is coming? I think I know. I have been told to expect the worst. Brother said mum's condition has further deteriorated. She has difficulty eating, and half a bowl is already a lot for her. "Don't force her to eat, because she'll get very upset. Just listen to what she wants and accord her her wishes. Don't argue with her..." brother told me.

"And don't cry. It'll hurt her if you cry. If you need to cry, go outside. Don't be surprised by what you see..."

What will I see? How has mum changed since i was with her last? How will she has deteriorated that will make my heart break and me break down? I do not know. I do not know what to expect. But it will be a test... Test of my endurance, test of my faith and courage, and test of whether the teachings of impermanence and letting go is truly ingrained in me. Did the period of pre-mourning when I was back in Canada help?

I will find out soon enough.

I must remind myself that it is ok to cry (when mum is not around...). And it is ok also not to cry. I must remind myself that the absence of tears does not equate the absence of feelings or emotions. Instead, it may signify the ultimate level of serenity, reached when you know you've done everything you can with what the time and means you have been given. And I believe I have given mum everything I possibly could...

Whatever happens from now, whatever I see and experience just will be...
Whatever will be will be.

Mum's birthday

Mum sat quietly on her comfy chair as she made a wish.

"Don't say it out loud, otherwise it won't come true!!!" brother reminded her. I suspected the wish had something to do with us, the children ad grandchild. I can imagine mum wishing perhaps to live a bit longer so she can see us all settle down and be on the right track, especially me. Mum blew out the candle, and smell of a blown out fire filled out noses before the pungent sweet scent of the decadently appetising-looking cake cover with soft dark Belgium chocolate filled our senses.

I hugged mum's body as she was about to slice the cake. I know it's unusual, but I too made a wish, wishing her wish would come true so she can be happy and be at ease. I wished also that she can be comfortable free from much pain, that she can eat and recover.

We sat around mum, all us children and grandchild. The carer was a bit embarrassed to join us, but we insisted that also have a bit of cake.

Earlier in the day, as mum rested and sunbathed for the first time in weeks, clandestinely flowers were delivered. A massive basket of beautiful pink flowers, with a note attached, from no one other than my sweet little nephew.

" A-ma,

Very happy to spend A-ma's 60th birthday together. These are flowers i asked mum to order for me, Hope you will like them.

Loving you,
Xxxxxxx"

Mum kept on saying we shouldn't have, especially shouldn't have spent so much money. But I know, deep down she appreciates all the gestures, and that she is touched.

Diapers

I called my brother to the washroom. I thought I could do it alone, but I needed help. I thought I could pull up and straighten the diaper mum had around her hip, but mum had difficulty even just standing up from sitting on the toilet. I needed brother's help.

He came immediately. At that moment, for the first time ever, two sons helped their mother wear a diaper for bedtime. It did not feel awkward, it did not feel embarrassing. We are all family, we, a mother and her children, represent perhaps the closest bond there is. Mum panted as she struggled to her feet. I leaned in close and pulled her diaper up. Through my nostrils, I could smell the hospital still, that scent still lingering on mum's body, even though she showered just before leaving the hospital.

For all the things I can fault brother, of all the moodiness and impatience and his easy irritability, that moment when we brothers helped mum up on her feet and escorted her back to her bed was a beautiful shared moment and experience.

In that moment, I saw that brother can do things if he really tried. My faith in him, my ability to want to see the "goodness" in him were not wrong.

I later told him privately that this is exactly the kind of things I hoped he would do more of. He must try, and learn, or otherwise he'll never know and never really experience mum's life and illness; otherwise he'll miss out on a part of mum's life that is perhaps as important as traveling together and growing up.

Touching moments

I could not help myself even though I turned away and began to cry. The teardrop flowed down my cheek, even though I pretended it did not happen. I know mum saw it, and that she was hurting too. We were both hurting, both dreading the moment when we must say good-bye... Is there anything more painful than seeing your loved one cry and be utterly powerless to stop your own tears?

"You have been too good to me all these months..." she said, "Having a child like you is worth it all..." She shed tears, and it was so very difficult, so very painful to see mum openly cry. She does not cry when she is feeling pain, she does not cry when she feels so much discomfort. And yet I make her cry... I am making her cry!

I handed mum a tissue and wiped my own tears with my sleeve. "I just hope you are comfortable now you are back home again..." I choked on my words and had difficulty getting my voice out. I stuttered and croaked. "I just hope you can eat and regain your health. The doctor said that's the most important thing now. Eat and recover..." The doctor said so much more, but mum does not need to face so much when she has just overcome an almost six week stay at the hospital. Really, the most important thing is for her to eat, to rest, to eat and eat some more so that she can regain some of her lost weight and look healthy again. In the picture I took of her yesterday, one with me posing next to her as she ate perhaps two, three spoonfuls of noodles, you could tell mum lost a lot of weight... You could tell she's ill. She had the look my uncle had at my brother's wedding. A dazed, fatigued and tortured look. A painful look to look upon...

"I'll eat well and I'll get better. You've done too much for me to let it go to waste..." Mum likes the new mattress cover, and she said several times it's so comfortable and that she feels less of her sores. She kept on asking me how much it cost, and I kept on telling her it was deeply discounted. "The store lady was moved by my story, and she gave me great discounts. And she threw in the heart-shaped pillow for free!" What price can you put on comfort and good rest, I asked mum rhetorically.

"I'm sorry I've been moody and shouted at you, I..."

"It doesn't matter. It's all in the past..." I broke her off. Nothing matters. Nothing except mum being comfortable and at ease in her mind. Nothing else really matters. I have no regrets. The pain I feel is not from regret, but from having gone through so much with mum over the span of over four months. The pain comes from having pulled through, and to see her back home again. What will happen now, what will happen in two weeks, two months from now, nobody knows. The moments of frustration, anger, confusion and being so pushed to the limit... It's all gone, and we made it, somehow we made it. It is a joyful pain, but just as painful, just as heart-wrenching.

"It will be so painful to see you go. You've been here so long. You've done so much, and spent so much money..."

Inside my heart was shattering. I cannot imagine how it will be... Already I am crying, and I feel the tears are just beginning. "It'll be hard to go back, but I must. I promise I'll study hard and do well on the exam. And I'll go to my graduation." Alone, at least without any family present as I had hoped for, but I will go nonetheless.

Brother entered the room. "Mama, are you crying?"

Mum wiped her tears with her fingers. "Weiwei is leaving. It'll be so hard..."

"We're here..." brother said.

"But soon you'll leave too..."

With red and moist eyes, brother uttered the words with difficulty: "Sooner or later we will all leave. You will leave too..." My sister-in-law stood next to him and clung onto my nephew close to her chest. With a free hand, she wiped the corner of her eye.

My nephew giggled, and the mood and all attention turned. He wriggled in his mother's arms like a wriggly worm. He chuckled and seemed to find something so terribly amusing. Perhaps he was laughing at us "crybabies", for the real baby was not crying, but the four of us were. I laid down next to mum while my brother and sister-in-law stood at mum's bedside. I felt in that moment like the luckiest person, and was basking in the warmth of our bonds, our togetherness.

It was such a brief and rare moment, but it was a moment I could not have wished more for. Just the five of us, our whole family together, mum smiling at her grandchild, her children and daughter-in-law at her side. Such a beautiful, touching moment. Shame it did not come earlier, and that there are only two more days for us to relive similar moments together. But we had that moment, and it was so beautiful.

One day, we must all say farewell. But today is not that day, this moment is not that moment.

Musings on a rainy night

Just finished my studying for the night, and the time is a little past one in the morning. Rain is dropping and falling outside, splashing against the window with a melancholic echo. It has not stopped raining for two days...

For the last few days, since mum hired a 24hr carer to stay with her at the hospital, I have been visiting mum significantly less than before. Two hours, perhaps two and a half hours at most, in the evenings, when  I would go and have dinner with her. The rest of the day, I'm at home, studying, or trying to study, and trying to fight off wandering thoughts and fatigue.


I went to the hospital with brother in the evening. I was so lost as what to bring mum, and I really want to cook her something healthy. But she keeps on insisting that her carer will buy food from outside, and that the carer will know what to eat. Even so, I feel kind of guilty, as if I am "neglecting my duties"-- duties I have been shouldering for the past four months almost...

The other day, I brought mum some fish soup and little fish spawn, which are rich in protein. From that, a congee was made, and I served it warm to her for dinner. She gagged and vomited some stomach fluids upon smelling the fishy smell. My brother sat there and complained that I am feeding her things that make her vomit. I retorted: "Well, you cook for her then!"

There has been simmering tensions for a couple of days. While I'm busy studying, I still have to wonder what to bring mum to eat, what to cook for her, and worried about her wellbeing, whereas my brother watches tv all day, and visits mum for not more hours than I do. And mum has complained to me in private that when he visits, he sits there and plays his little games on his phone or touch-pad. Maybe that is his way of showing how he cares...

The other day, mum expressed her frustrations to me. It has been two weeks since my brother and his family returned home. I can count the days, perhaps even the hours, they have been to the hospital. To be fair, they were struck down by a bad cold last week. But since then, my sister-in-law and my nephew have been away in another part of the country, whereas brother is here, but hasn't really done much. In fact, the first week they were back, I hardly felt any difference, for I still had to stay at the hospital every single night until three days ago. And to think, before they arrived, I was consciously telling myself to "step back" and let them take over! To think, there are moments when I am so tempted to do something for mum, but just wait and wait to see whether my brother will notice that she needs help...

There is a reason behind my outburst at my brother earlier on. There is one thing he does well, and that is to sit there and talk about what should be done, but he does not seem able to raise a finger. I told him on several occasions since his return that after I am gone, it is up to him (and his wife) to care for mum, and to make sure that she eats well. "I don't know how to cook...", he says, "I don't know what to do and how to take care of her..."

"Well, learn!" I tell him, "How do you think I coped over the last couple of months?" Not to mention over the past three, four years everyt ime I was back here. Of course, mum's condition is much worse than before now, much worse than ever before, but still there are basic things he can do to make mum feel cared for, make her feel appreciated, and make her feel like his presence makes a difference. And I asked him rhetorically, "How can you two not manage to do what I managed to do on my own here in the past few months?"

I know I should not judge other people's standards with my own. But really, how difficult is it to go visit mum at the hospital, to talk to her, perhaps have a happy conversation about happy things? Why is it so hard to see when mum is in pain or discomfort and to massage her feet and arms whenever she scrunches up her face or groans? Again, I cannot judge my brother (or sister-in-law) for what they do (or do not do...), for as someone said to me (and without wanting to toot my own horn....), it is hard to live up to what I do for mum. But I just wish there were more interaction between my brother and mum. I just wish brother would take more initiative at doing something, instead of just sitting there, watching TV or playing games on his phone (admittedly, I did that too sometimes when I was at the hospital for long, long hours...).

No wonder mum is getting frustrated. She told me frankly the other day she needs rest and a peaceful environment to recover after she returns home. What she does not need to deal with is tensions or having to deal with bad attitude. And since what happened in Europe when she visited last year, she has been utterly disappointed and disheartened by my brother and his wife. So she already has preconceptions about what their presence here can bring, and she is not really enthusiastic about them staying here for the next two months or so. In fact, I have repeatedly tried to tell her not to have any predjudices against them, for what has gone by in the past is in the past. I have repeatedly tried to put in a good word for them and told mum they genuinely want to spend some quality time with her and do "something" for her, and I told her the importance of giving them a chance to prove themselves, before it is "too late". But mum seems unpersuaded. And my brother's behaviour (and sister-in-law's absence) since their return does nothing to improve mum's impression of them.

Ten more days, and I will be leaving. It is scary, and very sad, to think about that... Ten more days. How long I have been here already! How slow the days and minutes seemed to pass at times, but it is now already four months since my arrival, and I am soon to leave here. What is there still to do for me? What is there still for me do organise, to plan, to put into place before I leave?

I'm not sure how things will be without me here, but it will just have to be. Have I not done enough? Are my brother and sister-in-law not older than me, both by four years, are they not parents already? They should know best how to take care of someone, and how to be attentive to the needs of someone under their care.

I just hope that when I am gone, they will all manage to find a way to coexist, and that my brother and his wife will both find a meaningful role to play in the crucial stage of mum's recovery at home. I just hope that, as I imagined it, as I dreamed and hoped for, that this big effort to bring everyone together will not be ruined or soured by conflicts, tensions and frustrations.

For what a shame, a terrible, terrible regret it would be if perhaps the last long period of time mum has together with my brother and his family were to be marred by arguments and misunderstandings, or worse, them leaving here in a huff...

Return

Finally, the day of my brother and his family's return has arrived, and I spent a few hours preparing the house for their arrival in the afternoon. It was a clear evening, very hot and humid for a change. I made my way to the airport, and was excited to see my nephew again. It's only been two weeks, but it seems like everyday he's changing, everyday he's learning new "moves" and new ways to be cute.

Perhaps they are all tired from having flown almost half way around the world (and lugging no less than seven suitcases, not even counting the baby buggy and car seat...). It was a quite ride back into the city and home. With barely half an hour to rest, my brother and I made our way to the hospital to see mum, hoping she did not go to sleep yet.

Mum was of course excited to see my brother, and she smiled and smiled seeing him, though she kept on telling him to go home and rest. Brother hasn't seen mum close up for two months, and I think seeing her in the state she is in now surprised and silenced him (or perhaps he is just not very expressive and doesn't know what to say or do to show his care...?) He sat down next to mum's bed, and just sat and asked the "usual questions": how have you been? Have you been eating? etc...

 Perhaps I am too "demanding", and I cannot judge how someone behaves... but I wish brother could be more expressive in action. A stroke of mum's arm, a touch of her legs or feet, anything that comprises of a human touch can mean so much! But my brother just sat there and listened to mum describe how she has been. I lightened the mood a bit and in a funny way tried to capture how mum was sleep talking and how she managed to pull out her NJ tube the other day (even though at the time it caused me quite a scare....) And I joked mum is eating like my nephew, mostly liquids, and that she began to eat shredded bits of apple. Another way mum is like my nephew (though this is a bit dark kind of humour...) is that she has to wear diapers in the evening, just in case...

It was a short visit, for it was already half past ten at night. We walked home, and on the way brother asked me more questions... about how mum "really" is, about whether the doctor said anything about her other organs and the spreading... I didn't know what to answer him, except to tell him it is good that mum can drink a little already, and that she is not vomiting so much (though, in the early evening, she vomited another bagful, which was very painful to see again, for it has been almost ten days that mum has not vomited....)

I was very tired to reply... So tired for some reason. Not only did I sleep terribly last night, but I think I am also so tired of having to talk about mum's condition and all that has happened over the past two months. I know my brother is anxious to know, anxious to know details, but I am just so tired, at least at this very moment, to describe it all and go into details. Frankly, because it is depressing, it is so heavy to talk about... And to be honest, I have fears seeing mum have severe diarrhea and also  vomit so much (or was it just a one-off this evening??) that the surgery was perhaps a failure. If it is, what then? What then...? When can she go home? Mum was talking so hopefully that she can go home soon, but can she really if she continues to vomit and have bad bouts of diarrhea?

I don't know. But at least brother and his family are home. And it is comforting to see that. Comforting and beautiful to see that he and his wife are around, to see how supportive and important it is to have someone dear in your life to be with you at a difficult period of your life. And even better, even more beautiful is seeing my baby nephew again...

Letter

 With my brother and his family due to return tomorrow, I took some time to write to them.
It was a brief email, but the point was to remind them of how mum's condition has been, and to tell them that mum may be moody, mum may be sad, mum may even lose her temper and be very demanding... but she is still our mother, I wrote, and we have to be more compassionate and understanding, especially given the pain, frustrations and discomforts she has been going through (and still is going through...) for so long now due to her illness. Without trying to be or wanting to be condescending, I wrote reminding my brother, sister-in-law (and nephew!) the reasons why we are together for the coming period, and what we can do for mum:

To spend precious time with mum, to talk to her so that she will have no regrets or no anger,  to let her see and play with her grandchild...
We can let her feel that life is meaningful, we can make her remember that she can still enjoy life, go travel, and do whatever she would like to do...
We can remind her of the many places she has been to, remind her of all the wonderful things she has done in the past. We can encourage and support her so that she can find purpose in living again and make the most of her days.
We may not be able to cure her illness of take away all her discomfort and pains, but we can distract her and make her feel happy, maker her smile.
These are perhaps the best gifts we can offer her as children. 

I just hope they will be understanding and that the coming period will be a meaningful and memorable one, for mum, and for all of us.

Farewell, Little Rabbit...

I didn't get to see my nephew again before he left this morning, even though I had hoped that my sister-in-law would bring him to at least say goodbye to mum. But my nephew started sniffing earlier this week, so te planned trip was canelled, much to my disappointment.

My sister-in-law showed me pictures of him sitting next to a suitcase as she was packing, and today there was a picture of him at the boarding gate. So cute and lovely, so beautiful and heart-warming it is to see him, even if only a picture of him...

I followed my nephew's departing plane with an application on my phone. It's so strange to think that in that very little red plane is my sister-in-law and my nephew inching bit by bit away from me...

They have almost been back here three months (I have just passed my three months mark...). Where did the time go? How come everyday feels like it is so long and painful to pass for me? Is it terrible to envy them for being able to leave here, while I stay on and on till a date of departure yet unknown?

"Farewell, Little Rabbit..." I wishes him in my heart, "May the winds be with you! And may your mother have a good restful flight!"

Till very soon.

--

On the phone a bit later with my Brother I spoke to my brother. It may be no coincidence that his wife and child are returning to Europe to reunite with him on his birthday.

"Happy birthday," I said to him, "You're very lucky to have a wife and child. Treasure them dearly."

I meant what I said, and he said he understood.

Return

"I can't tell you when to book a ticket or when you should fly!" I said, for the n-th time. I know brother is concerned and that his concerns can only be allayed by news from me on this side of the world. But I really can't tell him, as much as I would like to, he can come back on this date and things will still be ok, and mum will still be around. Who knows that? How can I or anyone be certain of that?

Last week I spoke to him on the phone after the diagnosis that mum's vomiting is in fact related to the cancer spreading. I hinted to him, with the hope he would propose it himself, that he should come back for some time, to spend time with mum. I didn't say it, but he knew what I wanted to say: sometimes you have one chance in life, and if you miss it, you may regret it for the rest of your life. And spending time, precious, quality time with your own mother when you still have the chance is one such chance. Since then, brother's asked for (and gotten approval) an unpaid sabbatical from his work of three months, and I told him not to worry about bills and mortgage payments in the meantime, for I can take care of those. Nothing is more important right now than being there with mum at such a critical and touch-and-go period of her life...

Brother's been calling everyday, the most frequent he has ever contacted me in my entire life. I tell him what I know, and reassure him not to worry too much, and to focus on his work. I know it's hard, especially being so far away and worried sleepless, but I can only tell him things are being dealt with, and that it's best for him to return ASAP.

Problem is, my sister-in-law and nephew are still here in Taiwan, and they were planning to only go back to europe at the end of March (thus two days from now), before all this vomiting and the latest diagnosis.

This means they'll go back to Europe, and within a week or two (at most!) my nephew and sister-in-law will have to make the same long, long journey back. Not difficult for me, as I've done something as crazy before, but we're talking about a mother taking a baby who is just seven months old!

They must return to Europe, for there are some urgent matter to deal with. My nephew's vaccination is due in a few days, and my sister-in-law must start applying to renew her residence visa, or otherwise she'll have to leave the Netherlands (even being married to a local citizen!) And my brother has to arrange the house, arrange for his/my cat to be taken care of in his absence, and so many other things he has to do.

I know my brother is worried, because as far as he knows mum's doing very poorly, and he's heard it from me, and heard it from him wife, but he's not seen just how poorly mum has been doing. So naturally he's anxious and terrified, and I think most of all, of missing the opportunity to see mum and spend some time with her.
So he kept on asking me for a date to return, but I simply can't give him one. "Just deal with what you need to do, choose a date, and book a ticket. If circumstances change, then change your plans accordingly!"

What else can you do? I just find it so bizarre how some people, including my friends, just book a ticket and make plans well in advance and get so frustrated by changes in plans. Life happens, plans must adapt accordingly. What else can you do? Lament fate and the unexpected twists and turns of life and circumstances? I wanted to say to my brother "Welcome to my world! This is how my life has been for the last four years!!" For it's true. I come and go and stay without knowing when I'll come, when I'll go and how long I'll be staying. To be frank, I despise this kind of uncertainty, I really crave for stability and familiarity, crave for the ability to spend a few months, a year at a time at one place (for me that would be in Canada, with my little cat and friends...), but I've just not been able to do that. Is it by choice? Perhaps, for I can simply choose to stay put and not care about mum and just go do my own things. But I can't, I can't just "abandon" her, I can't just turn the other way and not feel at all conflicted or guilty...

So what else can you do but make plans, and wait and see. If it works out, great. If not, we can only see how things are or can be and decide accordingly when we get to a point when circumstances make us choose and make us prioritise. Not everyone (and I doubt anyone!) is free to live so meticulously and timely without the possibilities of unexpected changes occurring.

and especially in the face of the possibility of losing your mother, your remaining parent, I should hope that everyone will make changes to their plans and act accordingly.

Three sisters

Mum's second sister came up from the south, from the hometown where they were born and grew up together. Together with mum's youngest sister, who has been staying with us for almost a week, it was a beautiful reunion of the three sisters. 

I was embarrassed to be in the room, and said I would leave, even when they told me not to. I wanted to give the sisters time to bond and reminisce, time to talk and catch up. I imagine them once as little girls who grew up in a small town, who did everything together, who have gone through so much together growing up. How they must be feel now they have grown old(er), now that they have led such separate lives leaving home, how having raised different families and watched their children leave home to come together in one room years and years later as one of them is slowly, slowly leaving...

When my second aunt first came into the room  her eyes were a bit moist and red. Perhaps mum third aunt had told her pretty much everything. But nothing can prepare you for the real image, for the reality of seeing someone you grew up with lie there in a foetal position looking so sick, looking so thin, looking so frail... I stood around a little, and watched as they interacted and chatted. There was an extremely touching scene as my aunts sat around mum's hospital bed, while I sat next to her on her bed and massaged her feet. 

 The distance between their hometown of Chiayi and Taipei is only about two hundred or so km, and yet typical of Taiwanese warmth and hospitality, all the more because we are family, there were a lot of "greeting gifts". My second  aunt unpacked her suitcase (yes, a suitcase full!) of goodies, including fresh guavas, wax apples, egg rolls, cookies, and plums from their hometown. It really weren't the goodies that mattered, for all these things you could buy in the big city. But the thought, the thought that my aunt thought of bringing all the things that mum likes to eat, was touching to the heart.

"You didn't have to come so far..." mum said at one point weakly, "You must taken such an early train to get here..." My second aunt just smiled. I quickly joked: "Just shows how important you are!" which made everyone agree with laughter.

Later, they were joined by mum's oldest brother, who is staying in a ward right on the same floor, and also by mum's second (step)brother, who dropped by for a visit. Mum's youngest brother visited yesterday already, and he stayed for quite a number of hours. for out of the siblings, they seem to have the closest relationship.

So over two days the family has come from all over the place to rally around mum, to encourage her, to tell her to open up and not think too much. I have spoken to everyone, at times needing to fill in on the bits of information that mum may not be too willing to talk about or think about. I know it all is very heavy on everyone, but I try to tell it as calmly and clearly as I can, I try to tell them things are the way they are.

And I thank them, thank them again and again, for all the time and effort they put in to come and see mum, even though they 'chastise' me for thanking them for all the help they offer in so many ways. I know they are family, closer in some ways and in different ways that I cannot imagine, for they shared with mum a part of her life when I was not even around.

But I am still so ever grateful for their care, for showing mum their care and love, for being there to make her feel less alone, to make her feel that her life, what was, what is, and what will be, is worth every breath, is worth every day, every moment she is still with us...

Journey's end

Is there anything one could wish for than a beautiful ending?

Is there anything more beautiful than a dignified end surrounded by loved ones?

A whole lifetime of life... how do you make you that it does not become overshadowed by unbearable pain and untold suffering?

Those are the questions I have been asking myself, and asking others around mum. With mum's life signs fading, with her health and body gradually descending into a sorry and uncontrollable state of dilapidation, there are few things we as loved ones can manage or seek to change. But we can at least plan for an outcome that will hopefully defy all convention, and that will turn a solemn and sad final act into an experience, into a process, of beauty and dignity.

This is where the objectives of Operation Eternal Happiness and Operation Reunion converge...

Visit

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My sister-in-law and her family took an early train from another part of the country to come see mum. My brother's mother-in-law even took some time off work to come up north when she heard from my sister-in-law that mum is very thin and sickly.

It was a brief visit, less than an hour it lasted, but it brought many smiles to mum's face, even though she was very tired. My sister-in-law's family (including her mum and her two aunts) came and were very encouraging. None of that "you will get better" speech (which at times may be very disparaging and so fake to hear when everyone knows things may not get better....). They were there for just the right amount of time, and said just the right amount of words of encouragement and hope. They kept on telling mum not to think too much, telling mum that she is very brave and that she has done so much in life, least of all raised two fine children to be good people. What else does one want out of life? I squeezed mum's arms and winked at her, and gave her that "See, told you so" look.

The greatest source of mum's happiness and comfort, my nephew, was there too. He smiled when he saw mum, and made mum smile so much back, smile so much more than she has smiled in a long time. A true, lasting smile, or at least as lasting as my nephew was around, which was a priceless distraction from her pains and suffering.

There was a moment when my nephew's milk bottle was on mum's hospital bed. It was a bottle, just like the one that was hanging upside up in midair and pumping liquid nutrition into mum's veins. What crossed my mind, though admittedly it was a grim thought, was the contrast between beginning of life and the end of life... the stark, cruel, yet beautiful contrast between a (relatively) newborn and healthy child who is full of life and an ill and sad woman whose life is draining out of her body... She was once young and lively, and he will one day grow old and get ill too. The difference is in the timing, and somehow in this great big universe, my nephew and mum's lives have miraculously and preciously been destined to coincide.

My nephew jumped around and giggled, making everyone laugh and was of course the centre of much conversation. He has grown a lot, and grows ever more endearing that I am really falling for him and missing him when he is not around... So powerful the lure of a child's magical innocence and untainted beauty!

I played with him a bit, hugged him so tightly and rubbed my cheeks against his warm face. Temporarily I closed my eyes and quietly, from the bottom of my heart: "Thank you for making mum so happy... Thank you for giving us hope and strength.... Thank you for making me feel so loved..." He just looked at me an drooled and with his cute little fingers pulled at my face and of hair.

As intended, and as part of "Operation Reunion", my family was again brought together (though brother was sadly missing...) to make memorable memories. Memories that one day, when we look back, when some of us may no longer be around, can make us all happily reminisce with warmth in our hearts and smiles on our faces. And, as I wished, and I am sure that it is a wish mum shares though never really expressed, mum had the priceless opportunity to spend even more moments with her grandson, to see him laugh, to see him jump, to see him grow, and to see that he is surrounded and showered with love from so many who care about him.

All this is so very beautiful, so very, very touching...

Recall

Mum kept on asking me what brother wanted to talk to me about in private. I told her we want to discuss how to divide her assets (that was a joke...). The truth was I asked my brother to talk this weekend, to have a serious talk about what steps to take to deal with mum's deteriorating condition, and the possibility of the end of her long journey. Be prepared is what our conversation was about, and it was perhaps the calmest and most serious conversation we have had (ever?).


My sister-in-law came to visit today for a couple of hours at my urging, and she could see how weak and fragile mum's health has become. Brother, through skype, cannot really see much, but a more personal account from his wife I imagine gives my brother a better understanding of the seriousness of mum's condition.

I told him frankly about mum's diagnosis. Most likely, unless some miracle occurs, it will be downhill from now. The cancer will spread, mum's organs will weaken and begin to fail. Treatment, further treatment is an option, but what purpose will that serve? There is only one resolution at the end of this all, and we all know what that is. The impending surgery is just to make sure she does not starve, to make sure mum can still ingest food properly. A part of me, and I expressed this fear to brother, fears that with mum's condition now she may not survive the trauma of another surgery. These coming two weeks will be critical, and I have to be ever so vigilant and ready to make the difficult phone call to ask my brother to return at a moment's notice. I have also made arrangements so that he has enough means to get a ticket, if need be, immediately.

Yes, it all seems very impersonal to describe mum's condition this way, but those are the facts, those are the realities. It is up to us, the children, to soothe those hard facts and hopefully make this final stage of mum's life a memorable and easy process. I told him that he should consider spending more time with mum, and my brother and sister-in-law understood what they role is and are making good suggestions about what they can do.

My brother said he can get a few months' sabbatical to come home and spend some time with mum. His main concern is that being on unpaid leave he will have the burden to pay bills and the mortgage, but I reassured him that I can step in to help in whatever way I can. "At this point, there is nothing more important," I said, referring to the fact that there really is nothing more important than spending time with mum, precious moments with mum, and sending her off in a beautiful, moving manner.

I promised I'd be in touch, and my brother said he always has his mobile close by. I imagine he is agitated and anxious being so far away and unable to do much. I reassured him I am here, and doing what I can, and he actually thanked me for all I've been doing. I just smiled and said I'm just doing what I can, and it is only so much.

We both have different roles to play, and I feel as we get closer to losing another parent, there is a bond between my brother and I that is becoming closer and warmer.

A-ma

"A-ma is ill..." mum said weakly as my sister-in-law and nephew walked into the room. Mum moved her upper body in an attempt to reach for her grandchild, but she was too tired, too weak to get up.

"A-ma will get better!" my sister in law said as she  carried the baby onto the bed.

Mum smiled seeing her grandson, and my nephew stuck his tongue out and started smiling, started drooling. 

Mum's source of happiness, her source joy was at her side again... Her grandson may not heal her wounds, may not be able to soothe her constant numbness and sores, but he can make her smile and make her forget, if only temporarily, she is ill and leaving soon.

There is nothing more beautiful, nothing more precious.



(*A-ma is Taiwanese for grandma.)