The last time I called home, mum was still around to pick up.
The number is so familiar to me. I know it by heart, I use parts of the digits for some of my passwords. It was a number I used to dial, once, twice, sometimes even three times, a day.
And then nothing. There was no more need to call. And once, sometime ago, when out of force of habit and without thinking, I dialed that number. But there was no one to pick up.
I needed to call tonight, because my sister in law is supposed to be there today, and she wanted me to contact her to discuss what to do with mum's possessions. But I guess she was out, because no one picked up the phone...
Instead, I called one of mum's dearest friends, whose husband (a medium and Toaist priest...) was in charge of organising her funeral. As bizarre as it may sound, I asked how mum is doing...
She knows I've sunk into terrible, terrible depression. She knows somehow that I've been crying a lot (as I am crying now...) from pain and loss. She knows that I am feeling so lost and directionless, and so very lonely. Mum knows.
One can dismiss this all as superstitious rubbish, you can say I am insane to believe the exploits of charlatans, but think of it this way: imagine mum were still alive today. Who knows me better than any one else in the whole wide world? Who can feel my feelings and share my thoughts better than any one? She may not be here on this plane of existence, but, somewhere where I cannot see her, somewhere where I cannot hear her, that's where she is now... Perhaps my dreams and the images in my mind are portals to that alternative plane, perhaps the realm of my dreams and imagination is where we can see one another and "communicate", albeit in the language of silence and facial expressions...
I imagine she is looking at me, watching over me... looking at me as I looked at her all those days and nights by her bedside, watching over her helplessly. Perhaps she is feeling helpless and hurting now as much as I did when she was in pain and suffering from her illness...
"When you need to talk to someone, please call. We are here..." My mum's friend said she misses mum too. "And she was just a dear friend... I cannot imagine how it is for you, she was your ma..." In her voice, I could hear her begin to tear. "She was such a kind person, your mama..."
She was my mother. My dear, dear and brave mother. I had to cover my mouth to muffle the groan of pain and agony from escaping. I had to close my eyes to contain the tears. Quickly I ended the conversation. It had to be quick, because I could not utter another word.
For the next ten minutes, I cried and cried, and cried some more.
The number is so familiar to me. I know it by heart, I use parts of the digits for some of my passwords. It was a number I used to dial, once, twice, sometimes even three times, a day.
And then nothing. There was no more need to call. And once, sometime ago, when out of force of habit and without thinking, I dialed that number. But there was no one to pick up.
I needed to call tonight, because my sister in law is supposed to be there today, and she wanted me to contact her to discuss what to do with mum's possessions. But I guess she was out, because no one picked up the phone...
Instead, I called one of mum's dearest friends, whose husband (a medium and Toaist priest...) was in charge of organising her funeral. As bizarre as it may sound, I asked how mum is doing...
She knows I've sunk into terrible, terrible depression. She knows somehow that I've been crying a lot (as I am crying now...) from pain and loss. She knows that I am feeling so lost and directionless, and so very lonely. Mum knows.
One can dismiss this all as superstitious rubbish, you can say I am insane to believe the exploits of charlatans, but think of it this way: imagine mum were still alive today. Who knows me better than any one else in the whole wide world? Who can feel my feelings and share my thoughts better than any one? She may not be here on this plane of existence, but, somewhere where I cannot see her, somewhere where I cannot hear her, that's where she is now... Perhaps my dreams and the images in my mind are portals to that alternative plane, perhaps the realm of my dreams and imagination is where we can see one another and "communicate", albeit in the language of silence and facial expressions...
I imagine she is looking at me, watching over me... looking at me as I looked at her all those days and nights by her bedside, watching over her helplessly. Perhaps she is feeling helpless and hurting now as much as I did when she was in pain and suffering from her illness...
"When you need to talk to someone, please call. We are here..." My mum's friend said she misses mum too. "And she was just a dear friend... I cannot imagine how it is for you, she was your ma..." In her voice, I could hear her begin to tear. "She was such a kind person, your mama..."
She was my mother. My dear, dear and brave mother. I had to cover my mouth to muffle the groan of pain and agony from escaping. I had to close my eyes to contain the tears. Quickly I ended the conversation. It had to be quick, because I could not utter another word.
For the next ten minutes, I cried and cried, and cried some more.
