Return to the hospice

Brother has not gone back to the hospice ward since mum checked out almost three weeks ago. I did return, last week, with my ex, and showed him around a bit. I teared somewhat walking down the same corridors and feeling the memories come back. A nurse I met, the one who was mum's main nurse during her stay, said most do not return ever again, because it is too painful. But return brother and I did, because we wanted to thank the staff for their dedication and wonderful care in mum's final days and moments.

We ordered a  flower arrangement to be delivered at 10 in the morning, and sure enough when we got there, we saw the beautiful pot of orchids sitting on the counter at the nurses' station. The head nurse were surprised (and happy) to see us again, and moments later the nurse who was there and who helped mum in those final moments walked in.

They asked us how we are feeling, and how the "arrangements" have been. Tiring, but everything was well organised, dignified and beautiful, just as mum would have wanted it. We thanked them for their hard work and commitment, and I could see brother was not only a little speechless, but also moved close to tears again reminiscing those days.

The corridor looked the same as before. The same long corridor, with more or less the same decor on the walls. And in the air was soft classical music playing. We did not venture to the entrance of mum's room (Room 20), like I did a few days earlier, but we did walk into the common room, and I put some more donations into a box. Donations that would go to the hospice ward, and help keep it going.

 To our surprise, one of the nurses told us that this department is probably the most "loss making" and underfunded, for there are many more nurses to each patient and a lot of the equipment that are used are much better than the wards on the lower floors. I wanted to already, and I will do it soon, but I intend to write to the director of the hospital commending the staff at the hospice for their exemplary work and efforts, and hopefully motivate the hospital to dedicate more funding and resources to the crucial the end-of-life health care system.

We also met the doctor who was responsible for monitoring mum's day-to-day condition at the hospice. Gratefully, I bowed and thanked him again and again for making mum's final journey a peaceful and relatively easy one. He and the nurse told us that we have been wonderful with our mothers, and that they learned a lot from us and our dedication to mum as well.

That day

Here is a better account of what happened that day...

Call to the monk

I just called the monk in the mountains who knew mum and came to see her just last week. He was saddened by the news of mum's passing.

He asked me how I'm feeling, and I told him honestly, I seem alright. I know the emotions, tears and pain will come, but for now I can only look back to four days ago and remember how beautiful, quick and "smooth" (if death is ever so...) it went. "I was strangely calm, just like when it happened with dad..."

I was, I really was. With dad it was so sudden, but I managed to stay composed and wish him well and happiness. With mum, I thought I would be much harder because there's much more attachment and considerably deeper emotions given how much time I've spent with her and how mug we've gone through together. But again, it was (and I am) rather calm and so far I've been subdued (admittedly, there are moments of sudden longing and sadness, but no real outbursts of emotions. Just yet...).

"It's the ultimate test," the monk said. Test of how much I've engrained the teachings of the Buddha into real life, a test to see how deep I realise the meaning of impermanence and temporariness of everything, of everyone... And so far, I've been strong I believe much thanks to those teachings and to the many day of mediation practice and retreats at monasteries.

"I'm more emotional when I think of how so many people have been so supportive and encouraging over these years..." I said, and I felt tears well up and my voice waver. Truly, I am so grateful and indebted to so many people, friends and family, who helped mum, helped me, make this journey easier and just that little bit less overwhelming.

I am so grateful, and at ease to know after all this, mum is at peace...

The phone call

I called my 'small' uncle (mum's youngest brother) in the afternoon, but could not reach him. The reason why I called was because I wanted him to know about mum's condition. And in a way, also to urge him to come see mum.

He just called back. He had seen pictures of us and mum on facebook, one with her and I on the balcony taken last week, and another one from today, of me washing her hair in the special bathroom. "Your mum looks well on the pictures..." he said.

I didn't know how to respond. When my uncle asked how mum is, I said she has been sleeping a lot. "Even after a long night of sleep, she sleeps and is very drowsy. She sleeps and sleeps, and eats very little. The doctor said it's a sign..."

"I understand," my uncle  suddenly sounded solemn and sad. How could he not?

"I wanted to call and let you know earlier. I know how close you two are..."

"Yes, 'big' sister has always been so good to me..." he said.

I was almost crying. Perhaps he was too. "And you have been so good to her, to us..." My uncle really has, always willing to step in to lend a hand, whether financially or otherwise. He treated mum on a trip to visit us the children a few years back when mum had very little money. He paid for mum's flight to Canada last year, saying he wanted a part in realising a dream of hers. He paid upfront the costs of the spinal surgery, and was there waiting outside the operating room last December... He has been so good to mum, and visits her almost every single week.

"I will come up either tomorrow or the day after," he said.

"Thank you..."

Cam on rat nhieu!

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I placed a little note, quietly and clandestinely in the carer's pillow when she was not looking. I looked up the words I wanted to express online.

"Cam on rat nhieu!" (accents are missing!)

She was surprised and smiled when she saw my note. She asked who put that there, and I admitted it was me.

"Thank you so much," I said to her, as I gently placed my hand on her shoulder, "Thank you for taking care of my mum."

It came from my heart, which in seeing her at work around the house over the past two days is filled with indescribably gratitude. This morning, she walked up to mum's bed and smiled so brightly and told mum to get up in an energetic and motivating voice. "Auntie, get up and exercise!" she said, and waved her arms around to demonstrate how to train the flexibility of the arms and hands. Later, when mum mentioned she wanted to eat pho, she went out and tried to get all the necessary ingredients and made a light and very appetising chicken pho soup. Seeing mum eat a bowl of it without throwing up filled my heart with joy and gratitude to the girl (she's around my age).

"Don't you worry! Just go back and work hard, and call home often!" she said to me.

"I will," I said, and deep down I was thinking that perhaps I'll be calling too often! Twice, thrice a day!

Hospital Carer

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I could not contain my tears or wavering voice as I handed her the red envelop. It contained a little money I wanted to give her, and nobody else knew about it for it was my idea, and comes from me (and my wallet)

"Please, auntie, take it. It's a little something from my heart. I cannot say how much you've been a help to us..." I started to tear uncontrollably as those words escaped my mouth. "You really cared for my mum very well..."

It's been almost two weeks since we hired her. In total we had four carers, and she is nothing compared to the rest. She is caring, really genuinely cares, and she gives mum massages that have really made the swelling of her feet and the bloated feelings of her stomach go away. And whenever it's meal time, she'd think hard about mum's nutritional needs, and for severals days even went back to her own home to cook rice and noodles for mum. Sure she can be a tad talkative at times, but she radiates positive energy, and is very experienced in caregiving. And she speaks Taiwanese, or at least Hokkien (for she is from Xiamen, across the Taiwan Strait where they speak the same language as most people in Taiwan do), which adds that extra touch of familiarity and warmth--something mum has been hoping for in a carer. Though mum's health is still frail, she has on certain days looked really happy and had a reddish glow on her cheeks. I think in part thanks to the carer.

"Please take this," I said as she resisted and pushed the red envelop back into my hand, "You've really done a lot for us, and I appreciate it with my heart..." I patted her on the shoulder and felt my eyes dampen again. I know she gets paid, but for all the little things that she does more than the rest who have come before her, for feeling down when mum cannot eat or when her health deteriorates, for feeling joy when mum eats a lot and is looking healthy and feeling fine, the least I could do was show a token of appreciation. For not only has the carer helped mum, but she has also helped me, by taken a lot of weight ad worries off of my shoulders, by given me time to study (even though toward the end I did not really make much use of the time....).