One last look...

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One last look at the view from the living room window of the house my mum last lived in. She moved there around four years ago. I've stayed at that house for months, weeks, many, many days. Most of those days were difficult, as it was through a period when life was toughest on mum, and death seemed always lurking around the corner. Some days were so beautiful, filled with memories of family gathered together, filled with laughter and smiles, filled with the sound of tv in the background, or the echo of mum chatting with my brother and skyping with my nephew on the computer.

I didn't realise the last time I saw that house would be the last time. Over the past few weeks, much of mum's possessions have been "dealt with". Most donated, some given away, and the rest--- I don't know what happened to most things. I only got a phone call two days ago to say the house has been emptied and that my belongings, or what I have previously said I wanted, have been packaged in boxes and shipped. They will be shipped to me here in Canada. What is inside them I will not know...

In the meantime, after two weeks of little contact, my brother told me the painter came to give the place a new coat of paint, so did an estate agent. Soon, it is the hope, the place will be rented out.

I don't know when it happened or how it happened. But my share in the house my mum last lived in was sold. All I know is an amount of money is now "mine".

I am sitting on an amount of money. Several figures, more than I have ever seen and perhaps will ever see. It feels so empty to have a sum on my bank account, so meaningless. And that sim is supposed to represent the value of the home I lost, the home which holds so many memories, mumories and so much more.

All sold, all packaged in boxes, all in the past now...

Night in

My colleagues came to cheer me up on this Saturday night... I'm very grateful, for I have been feeling so lonely and fragile being alone at home. They came, had dinner with me, and we played a game and watched a movie. By the time the night ended, it was already past one in the morning.

I was sad to see them go, even going as far as asking them to stay over. There are two spare beds they could easily sleep in. When did I become so clingy? Or am I just afraid to be alone, afraid that I will break down and cry and cry again?

It felt wonderful to be surrounded by people and to be playing board games. It's been such a long time. And perhaps a reason why it felt good was because these colleagues do not know my ex (at least not that well), so there's none of that awkwardness or feelings that there are things unsaid. Honestly, I just feel like I cannot talk to anyone nowadays, and not least talk about my deepest feelings because (paranoid or otherwise...) I feel word could easily get around. It's a sad state of affairs when you have to be ever so watchful of what you say to your friends. Makes you wonder why they are friends in the first place when anything and everything you say can become the source of idle gossip and entertainment.


 I helped to clear the snow away from the car, and stood there on the street to watch them drive off. "Thank you so much for coming..." I said. I really was grateful, so glad that they came and spent the night with me. I needed it, I long for it. It makes me happy to bring some kind of joy and warmth into the lives of others. It touches me to hear that my little home (and cat...) gives them a feeling of warmth and belonging.

I told them that to be honest, the two bedroom flat feels a bit empty and big for just one person. Why did I get this place three years ago? I imagined mum would retire and maybe come live here a few months per year... I guess I imagined also of living with someone dear, and establishing a realm home together, because god knows I need that and long for that. Well, also partly because I wanted to give my cat more space to run in and big windows she can look out of...

Well, now it's just me now, in this apartment with all these personal belongings and household goods. It's very homely, very comfortable, and perhaps I do not appreciate it as much as I should. But is not warmth and homeliness better when shared?

Terrible mistake

I cannot deal with all this from so far away...
I do not have the strength or energy to fight or argue. But do I just let people step over me? Do I just let people take advantage of me and forfeit my rights?

I'm too tired to fight, too tired...

Sold

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Over a month of preparation for this day.
I signed my name and stamped my seal. And the deal  was  made.

This house, one I helped moved into and one in which I have spent many a nights over the past three years, is no longer mine. From this day on, I am just a visitor here.

What was never mine will never be mine.

Unwell

Brother suddenly called me in the evening (morning Taiwan time).

"I don't want to scare you..." he said, "And please don't worry or think too much, but mum said she wants to go the hospital."

Mum dislikes the hospital... She could hardly wait to get out of there. But today for the first time, she requested to return. I asked to speak to her.

"I just feel very weak, like there's no energy..." she mumbled. I struggled to hear her clearly. My heart pounded like it did almost five months ago, when I got "The Call". I began trembling. At that moment my friend dropped by. I had asked her to come by because I needed her help printing documents I need to apply for a visa home.

"please don't rush here... Stay where you are for a bit longer. You've been flying around too much. No need to "chia bua bing"" Meaning "turning the place upside down", or making a mountain out of a mole hill.

I spoke to mum a little more, but she was getting dressed to go. Brother took over the phone and tried to reassure me more. But I was beyond reassuring. I trembled and shook, even though I said I'd go sleep. I did not.

Not much later, I was holding our family portrait and sobbing heavily again. My friend placed an arm around me and tried to comfort me. I was beyond comforting, and sobbed even more. I felt the saltiness of my tears in the corner of my lips. I felt the snot run down my nose. I was distraught, anxious, petrified. I was so far, far away... I folded my arms before me and clenched my fists. I held myself tightly, for it was the closest way i could console myself. Eventually I stopped crying. And soon began to joke and laugh with my friend as she hugged me tightly that I must smell really bad because I've not had the time to shower since my long bike ride today. She said I smell no more different than before, which could be a compliment, or insult. That's why it was funny. That broke my flow of tears And made me smile.

"I can still smile, right? Smile and laugh?" I asked.

"Yes, you can," she said as she stroked my shoulders. And that's an amazing ability in the face of everything.

It is so painfully hard, gruellingly difficult these moments of unknown, these sudden phone calls that leave me gasping for breath and for sanity. But one day it will be all over...

One day it will all be over...

Unwell

Brother suddenly called me in the evening (morning Taiwan time).

"I don't want to scare you..." he said, "And please don't worry or think too much, but mum said she wants to go the hospital."

Mum dislikes the hospital... She could hardly wait to get out of there. But today for the first time, she requested to return. I asked to speak to her.

"I just feel very weak, like there's no energy..." she mumbled. I struggled to hear her clearly. My heart pounded like it did almost five months ago, when I got "The Call". I began trembling. At that moment my friend dropped by. I had asked her to come by because I needed her help printing documents I need to apply for a visa home.

"please don't rush here... Stay where you are for a bit longer. You've been flying around too much. No need to "chia bua bing"" Meaning "turning the place upside down", or making a mountain out of a mole hill.

I spoke to mum a little more, but she was getting dressed to go. Brother took over the phone and tried to reassure me more. But I was beyond reassuring. I trembled and shook, even though I said I'd go sleep. I did not.

Not much later, I was holding our family portrait and sobbing heavily again. My friend placed an arm around me and tried to comfort me. I was beyond comforting, and sobbed even more. I felt the saltiness of my tears in the corner of my lips. I felt the snot run down my nose. I was distraught, anxious, petrified. I was so far, far away... I folded my arms before me and clenched my fists. I held myself tightly, for it was the closest way i could console myself. Eventually I stopped crying. And soon began to joke and laugh with my friend as she hugged me tightly that I must smell really bad because I've not had the time to shower since my long bike ride today. She said I smell no more different than before, which could be a compliment, or insult. That's why it was funny. That broke my flow of tears And made me smile.

"I can still smile, right? Smile and laugh?" I asked.

"Yes, you can," she said as she stroked my shoulders. And that's an amazing ability in the face of everything.

It is so painfully hard, gruellingly difficult these moments of unknown, these sudden phone calls that leave me gasping for breath and for sanity. But one day it will be all over...

One day it will all be over...

In Perrineville

Spoke to mum just now. A brief conversation. I hesitated whether to tell her where I am, for she never did have a liking for my aunt in the US. but I told mum anyways, just to let her know and not have to hide things.

It was a very brief conversation, and I explained how it is that it costs more to fly direct to Montreal than it does to fly to Montreal and then New York (Newark). It didn't not matter, really. It was just making conversation... Making conversation, as she was doing telling me she just went to market in her wheelchair. Anything to make conversation, to distract from it all...

Mum quickly put me through to brother. "Mum's been losing weight..." she's 41 now, down from 43kg a few days ago. It's strange why she's losing weight. Or is it? It's the cancer. It's eating her from the inside. She's being fed by the (new) carer. Too weak to eat by herself...

I did not flinch. I did not cry.

It's as if those words, the description of mum's condition, the talk about mum's eventual arrangements washed over me completely. A friend of mum's came to see her yesterday. She cried seeing mum. I heard what was said. But I did not flinch. I did not cry.

Am I unfeeling? Am I numb? Am I deaf or just suppressing it all? Perhaps all the feelings of pain, pain, deep deep pain is falling into a hole, a hole that is fast filling and will one day burst out...

What am I doing here, in this small town in the middle of nowhere? What am I doing being surrounded by open countryside, stars and such tranquility?

It's all so surreal.

Message to brother

"I'm boarding flight to vancouver now. Thank you for being there [...] with mum. I know it's hard to deal with this kind of situation, but we will go through this together. Keep mum comfortable and make her feel at ease. If there is anything, I'll take the first flight back. Take care"

Escape?

"There will be lots of trips to the ER from now..." my aunt said, almost as a matter-of-factly, and I felt it was somewhat unfeelingly, "It was like that with my father." The last sentence made me realise she has been through this before, she knows what it feels like. She knows.

I asked her what an elevated pancreas index level means. She's been a nurse for over twenty years. She thought about and told me frankly at this stage those indices and number don't really matter much any more. "As long as she's comfortable and feeling at ease, that's important."

And I know it. I know deep inside her, the cancer is eating her, wreaking havoc and spreading. I know, and dread to think about it. Slowly, bit by bit mum's health will decline till her organs become affected and deteriorate. It will be fortunate if there is not too much pain. Luckier if it does not last too long.

Being here in Canada, surrounded by beautiful mountains and a clear, clear blue sky almost everyday, it is too easy to forget what I have left behind back home. It is surreal in some ways, that I am here surrounded by all this peace and beauty, and to think of what I have endured over the past few months... Being here is a far world away from hospital wards, doctors and the sight of syringes and operating rooms...


I find myself, in waking moments and my dreams, whether I am escaping reality by putting myself so far away from it all. Am I being selfish again? Do I not care? It pains me to hear when I talk with mum on the phone how she wears diapers every night "just in case". What she must feel, what she must think, to see her own body deteriorate. Imagine, a proud person being physically reduced to skin and bone and being confined to bed most of the time... How she must feel...

Back home...

I called home again, and it was a bit worrying that after two calls there was no reply. So I called my brother on Skype, and the call was rejected. My mind began to imagine all the things that may be happening... Emergency rush to the hospital... Accidental fall? Severe bleeding? High fever?

Then brother called back. Relief... The home phone was unplugged for some reason. Things are alright, though for the past two nights, mum has been running a high fever, 39C the night before, 38C last night. It's worrying, especially in her current state of health, and especially after what the doctor said about rushing to ER should she develop a fever. But luckily, with some icing and wipes with cold towels, mum's temperature subsides and comes down to normal. Mum says perhaps it is due to the winter blanket she is still using, when it is already Summer.

It feels strange to talk to mum at a distance and through a video screen now, especially after I have constantly been around her for the past four months. Stranger to see her lying down in her bed everytime I call. But she said she does feel a bit more energetic, at least better than before. Yesterday, brother posted pictures of him wheeling my mum to the park nearby in her new wheelchair. There was a scene in which mum is sitting side by side next to the baby buggy. Brother captioned it a "four wheeled race". I smiled at that, from afar, and wished I had been there to see mum's face as she smiled looking at my nephew in his race-car (pram). "Remember to go out again today!" I told her. She said it hurts when the wheelchair goes over the uneven pavement, especially where she has an open wound with the bile tube connected, but also where she recently had the bypass surgery. Even so, she must go out and walk about more and get more exposure to the sun and fresh air. It will do her good.

So it has been four days since the carer came to our house. My brother was talking to her today about the possibility of having her around for the long term. She proposed to have  a set wage and to forgo the agent. It does seem like a good idea, especially as it would spare us, and in particular mum, the trouble of finding, training and getting used to a whole new carer. Wait a bit more and see how things are so you can have a better assessment, I suggested.

Seems like things are going relatively well, or at least stable so far. It does reassure my mind, but in some little way, suspicious and perhaps too thoughtful as I can be, I do wonder whether they are not telling me things so as not to worry me and distract me from my exam next week.

At yul

Touch down... 23.51.
Almost home.

Almost home after soooo very long...

回「加」真好！

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!

Second last night

Will be sleeping next to mum tonight, just to make sure she will be alright: after over an hour of icing and wiping her body, mum's temperature dropped to 36.5C, which is about normal. False alarm, thus, and we could all breath with relief again.

A thought crossed my mind as I laid down my blanket next to mum on her bed. I remember when I was young, much younger, when I was sixteen, seventeen or so. At the time I visited dad in the summers and would sleep next to him. I remembered that on the final nights, I would always go to sleep with the thought that it would be the nth night before I leave. That would make me sad, and sometimes I'd fall asleep with tears in my eyes, having cried to sleep as I listened to dad snore and was so close I could smell his scent...

I will be doing something similar tonight, on this second last night before my departure...

38.7C

The ear thermometer kept on beeping and flashed red. A warning. Mum's body is burning at 38.7C.

The doctor told us to return to emergency when she has a fever. But she does not want to go.

The carer, brother and I are by her side. She is keeping mum cool with ice and a cold cloth.

It'll be a long night...

Live-in carer

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After the row there was relative calm. After several calls to contacts of my sister-in-law's mother, brother managed to track down a lady who could come by as soon as the next day. We were all relieved, and I think most of all mum and also brother.

I reconciled with him and explained my out-lash at the hospital earlier. "It's not that I'm angry at you. I know it's hard to be suddenly thrown into all this and not know what to do. But you have to try, and you have to show some initiative." Brother did that by making arrangements and securing a new carer to come.

That night I slept next to mum's bed, the same thing I've done since before she went into hospital. It was tense, and I hardly slept, for I was afraid of her condition just after being discharged.

The door bell rang shortly after eight. It was the agent and the new carer. They came in, and I let brother do all the talking. I let him take charge, let him take responsibility, for a large part of the reason to be back is to get him (more) involved in mum's health and condition, to make him feel useful. Whatever happens, he can look back and say, and mum can look back and see, brother was there, brother was part of "journey's end", however lob that end may be.

The new carer is a young Vietnamese lady, not much different in age from me. She married a Taiwanese husband and came to Taiwan three years ago, and has been working as a carer for a while, sometimes at home, sometimes in the hospital. She was quiet at first, but soon opened up, and I began to introduce her to all the essential things surrounding mum's condition, her needs, and what she likes and dislikes.

Immediately, the girl got to work, helping mum up, massaging her and washing her face. It was a promising start, and a bit later I took her around the local area to show her the market(s) and the stores where mum likes to buy her foods and veggies.

I got talking to her and got to know her more over the next few days, exchanging life experiences, talking about cultural similarities
and differences (more the former) between Taiwan and Vietnam. I guess as we are around the same age, it was easy to talk to her and vice versa. I just want to make her feel comfortable and "at home", and hope that if she feels at ease, she will do a good job takin care of mum.

To be honest, I felt a bit uncomfortable being the "employer"-- and I'm ever catching myself seeing images i've seen in the news of mean bosses who abuse their carers or deduct their wages "just because they can". I'm not used to the idea of having someone do things that I used to do, like cooking and cleaning. But I guess I had to start to learn to let go and delegate, especially as the day of my departed ticked closer and closer.

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.

Home alone...

Mum has not been home for three weeks now, in fact I don't think she left the eleventh floor in all that time...

I come home every day, sometimes just for a quick shower, sometimes to just nape a few hours. Sitting here tonight working, it dawned on me how quiet it is here, how very empty this house is without mum here... I know my brain thinks too much, but this is how it feels like, isn't it? This is the feeling when mum is no longer around...

Emptiness yet surrounded by mum's belongings, mum's clothes, mum's everything in her life. She will come back home sometime, I just don't know when.

But there will be a day when she will leave this home permanently, and there will be a day when she will no longer return, and that I will have to get used to this emptiness at home.

Extension

In two weeks' time, it will be 90 days since I first arrived in Taiwan. The total number of days I can stay in the country on a visa-exempt entry is 90 days, which means I either have to leave the country and come back in again, or apply for an extension.

With mum's condition not getting any better, and a number of decisive doctors' appointments due over the coming weeks, it is not yet time for me to leave. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for in terms of a sign that I can leave. But I only know it's not time yet.

I really am not in the mood to fly or go anywhere abroad. ( the only travelling I want to do is fulfil my dream of biking around the island). Really I get so tired just thinking about going through customs, boarding a plane and all that nonsense... I never thought this day would come, but I am so sick of flying. So that leaves only one option.

I applied for a visa extension on one other occasion before, and that was to stay on to arrange dad's funeral. The extension was granted without hassle, on "humanitarian grounds". I have mum's hospital declarations and an accompanying letter in which I detail the reasons why I need to stay on.

I got to the department of consular affairs, and the lady kindly explained to me the most I can apply an extension for is probably only for 30days. And that would cost some NT$2400 ($80), which she thinks is not really worth it. If I were Canadian or a citizen of the UK, an extension of 90 days may be possible. The best option as an EU citizen would be to leave the country and come back in again. "Go to Hong Kong or Macau for a day, and take an evening flight back. You'll get another 90 days of visa."

Great... I perhaps do need to leave the country, even if I don't want to...

Coping...

How has my life benefitted the world in any way today? What did I do that is worthy of mentioning? Cleaning up the apartment? Making mum feel comfortable and cared for? Slicing fruits and reminding mum to take her medical supplements? What did I really do to make me feel at the end of the day, before sleeping: "I have done an honest day's work and can feel so proud of myself?"

I cannot describe how very useless I feel nowadays... How useless and lonely I feel every day. But
I can't complain, especially not to mum. She is sad and already very moody at times because of her long sleepless nights and almost constant pain and bodily discomfort... How could i possibly complain to her about my frustrations and not make her again feel like she is burdening my life?

I wake up, think of what to eat for breakfast, then lunch time swings around, and soon after it's dinner and bed time. Day and night have lost their meaning, work day and weekend have blurred into all the same... I am not lamenting my lot, for mum simply cannot be left alone for long...

But I too want to work, wake up and be part of something, I too want to make a living, relax after a long week of work... I too want to have a close somebody I could turn to and talk about things, or even cry in front of at times. Here I am with mum physically and almost constantly and yet am so very lonely. I can't blame her, for since she lost her voice she doesn't want to talk much any more. And she is often so weak she just sits there or lies there, looking into space. When I talk to her or ask her something, she doesn't respond much. It has come to this...

I don't want to be someone who complains all the time (and this blog for the past few months, weeks has become that: a list of complaints and rants...), for my Worries and sorrows are nothing compared to my mum's constant struggle for life and to stay positive...
But really, I have never known a time in my life when I am so physically and emotionally drained and empty. It's like I have lost the ability to hope, to dream and to tell myself things will be ok soon. It's as if I have lost the ability to know what the purpose of my life and of breathing is. It's like nothing has any meaning, nothing is of any value any more. And to feel this world almost every waking moment is a terrible, terrible torture for my mind and spirit...

I cannot describe how being here, being in this very apartment and having to share the little space, having to sleep on the floor all the time, is testing my patience... I need challenges, I need someone or something who can stimulate me intellectually. And right here, I don't feel anything.

Another early night, another night of listening to mum cough and groan, and twist and turn in bed... What will come of tomorrow...?

Happy new year

Final half an hour of the new year. Sitting in the bright corridor of ward 172 at the Taipei Veterans General Hospital, just outside mum's room.  I never imagined I would be spending this new year in Taiwan (again...). I thought I would spend it with friends, or alone at home. But I'm glad in a way I'll be welcoming 2012 with mum, even though she's already fast asleep. On the glass window of mum's room I placed some pictures and little notes. Something I enjoy doing, and something I thought would add a little touch of humanness and care to the hospital ward. "Happy new year" one said, and the other ＂Thank you for all your hard work". The latter note is directed at everyone, the nurses and doctors who work day and night to alleviate the pain and suffering of so many. But the note is also directed at the patients and relatives who struggle everyday against illness, anxiety, and fear... We have all worked very hard... All of us... Fifteen minutes till the new year, till the old is over and done with. Overall, it's been a tough year, and filled with a lot of downs, having to face a long-drawn out breakup, the prsopect of losing the best and closest friend I have ever had, and having to continuously face mum's  deteriorating health condition and brushes with physical disability, and death... But there too have been wonderful times... My first true love, which was so deep, so real, so very beautiful... the wedding of my brother... realising the dream of traveling with mum to Canada... Taking the first step to immigrating permanently... the birth of my nephew... and completion of my thesis after three long years. It has not been easy, but life never is... Hopefully the coming year will be filled with more positive energy and beautiful moments with people who make me smile and who touch my heart, and that my hopes and aspirations will begin to be realised. The final countdown... The sprawling city before me flashes with colourful explosions and sparks. Behind the dark silhouette of the Yuanshan mountain range, the spire of Taipei 101 glows bright with an impressive display of lights and fireworks. 2012 is here finally... I look down at the world beneath my feet and silently wished... May all beings be happy, may all beings be free. May mum regain her health, may she soon recover...  May I be strong, may I be filled with the compassion and love I need, and more, to carry me through difficult and testing times...  Happy new year... May it be a happy one.