Departure from TPE

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I could not keep from crying. Seeing my brother and his family's plane taxi toward the runway, I felt this strong and sudden aching rise. I watched as their slick 777 gradually made the dash down the runway. I cried more as their plane took off and gradually disappeared into the clouds.

Coincidence made his plane and my plane depart within ten minutes of one another. I watched him take off, and perhaps he sat there in his plane and watched my plane trail right behind his. Two brothers, brought together back in their home country due to the passing of their mother, and now leaving in opposite directions.


I could not help from crying as the plane budged and slowly taxied backwards. The beginning of a journey on my own. Images of mum flashed before my eyes. I felt the loss and pain again. Such terrible loss and pain...

The beginning of a journey on my own. The journey of life...

Departure

"Quietly, quietly I left, as if I quietly, quietly came..." ( 悄悄的我走了，. 正如我悄悄的來)

Those are the words of a famous poet, and every time I leave home I am reminded of those words.

I called mum just before I boarded the flight. She sounded tired. And then it struck me: from now on I'll only be able to hear her voice, at best perhaps see grainy her on the computer. I will not be able to touch her, hold her like I've gotten so used to doing...

Just before leaving home, I lay next to her. Mum did not want to get up. She looked so sad, and said very little. She also looked like she was in pain. I put her arm around me, and she stroked my hair, my forehead. "Go and work hard..." she said, wishing me luck on my studying and in my exam next week.

I did nor cry. I was perhaps over crying. But I can't speak for mum. I stayed by her bedside till the very last minute. I stroked her thin arms, held her hands. In my heart was a quiet calm. No fear, no regrets, no frustrations, no deep heart-wrenching pain as I had anticipated and dreaded. Just this calm. "May you be well... May you be happy... May you be at ease... May you eat and be healthy..." I wished mum silently with my eyes closed. I could smell the scent of mint, the scent of the massage oil that she uses to ease the bloated feelings of her bowels and to momentarily drift away and be free from discomforts. Mum said very little. When I looked at her, she had her eyes closed most of the time and was frowning.

I got up and inspected my suitcase again, and returned to touch mum again. This I did several times. Mum did not want to get up, which was disappointing, for it was hard to see her lying there as I was about to leave for an indefinite period of time. But again I reassured her I would be back again.

"Go quickly," mum said, "Don't keep the driver waiting..." It was a bit disappointing, as I was hoping she'd say something "touching". But I imagine she was saddened (and tired... It as barely six in the morning).

I hugged mum one last time, gently, for I was afraid to hurt her open wound and to push too hard on her frail body frame. "Take good care! Eat well and exercise!" I reminded her again, "Next time I see you, I hope to see be stronger and gain more weight..."
Even as I said those words, there was a disturbing image mum getting thinner and even more frail than she is now, if it is even possible.

I stroked her arm again, and silently wished positive energy and healing vibes would pass through me to her. I left her room, and headed out to put on my shoes, and almost made it out the door. But I turned back again, and went to mum's room one last time. She had her thin arm placed over her eyes. "Take good care, mama. I'm really going." Perhaps I should not have come back and said good bye again, for it would only prolong the pain and the inevitable leaving.

I left mum lying in her bed, left her in the hands of my brother and the carer. I left behind four months of many difficult days and many tough moments of agony and frustrations. But it is all in the past now.

I boarded the taxi, and my cousin came along to the airport with me. It probably made the journey to the airport less sad, less difficult.

It was a clear, beautiful day. Another day I left home to go back home...

Eve of departure

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In a few hours I'll be leaving here. I don't felt sad. Is there a reason to be sad, to feel sad? Or maybe the feelings will come flooding when I board the taxi or the plane tomorrow (provided I'm not too distracted by the excitement of boarding a special livery plane...!)

Mum was already very sleepy and her eye lids were closing when I sat next to her on her bed and massaged her arms and hands one last time. I told her the usual things. "Eat well! Exercise! Be happy! Don't think too much about anything else!"

I told her I'll be back soon, even though I did not want to for I wanted to surprise her, like I've done so many times in the past. But things are different now, and I felt I needed to tell mum, reassure her, that I won't be gone for long, so she has something to look forward to. And I felt I needed to tell her I'll be back soon, so that she is not too overwhelmed by sadness, for she has on several occasions expressed to me how painful it would be when I leave. And I am leaving. By this time tomorrow, I'll be gone...

"You've been here too long. Half a year almost..." she said.

"No, it's only been four months," I said, and counted the months to let her know it really hasn't been all that long. Because I know she feels terribly guilty I've stayed around for much longer than before this time. It was necessary, and I don't regret anything. As I told the monk in the mountains on the phone earlier, I think I have done all I could, and perhaps that is the source of my calm, and in a way also quiet bliss.

I've done all I could, I've tried to do everything I know I could, tried to arrange things, and pass on the knowledge of caregiving to my brother and the new carer, and even stocked up on some items that I know mum would need. And I think I've given mum hope, a renewed chance to recover and live with dignity and the knowledge that she has overcome a very difficult struggle. Whatever happens, and even if there are more difficult days ahead, mum can think back and hopefully remind herself of how brave and how very strong she is to cling onto to dear on through even the most testing of times.

"I'll go back and work hard! I know I can do it when I return and concentrate of my studying!" I told mum. And I reminded her of the promise she made me, that she would also work hard and get up and out so she can recover her strength and be able to stand on her own two feet again. We both have work cut out for us ahead, and I hoped that in knowing that, even though we will be kilometres apart, we are connected in an additional way through the challenges we must face and overcome separately, but in a way also together.

The night is already ripening, and I have not much longer to rest. I must sleep, and will fall asleep to the sound of mum's breathing, and the quiet solace in knowing these few months have come and gone, and I have survived, and gotten stronger, and a little bit wiser...

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...