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...

6 February

6 February

I dozed on and off since I got on the plane. So tired I am, exhausted after having only slept two hours (actually less...) last night.

I had a vigil... Lit a candle and places it before a picture of mum and dad. It was a picture taken professionally over a decade ago. I remember that day vividly, how we all met up after dad finished work and gathered at a nice steak restaurant. After dinner, we've me across this photography parlour, and as we were all dressed up that night, someone (was it mum or dad...?) suggested we take a family portrait together. It would be our only one. And at the same time, mum and dad took a picture, just the two of them, mum holding onto dad's arm.

I sat and meditated for a while before the little make-shift shrine. My friend dropped by, as he remembered the significance of the day, he wanted to be there, even though I was agitated and wanted more to be alone. In my mind I wondered what his intentions were, why he was even with me at such an intense and melancholic occasion when he could elsewhere... Why was he even spending time with me when often he just ends up crying as if I depress him and am the source of all the pain and unhappiness in the world... It's all so personal, the memories still all so fresh after five years.

As the clock ticked toward 2.21pm in Taiwan, I felt the memories return... All of us gathered at dad's bedside. Beeping of a heart monitor. Dad's breath heaving. Me kneeling by his bedside, holding his hand, his arm. Me whispering to him, reminding him to let go, to take it easy. There was sobbing in the background. A nurse was called when the beeping of the machinery decelerated. Mum and brother stood a few steps behind me, away from the bed, stricken with grief. Who would have thought, that day would be the beginning of several years of struggle against illness and death?

My friend and I sat down, at a moment when I felt comfortable to sit down. He asked what word came to mind when I think of dad. I didn't know. But I could see his face, I could see his smiling face, the dark shade of his skin, the thick black hair he still had at age sixty (even though he was ever so conscious of every little strand of white hair and used to spend hours trimming them away in with two small mirrors...)

Then a word did come to mind. Not exactly a nice word, but it was what I felt described dad in the last few years of his life, at least in relation to me and the rest of the family: distant. He isolated himself from everyone, led a solitary life, and lived in a separate apartment for years prior to retirement. We would never know whether he was truly solitary, or, as speculated he had someone else or perhaps another family. But he was truly a distant figure, who appeared very rarely, yet was always still so wiling and able to provide for us the children and support us through university.

I spoke about perhaps dad's proudest moment, looked into the distance and at nothingness an just narrated what came to mind. My friend sat and listened and cried. Perhaps there is something therapeutic in just being allowed to talk, and just having someone listen. Just listening without commentary from someone who doesn't really know what it's like, what if feels like to lose a parent.
It was helpful, and so unlike the ways my friends have snubbed me with cliche comments whenever I start to talk about how difficult and fresh mum's passing has been...

Dad's proudest moment was the few months he spent in New York as a trainee. He lived with a distant relative, who owned an ice cream parlour, out in Flushing Meadows, Queens. There's a picture of dad lying on the floor next to a transparent glass table, and spread on the table were bills of American dollars. He had such pride in his eyes, in his smile. He managed to save so much money in those few months in the US. I was not around yet, and he and mum had just started a new family. Those were the hey years of our family, when mum and dad worked hard to solidify a foundation for a better life for the two children they were to eventually have.

When the time closed on that moment, I could not stop tearing. Those last few moments with dad were so calm and gentle back then, but now, five years later, so painful to remember. How did I manage to stay so strong? How did I manage to be so collected? Why am I so weak now, so broken and in pieces and torn by memories of loss, breakup, feelings of abandonment and loneliness, and haunted by traumas of my childhood?

Perhaps I never had time to grief, properly grieve day's passing, my friend suggested. Perhaps, I do not know. For immediately after dad passed, mum's treatments for cancer increases in frequency and reoccurred occurred every single year. Did I really have time to grieve, to live my life, to pick up the pieces, to salvage all the memories and belongings before mum's illness and needs took over?

At 2.21pm local time, with my fingers I snubbed out the flame.

Train ride

Almost twenty years ago, a dad took his son on a train journey. The dad bought a day-ticket, for unlimited travel throughout the country. How excited the boy was, for he loved trains. And even more exciting, they boarded one of the first double decker trains in the Netherlands at the time...

Close to Zwolle or thereabouts, there came smoke out of the locomotive. There was a a strench in the air... The train broke down. But that didn't ruin a beautiful day shared between father and son...

Riding the same type of train now, towards the city of one of my alma maters, Leiden. The train may look old and may have lost its novelty and luster over the years. But the memories of that day still remains...

Just passed station Mariahoeve... In 1994, on the platform, the boy bid farewell to his dad. The 10 year old boy was in tears, for the parents and the family were going to be split up... That was the beginning of my family's separation...

I cried and cried. Dad looked at me sadly and didn't know how to comfort me. A train passed by. A speeding train that did not stop.

"What kind of train is that? Where is it going?"

Between sniffles, I answered, and temporarily my attention was diverted from my sadness and pain... "It's an EC train..." Eurocity. This was before the era of the high speed Thalys. "Going to Paris, from Amsterdam..." Even then I could tell where the train would stop. Dad complimented me.

Soon, he boarded his train bound for the airport. Soon, dad slowly disappeared from my life...

Funny how objects and places conjure such memories and temporarily plunge your mind into sadness...

Sudden sadness

My colleague mentioned he felt his back aching, and also that he had a sharp pain in his liver.

I heard the word liver. Liver. Liver...
My mind dashed back to the hospital, to the room where mum lay for weeks and weeks. My mind began to conjure images of mum's yellow skin, yellow face, yellow from jaundice. I saw bile juices, I saw tubes, I saw my languishing in pain. I saw the past, the horrible past. I know the past is gone, and I am in the beautiful present, I know. But the past was so traumatic, so painful, so difficult to forget...

I miss mum... I miss her terribly. Terribly...
Sitting here in my office, and I am crying...

A small boy, crying and nobody can see my tears. Nobody can understand or really share my pain...

Bank statement

I found crumpled yellow piece of paper in my rucksack as I was riding metro. I opened it, and saw mum's name and signature on it. Her signature was faint, but still recognisable. The paper was the receipt from a bank transaction mum and I made, and it was dated 20 March of this year.

Immediately I remembered... The vomiting, mum's weak demeanour, mum's gradual decline and inability to hold a pen, let alone sign her own name. I remember going to the bank with her that day to take care of some affairs. She wanted to repay a debt owed to my uncle, even though he had told her many times not to worry or think too much. But she was afraid that once she enters TW hospital, which at that time was imminent, she may have no chance to repay her debt... The bank statement was dated just says after we were told the cancer spread and was blocking the intestines, therefore preventing her from eating or drinking. Perhaps she knew she would no longer be here. Perhaps she knew that...

Restaurant

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Brother choked on his tears as he mentioned how he and mum went to the restaurant together sometime last year. It would be his last time with mum. "We sat over there..." he said and pointed to a table behind us.

"And I sat with mum there," I said as I pointed to the table next to the one he pointed to. Last time mum and I went there was in February. Just after a visit to the hospital in southern Taipei, I believe it was after a routine check up after her CyberKnife treatments. I mentioned the Thai restaurant as it was on our way home. Mum agreed to go. And surprisingly she ate quite a bit, even though she had been vomiting for some time already.

Tonight I suggested to brother to go to the same restaurant, knowing fully well that the place has a special place in our hearts. Mum brought us there first over ten years ago. We fell in love with Their shrimp pancake and water crest with shrimp paste. These are two dishes we order every time we frequent the restaurant. And we ordered the same dishes today as well. A tribute to mum, in a way.

Mum was on both our minds.
Mum is on both our minds...

You are the apple...

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I first watched this movie with mum when it premiered on tv over four months ago. A bitter sweet comedy with some dirty jokes and a dose of romanticism and reality.

I am watching it again now, or at least parts of it. It seemed like such a long time ago, sitting there on the sofa of mum's private hospital room. Mum was still relatively alright back then. She could still get up and out of bed on her own, even though her health was already steadily declining due to the fact she had not properly eaten for weeks at that point. I remember watching the movie, feeling a bit awkward when there were sexual references and scenes of masturbation, and I remember laughing at the funny bits, and turning to look at mum who also smiled quietly.

We watched the movie till the end together, which was a surprise, because the movie was over two hours long, and by the time it ended it was already past eleven. She turned to me when the movie ended and said: "This is how it was in those days..." By "those days" she meant the days of her youth, the days of her high school years when girls and boys beginning to discover one another, but are still too conservative to make moves. I remember thinking to myself how lovely it is for mum to have a look back at her youth...

I watch the movie by myself now, sitting in the living room all alone. Mum's portrait and dad's portrait are the only signs of company, for my brother already retreated into his room (which was mum's room...). Back then, just four months or so ago, I could reach over to touch mum whenever I wanted. And I believe I even massaged her arms and legs, as I did nightly before bedtime. Back then, she spoke to me when I spoke to her, even though her voice and lifeline was already weakening. Now when I speak to her, there is only a deadly silence...

This bitter sweet movie is bringing me bitter sweet memories...

 

Mum's youngest sister

"Even though she's gone now, you still have to come back and visit me..." my aunt said. There was sadness in her eyes, in her voice. She said she watched me grow up, took care of me when I was a baby, took me in whenever I visited mum's hometown. And throughout these years, mum's youngest sister stayed with mum on and off for extended periods of time to be there whenever mum was doing chemo. Though there are differences, I am very grateful toward her for her presence and help, even right up to the end.

We sat in my auntie's living room and chatted. She told me the story of how she got her new TV. "It's because of your mum..." Mum came here sometime last year, and stayed a night. When mum saw that the old TV was displaying images double, she urged her sister to get a new TV. So she did. When it was delivered at the end of December, my aunt rushed to the north, to Taipei, to be with mum as she was admitted into the emergency room for spinal surgery. So for a long time, the TV was unopened because I was with your mum at the hospital..."  Every thing holds a memory, everything, if you think a little, can be tied to mum and to a memory of when she was still around... This trip to mum's (and dad's) hometown will be an emotional and difficult one. Today mum's sister, tomorrow mum's (step)mother... I must be strong.

My aunt told me she saw mum in a dream. She grabbed a tissue as she told me about the dream. "Your mum was just in front of me, and I was talking to her. She did not say anything but she was smiling back at me. She looked peaceful and was healthy..." It is similar to a dream I had of mum, just three days or so after she passed away. I too saw her, smiling before me, in a dress I chose for her. 

"Don't be a stranger. Come visit and stay over, because you're always welcome here. You're far too modest and never want to trouble anyone. You're like your mum..." she said.

I smiled, but deep down, I was tearing. I am my mother's child, and now a motherless child.

Memories

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It was merely a split second, a moment when I was getting food at the buffet restaurant where I last was about a year and a half ago.

I saw the fruit platters, the wonderful chocolates and cakes.... And I remembered. I took a few pieces of handmade Belgium chocolates, and they were so good, I offered some to mum for her to try...

Similar types of chocolates are on offer inside a refrigerated cabinet... But there's no one I could share that sweet bitter taste with...

Massage

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Mum began going to the massage parlour back in 2009. The list of beauty treatments she underwent, from acupuncture to facial treatments, from scented massage therapy to steam room therapy, goes on for pages. Behind every treatment is her signature. Her own handwriting. I touched the pages and the pen marks.

"Mum was here... She left behind these marks..."

The last time she had a massage was 8 March of this year, a few days after she was discharged from the hospital for the first time after she began to severely vomit. I was with her that last time she was here. I remember that day vividly. She even threw up before entering the massage parlour, after she ate two pieces of sushi she bought at the nearby metro station. That was the beginning of a very excruciating and worrying period of vomiting and mum growing ever thinner. That was before anyone knew what was spreading and growing inside her bowels. That was then, when she was still around.

"How's your mother? Is she resting at home?" the masseuse who has known mum for these couple of years asked. yes, mum is resting alright. Brother and I had to explain what happened to mum.

For the next two hours or so, as the masseuse worked on my body, we talked about how mum was, and about how the end was. At points I felt like crying. Seeing those images of the final few weeks, of the final few days, is painful, even if they were just intangible memories temporarily flashing across my mind.

Deposit box

Last time I opened the safety deposit box, mum was with me. We had just come from the court with a legalised copies of her will. I remember it was my birthday, over a year ago. Before mum placed her will inside the safe, she showed me some pieces of jewelries, some passed down from my grandparents' parents generation, or even earlier than that. There were some pieces of Canadian gold coins, which mum had intended to leave to me. As we left, she turned to me and said that she had one less thing to worry about. I, on the other hand, thought to myself as we left the bank that the next time I open this box, mum would no longer be around.

Indeed, when brother and I opened the safety deposit box, mum was not with us. Instead, there was a taxman, who came to assess the value of the contents of the box for tax purposes. When he found out that mum was a colleague of sorts (she also worked at the internal revenue service) and that she passed away barely two years after her retirement, he expressed his sincere sympathies. "So young..." he said.

The key to the deposit box clung to a keyring, which bore a little reproduction of "The Angelus". Millet's famous painting of two people deep in prayer felt just right for that moment. I stroked the face of the deposit box, and slowly turned the key. Carefully I got out the contents, and saw the very same jewelry boxes mum had shown me a year or so ago. I stroked the soft fabric of the boxes, and opened one of those. In it were some rings and amulets. In other boxes were coins and a pearl necklace. I held onto these items, and struggled hard to contain my tears. I touched each item briefly and softly. "Mum touched and held these before..." That thought crossed my mind, and a sense of sadness arose from deep within.

One thing dealt with, and many other things to deal with until mum's estate is settled. I came home late afternoon, exhausted and just collapsed into a deep sleep for close to an hour. Besides dealing with the deposit box containing mum's valuables, we also went to the local borough office to officially take mum off of the national health insurance plan. For some reason, the last month that mum was alive, she did not need to pay her premium. The lady who helped us said we can decide what to do with the national health insurance chip card. "Keep it as a momento..." I said to my brother. On it, is a beautiful picture of mum taken a few years ago for her work place. It is the same picture that was used to make her funeral portrait. On the chip card, hundreds of files contain details of mum's treatment, medicine use and an entire history of mum's appointments and health condition. I have handled this card so many times, and taken it at times on her behalf to make appointments and to check her in and out of hospital when it was not convenient for her to do so by herself. So this card contains many memories of mum and I together. I will keep in, keep it safe along with a box of personal items I am collecting and planning to take home with me back to Canada...

Later in the day, brother and I  went to the tax bureau to get an official declaration that no taxes are owed. With this, we can now go to financial institutions where mum held  accounts and close them one by one. Over the coming weeks, there will be a lot of running around, going to places where mum  previously went to to deal with her banking affairs and trade stocks. It will in a way be trips to places I had accompanied her many times since I was young, and I can imagine when I see the buildings, the offices, and even some of the bank employers, to whom we have to stoically explain that mum has passed on, the heart will ache and the mind will have to relive those final moments again...

Now that the funeral arrangements are over, another stage of clearing up mum's affairs is just beginning.

New home

I began crying almost as soon as I saw the sea. For four years, the view of the vast open Pacific was associated with the view dad would 'see' from his final resting place. After today's events, mum would share the same view...

Mum 'moved' into her final resting place today. We prepared some of her favourite foods and drinks and after a quick and solemn ceremony at the temple, we brought her remains up to the sixth floor. It's the VIP section, a beautifully decorated and bright section of the temple where urns can be kept behind a 'deposit-box' like space with a transparent glass cover. The urn is placed all the way at the back, whereas in front is a little space containing the statue of a Buddha, and room to place some personal items.

We picked out two pictures of mum, both of which were of her smiling dazzlingly. One is her in southern France, about to enter a fancy restaurant I believe. It shot that was captured captured the moment a cat jumped onto her shoulders. She bent over and laughed from the sudden surprise of it all. Brother took this picture. The other picture is of mum on a train in Switzerland. We were going somewhere together, on perhaps our fifth trip to Switzerland together. She looked outside the window and had a beautiful smile-- a smile showing quiet contentment and a certain gentleness. I took this picture. Inside her new 'home', right next to her urn, we placed her glasses and a pair of her sunglasses. "She would need these if she were to go traveling," brother said. Indeed in various pictures of her, she is seen with her darkened lenses against the brightness of a sunny day. We placed her wallet inside too, with the remaining NT$1100 and some spare coins she had in her wallet the day she left the hospital. We took out her cards, namely her national ID card and national health insurance card. We would like to keep those, for memory's sake. But we placed in her wallet a public transport travel card. "In case she needs it to get from place to place," brother joked.


Just before heading to the temple with mum's remains, I picked up two more things that eventually decorated her new 'home'. A wooden tulip, a symbol of the Netherlands where she lived for so many years and where my brother and his family lives, and a gold-plated maple leaf, a symbol of where I live and where she had fond, fond memories of her last trip abroad. These momentos would remain with her forever. These moments would remind us of who mum was, and where she made and shared with us beautiful, beautiful memories.

As the left the temple, I looked back at it. I cried. I could not control my tears or my thoughts. Before, it was just my dad, but from now on, both my parents are resting there. The depth of loss and pain dawned on me, clearer and more painfully than ever before. For several moments, I could not help but shed such sadness and tears. I pressed my head against the car window and tried to get ahold of myself, tried to tame my emotions. But the pain was tearing my heart apart.

"Farewell, mum..." I thought inside my head, "Please take good care of yourself... I will do the same..." Or at least, I will try to do the same. "I will be strong, so you don't have to worry about me..." My face contorted in spite, and my lips quivered from the pain. My ex saw that, and extended his hand to comfort me. But the pain is deep, and the pain is so deeply personal.

I grabbed the heart-shaped pillow that was part of my Mother's Day gift to her, my last Mother's Day gift to her. The heart stayed with her at the hospice till the very end. The bright red heart, and two stuffed animals, were there at the hospice with her, watching over her. The animals attended the funeral too, and got front row seats. They accompanied mum on the final stage of her journey, and also came along to bid her a final farewell. I held onto the heart-shaped pillow tightly, pretended it was my mother's warm body I was holding.

I closed my eyes, tried to shut away the loss and pain. Sleep drowned it all, drowned out the emotions and pain. I was woken up half an hour later or so to a calming, beautiful sunset. Golden and orange rays pierced the sky and dyed the inside of the minivan in a soft and soothing tone as the sun slowly set behind mountains surrounding Taipei. Gone were the tears, and the rain, from earlier in the day.

In Taiwan, a sudden dramatic spell of rain followed by a brightening of the sky is an auspicious omen. It is cause for rejoicing, and on the day when we bid farewell to mum, it is cause to find comfort in the fact that the heavens watching over her, and that she will have a steady onward journey to the world hereafter. 

"Farewell, mama... farewell, and walk steadily onward..."

Eve of the funeral

I don't know what to write. Tomorrow is the funeral. I feel like I've not had much rest or time to reflect on what mum's death really means. Been busy with my ex here. And every day there are many phone calls and things to arrange. I feel exhausted, and yet at night I cannot sleep. I am afraid to sleep.

Today, while taking a nap in the afternoon, mum appeared in my dream. She wore one of the dresses I picked out for her. She looked alright, healthy and normal at least. I saw myself standing in front of her. I raised my hands and wanted to heal her. But instead, I broke down and cried. I woke up sobbing. Sobbing like I've not done since that night at Niagara Falls. I cried myself awake. It was so painful that my heart hurt so badly. I felt the tears were unstoppable. My ex lay by my side and tried to console me. But I felt so distant, so far away from everyone, everything. I felt such terrible void that it ached my heart so...

Tomorrow is the funeral. I have all the slideshow pictures prepared. I have a stack of notes written by people that are intended to be for mum. I am supposed to say a little something, have been encouraged to do it. Initially, before we started planning for the whole event, before a series of setbacks and people issues, I felt enthused to say something. But yesterday I suddenly became hesitant. I feel so unprepared...

But what is it that I am unprepared for? Unprepared to see mum's body shoved into the oven? Unprepared to see her lying there again? Unprepared for what...?

Biking

Mum's youngest sisters came today. At one moment, a picture of mum biking in the woods flashed across the screen.

"Your mum loved to bike! She would bike to school, bike everywhere! When she was in university, she asked for a bike to be sent to her. She would bike around campus all the time!" My aunt was smiling while she reminisced mum's biking habits. A few moments later, there was another picture of her on a bike, when she biked with me on a trip a few year back, to the eastern part of the island.

I too smiled. I now know more about mum, even though she is gone. I know now where I get my biking interest from, and why every time I bike I feel so happy and so free...

Empty chair

Mum used to love sitting in that chair. Sometimes she would get up, and the first thing she would do is sit in that chair. The chair leans back, and she can put her entire weight on it, and rest her sore arms and numb hands... She can lean back and temporarily at least not feel the pain of her shoulders and back, pain she told me many times feels like her bones are being torn apart...

The chair is now empty...

Pictures

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I was unsure how mum would react to seeing pictures from the past. I was showing her professional pictures from my graduation, and one thing led to another, I began showing her photos from her trips...

Mum looked at them while chewing on a slice of whole grain bread and sipping her favourite hot almond tea drink. She smiled, and I smiled too seeing her smile. She asked now and then where the places were, and I filled her in.

The nurses came in, and later so did the doctor. I was sitting on mum's bed, and had one arm around her head. With one hand I stroked her hand. She smiled, and seemed to be enjoying the pictures.

"Where are all these places?" the nurse asked.

"Places she's been to! She's been to so many places!" I answered.

Appearing and disappearing on and off the screen were pictures of places far away, pictures from times long past. Ad yet, for those few seconds when we see the pictures, we are transported to a time and place that is beautiful and memorable, happy and associated with so many different sights and sounds that resurface again triggered by the captured moment in time.

I hope mum feels comforted and at ease when she reviews all these places, and reminds herself again and again that her life has been fully lived, and that her life is really beautiful.

Circus night

I saw the promotion yesterday and immediately had the urge to go. again, because of mum, as strange as it may sound. She and I went to Cirque du Soleil (Totem) around this time last year. I promised her to do that in Quebec, the home base of the amazing acrobatic troupe. And I lived up to that promise.

I called mum half way through the show and excitedly told her about where I was. "Oh, it's really cultured..." she said. I know she has fond memories of the show. The first time she saw it was with me in Taipei. The second time was with me, right here, right at the same location in Montreal, a year (or so) ago.

The show was spectacular, the performance elegant and performers beautiful. But my mind was filled with thoughts... Me flying, me waiting at te airport, the fear of not making it home on time, me at the hospital, mum sleeping and opening her eyes only briefly every few hours... So many thoughts and distractions...

After the show I saw several missed calls from brother. I called back.

"We're heading into the hospice ward now..." he said "There's a bed available."

My heart sank and felt so heavy. Earlier when I spoke to mum, she said she had troubled breathing and that her heartbeat was very weak. I told her to hang on. I told her that I'll be home Tuesday afternoon. She told me not to rush...

I hung up the phone. My friend was next to me. "It's not easy... You're so strong going through this. I can't imagine what you are feeling now..."

I cannot either.

Hospital visits

8 visits to the CyberKnife surgeon, over 100 visits to the oncologist, mum's main physician, over 60 visits to the neurosurgeon...

Records do not lie. They reveal the unbelievable extent of mum's visits to the hospital in the course of the last six years. Brother went to the two hospitals where mum received her treatments to collect all the documentation necessary to file insurance claims. And the records prove that over the span of six years, mum has undergone such an ordeal. Her will has been so strong, she has been so brave, but the cancer is stronger. Too strong and now she is much weakened and close to defeat...

In and out, in and out, and in recent months more time has been spent in the hospital than outside of it. Appointments, checkups, indices, scans, blood tests, consultations filled with hope of treatment, and consultations filled with dreadful diagnoses and expectations of the worst to come. It has been such a long, long and difficult journey. One that mum embarked mostly on her own.

And it is perhaps coming to an end now that the hospice agreement has been signed. From now on, it is just a matter of treating the symptoms, soothing pain and reducing suffering.

Shopping

Was walking around a department store with a friend, and I wandered in the corridors. I came the the women's section, and a sight stopped me in my thoughts.

I saw mum standing there in my mind, browsing through the racks. I used to watch her do that as a child. Not that I loved the experience, but it was not a painful experience. But we spent many hours shopping or just walking around the stores, me playing or hiding between the clothes as mum shopped.

Last year, when mum came to visit, I took her to the same department store, and we walked around for a while. She was looking for a summer dress to wear to a dinner with all my friends in montreal. I saw that scene just now, saw her standing there, saw myself watching her as she picked out her dress.

But it's all in my mind, all in my memories... What saddened me the most is that it is almost certain now there will no longer be an opportunity when I can go shopping with mum again.

Moved on

A friend had me over at his place for dinner with him and his mum. I've always enjoyed evenings with them, for it gives me a deep sense of belonging and family. And the food is wonderful.

The mother is really like a mother: caring, wise, understanding and opinionated. She was a bit distant in the beginning and only later did I know why when she revealed the reason.

Last time I was there, I was torn and distraught, broken because my ex was actively pursuing someone else. She reminded me then to be strong and that I'd get out of it, and she said she hopes when she sees me next, I'll be better off, stronger, and come out from this all having learnt something.

I did not disappoint her. One week has gone since I went to see my ex. We has fun and great times biking, we slept with one another. But it felt empty, like something is missing. I did not feel comfortable in his arms when I cried. Only on the last night before I was leaving did we seriously talk about things and where he is.

He broke down and cried and cried, said how difficult life has been without me all these months. He said he misses me so much, he loves me and has always loved me. He said he'll "fix" things. He admitted he was in a relationship with the other boy because it was comforting and an escape. He could not tell things to the other guy he told me. From friends I heard it was just a convenient relationship because the other guy is so much younger, and my ex seems to pay for everything. Whatever it is, if my ex and his new boyfriend is happy with the arrangement, who is to judge?

My ex had months to "fix" things. He chose not to because he's afraid to break the other guy's heart. He chose not to because the guy had final exams. That already was a revealing sign of his honesty and test of how true he claims his feelings are for me. If you truly, truly love someone, if you truly truly care about someone, would you not give up every thing and prove your commitment? And since I came back, my ex has slept with me, been around me, but he does not dare let the other guy know. I feel like I am the mistress. I feel a repeated pattern here, of pretence, of hiding and of being dishonest because my ex is top afraid to face things seems content to just let things linger and linger. Mutual friends of ours are so disgusted by my ex's behaviour, are so uncomfortable when my ex brings his new boyfriend to social gatherings, but they say nothing. What is there to say when the behaviour is expected?

I had my answer from the weekend I had with my ex. It was fun, it was reliving past memories of biking together and being so carefree with one another. But it was not as deep, it was different. Is it me? Have I changed? Have I weaned off from wing dependent on my ex?

He says he still feels something, but again I see no change in our situation. I came back here, back into his life, but who am I now? Who am I but a disturbance in the relationship he has built and settled for in my absence? As when I leave to go in around ten days time, what will have changed? Nothing. It will be as if I was never here. I told him to let me go, to put all the things I've given him in the past, in the cupboard, throw them out if he has to. He cried and screamed "Never! Never!"
Never, never, but he has done nothing, nothing at all to make me believe him, make him trust him and feel like there can still be a future with him. All we've done since my return is have fun and pretend as if there is no issue to deal with. All he has done is repeatedly say he loves me so, misses me so much, kissed me passionately on the lips like he's never done before. But he's still in a relationship. Still hiding, still pretending everything is alright.

"I will be moving on now..." was the note I left in my ex's apartment the other day. He can refuse to let me go, he can still be stuck in his relationship and pander after me, but the choice was all his to make, and I removed myself from his life, from his relationship and wished him happiness and lasting love. As far as I am concerned, there is no more future. My ex had me, but he lost me. And I have tried to move on. And I am succeeding.

"It's good to see you have grown stronger and moved on. I am proud of you!" my friend's mum said.

There comes a point when you realise what is important, especially in the face of losing someone so dear to your life. And I realise that. It is a shame that my ex does not...