Broken

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"Auntie was broken..." In a four year old's mind, the world is simple and uncomplicated. Broken means ill, and my second cousin was referring to my mum when she went to see my mum at the hospital around a month and a half ago. "Auntie was broken, auntie was broken. And she's dead." It was a surprise to hear that word, first of all because she, a four year old, seems to understand already what dead means.

And it was a surprise also because for a long time seemed to be a taboo word. But that's what mum is. In the mind of a four year old, there are no niceties and pleasantries of euphemisms and trying to find words to make things sound less serious or severe than things really are.

 Dead is dead. "Auntie is dead. Like grandpa!" My second cousin lost her grandpa, my aunt's husband, back in March.

Another funeral

The most touching, and also painful, memory, is when my (extended) uncle held mum's hand at the hospital and told her: "We have to be strong together... We are friends in illness..."

When I think of that scene, I can easily cry. Though he was undergoing treatment himself, he insisted on going to see her at the hospital. He was incredibly thin, more so than I remember him. Before he was so athletic, regularly went hiking and mountain climbing. When I saw him a he walked up to Mum's bedside, he was so frail, and a bit slow. Several surgeries in the brain weakened him, eroded him to just bone. And yet, he showed such warmth and such compassion. "Older sister, you are so much better than I am," I remember her telling my mum, "You only have one cancer to deal with. With me it's all over the place..."

My auntie (my distant relative's older sister) told me a story. When mum passed away, nobody dared to tell this uncle, perhaps fearing that it would sadden him greatly. But somehow he felt it, somehow he felt that my mum had passed away. He told his wife the news of Mum's passing, whereas nobody else knew at the time except for mum's immediate family members. Perhaps in suffering, perhaps in having this common illness called cancer, there

Tears

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I arrived at my grandma's place, but she was out at the market. the next door neighbour, a 93 year old lady who had poor eye sight, heard my voice, she immediately recognised me as my Mum's child. "Did your mum come back?" she asked.

"She returned..." I quietly said. "returned" being a Taiwanese euphemism for passing away, returning to the heavens from where we all come from.

"Returned to Holland?"

"No, she returned..."

The old lady, her face full of wrinkles, raised her hands to her eyes and broke into tears when she realised what I meant. "So young... She used to come visit every so often, and was always so kind..." The sadness and pain kept on building up throughout the day. "She was so kind..." Yes, mum truly was, and every reminder of her kindness, every memory of her shared by Mum's family members added to the pain and sadness.

My grandma (mum's (step)mother) returned, and soon enough she was wiping away her tears as we sat down to chat. It was the first time i saw her since mum's passing. I too had difficulty holding tears back. "I didn't go to the funeral, because it's too painful... I was afraid when I start crying I won't stop..." she said, "I hope you can understand..."

I understood. What it must be like for a mother to lose a child, even if it's a stepmother. I looked at the empty chairs in the living room. Mum would sit on the chair opposite me or sometimes beside me whenever we visit grandma together. But today, it was just my grandma and me, and the sound of the ceiling fan cutting through the emptiness of the air.

Throughout the morning and even during lunch as we talked a about mum, my grandma went silent and shed tears several times. I sat next to her during lunch, so I could see clearly how tears streamed out of her eyes. What she must be thinking about... What she must be remembering about mum...

I went to see her by myself in the morning, for I had a mission. Mum had included grandma in her will, and it is Mum's wish to leave some money to her (step)mother as appreciation for bringing mum up. I went to my grandma's with a red envelop full of cash and I explained to her Mum's wish.

She became sad and did not want to take the money. With a shaken voice: "Her thoughts and kindness I have received but I cannot take the money..." We sat down and for a while went back and forth on the issue. I insisted it is Mum's will, but my grandma said she has means and didn't want to take anything. Her regret is that she did not have a last chance to see mum before she passed away, for my grandma was herself injured after a fall in the month of June. "Your mum was such a caring and filial daughter..."

"And like your grandpa, she really loved to travel, really enjoyed fine food. My grandpa was disabled from the waist down about fifteen years before he passed away. So almost as long as I could remember he would sit in this rattan chair and smile everytime mum and I went through the door, and cry everytime we left. Mum brought him his favorite foods everytime she visited. "And he could tell which food stall from another..." grandma said, "He could take one bite and know that where you bought the food. Your mum also had a fine taste for food. Like father, like daughter..." I smiled as I learned a bit more about mum, and also in a way about where I came from.

"I'm worried about you most of all, as was your mum..." grandma said. For a good while, she went on about how she was worried about how I will fare now that I am parentless. "You have no one to turn to now, so you have to be strong and brave..." Her regret is that she did not get to see mum before she went, for she herself was injured after a bad fall back in June. "You have to do good and not disappoint your mother..."
I nodded and said I understood.

I know myself how much mum (and dad) have given me, and how fortunate I am, even though they are no longer around. I know I am blessed, even though I can no longer turn to them for advice or call them up.

At one moment, I snuck away to let the pain and tears drain out of me. I wandered to a small temple close to where my grandma lives. In the basement of the temple my grandpa's (Mum's dad) memorial is sheltered.

I stood before my grandpa's little memorial plaque and held an incense stick and prayed. I shed more tears as I silently prayed: "Grandpa, now you and mum are reunited, I hope you will take good care of her, and show her the way..." in my mind, I saw my grandpa and mum, saw them sitting in heaven and laughing... It was a beautiful image, but also so very sad... So very sad.

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.

People problems

I wanted to spend the first weekiversary of mum's passing quietly and reflect on what happened...

But worldly affairs kept me occupied, and that moment, 20.05, came and went, never to return again.  Mum passed away, moved on to a world away from this one that is full of issues and conflicts, full of problems created by people and misunderstandings. I do not know what is in the world beyond, but really often I wonder why if the world is already so full of discontents and imperfections, people must still somehow find a way to create even more problems.

Just spent over ten minutes on the phone with the priest who is supposed to take care of mum's funeral arrangements and make sure her transition from this world to the next takes place as smoothly as possible. This morning he called to say he quit, because of disagreements with my uncle (mum's second brother). "A personality problem," the priest said, and explained everything comes down to respect, mutual respect. I don't know what clash of personality has taken place, all I know is that the priest and my uncle were on the phone for over an hour last night.

Brother is close to tears now that the priest quit. "All I want is to make sure everything goes smoothly, and that mum can go peacefully..." After spending so long on the phone with the priest, I had to comfort him, reassure him that even if he quits, it does not really matter.

"It is all just rituals and  rites. And so if not everything is perfectly followed according to how it should be done?" I told him. In my mind, what matters most is our intentions and our actions. And I believe that my brother and I have done everything we possibly could to be with mum and to give her a beautiful end to a life well lived. Just because there are certain rites and rituals that are not followed properly and conducted under the guidance of a priest trained in the 'invisible arts', does that mean that mum's spirit will suffer and that she will forever be condemned to a life of pain and suffering in the hereafter?

I believe in karma, not mysticism and rituals thought up by people. If we do good, we put good energy into the universe, and we will receive good energy in return. And I believe mum has been a good person, and that she has done a lot of good in her life. Even the monk in the mountains said so, for why else would she be surrounded by so many loved ones and have so much good fortune throughout her life, and especially at the end of it?

 Problems are created, and are never there in the physical sense. They are mental states, just like emotions and feelings are. And they are created by people.

If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.
Dalai Lama

Seventh day

The seventh day after passing is a crucial milestone. Tradition says the deceased comes back to bid farewell to those left behind and to take a good look at where the home where the deceased used to reside in. As the day of passing counts as the first day, and as according to the lunar calendar, a new day begins at eleven at night, tonight we will cross over to the seventh day.

A two hour chanting session is planned for tonight from nine till eleven. The chanting of (Mahayana) Buddhist prayers can aid mum on her way toward freeing herself from wandering around the world. It is supposed to help her move on to the world hereafter. It's also believed the chanting will give merit to the deceased, those left behind chant to the deity of the underworld to help guide mum on her way toward liberation...

Many relatives came today, as did several of mum's colleagues from her last work place close to the seaside. The colleagues found put yesterday when I called one of mum's closest friends. She broke down during re conversation and had to hang up and call back later to collect herself. They used to chat regularly, and mum helped his auntie a lot. While mum worked there, she used to buy car food to feed the strays in the back of the office. Yes, my mum was a cat lover, and a compassionate person. Once one of the strays was injured, and mum arranged to take it to the vet. Another time, a mother gave birth to a litter of kittens, and mum helped to have them vaccinated. This auntie took over the feeding and taking care of the cats.

Many on dad's side of the family came today, and they sat around for a while looking at pictures of mum. My big aunt (dad's oldest sister) at one point cried and said that mum was so kind and that mum went "too soon". I told them, as I tell everyone who comes to visit, how peacefully mum left, and how her life was one well lived. I told them that all with a smile. Seeing pictures of mum and I on one of our many adventures does not make me sad or emotional (not yet?) When I see mum on pictures, when I see her smile, an at times at my insistence, strike a "cute pose" with one of my stuffed animals, I cannot but smile and recall sweet, sweet times we had...

I am tired still, and have barely had time to really mourn. My brother seems to be in such a hurry to deal with affairs, which at times irritates me. There's no hurry, but he seems eager to get all the legal stuff and paperwork done. Maybe it is an attempt to jeep busy so as not to feel or cry? I don't know. I just feel it's all so soon, for it's barely been a week, and between planning for the funeral, informing relatives and friends, and entertaining visitors, we've not really had time to sit down and collect ourselves.

I still have yet to write down what happened, what really happened, that day...

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..."

Mum's condition

"How is she?" i asked as two aunties left and headed to the elevator down. They came to spend a few hours with mum after choosing clothes for mum with me. Clothes for when mum...
I stayed home to rest for a little while, and also to cook some soup for mum.

"The condition is not good. Just let things be..." one auntie said. She used to be a nurse, and she has been so caring over the past few years, calling every day almost to check up on mum, and visiting her every week. Sometime ago, this auntie said that according to taiwanese beliefs, many critical ill people do not live for long after or before a big festival. The upcoming one, Dragon Boat Festival, is in less than a week.

"Last week she had more energy and was more talkative. Today she looks very unwell..." The aunties tried to give her some traditional noodles to eat, thinking the noodles would bring back nostalgic memories and tastes of the past. Mum are two bites, and threw up four mouthfuls... When I came in, she looked in worse state than she was just four hours earlier when I left her to go home and meet with the two aunties.

"She does not seem able to control her bowel movements. She doesn't seem to know whether she urinated or pooed..." I heard that, and felt such a deep, deep sense of sadness. My own mother, now unable to control her own bowel movements. Her dignity and worth is being further eroded. How she must feel...

"Thank you... Thank you for coming and spending a valuable weekend day off with her..." I said and gently bowed.

"Please don't say that. You and your brother have done a lot, and you should not feel so sad. Just let nature take its course," one auntie said. They praised mum, said how lucky and fortunate she is to have us as children, and to be surrounded by people who are there to help and support her in different ways. "It is because of her kindness, and all the merit she has accumulated..."

Humbly I bowed again and bid the aunties farewell. "Thank you..."

I returned to the room, and mum was almost asleep. The carer is patting her back to make mum comfortable. Mum opened her eyes, her tired eyes which had dark circles around them. She blinked quickly, something I've noticed she does more often these days. "Ask them to go already. It's too late..."
She meant ask the aunties to leave, because they have spent an afternoon with her. But the aunties left around five minutes ago. That did not register with mum.

Perhaps mum is too tired that she is not fully aware of what is happening around her. Brother told me that she has become like that since last week, and today was the first time I noticed this "lag" in her response. The doctor said deficiency in ions and nutrients may cause sensory neurones to slow down the passage of messages to the brain and slow down memory. Whatever it is, it is painful to see.

I smiled at mum, and held her hand to reassure her. "They've already left. Don't worry, you rest now... Take a good rest. I'm right here next to you..."

I am. And I will be till the end.

Being brave

"You are so brave..." my cousin said. We stood in the lobby for almost half an hour just talking about mum. She has not seen mum for about two weeks, and my cousin visited today after work today, and also to have dinner with me. After she came out of the hospice ward, her eyes were red and moist.

"It's so hard not to get emotional. How do you do it?"

I don't know. I don't know how I look at mum everyday, how I touch her skin and stroke her arms and legs without crying. I don't know how I can look into the yellowishness of her eye whites and not quiver. I don't know how I can watch her heave for breathe without feeling pain or such resentment at what cancer has done to her. Instead, my mind seems to be filled with compassion, patience, and love... seemingly boundless love and the feeling that love (and a little foolishness and childishness) can overwhelm everything sad or painful.

My cousin hugged me, and told me about her dream the other day in which she saw a coffin and also ornaments for the deceased. She was shaken awake by the vividness of the images in her dream, and by the sight of herself howling from pain in the dream. It was so powerful that dream that she is still shaken from it all. I heard her describe it, and it sent shivers down my spine...

"What do you feel...?"

I'm not sure. I'm not sure where this calm comes from. I find myself being so calm and collected, being so stoic and perhaps even appearing unfeeling. "I know I will break sometime, but for the time being, I am able to just do things, be with her without being or becoming too sad..." I explained and compared my feelings now with feelings at the time of my dad's passing. I was so calm too, unexpectedly so. "I guess if you do everything and are kind to the person, there is no remorse or too much sadness..."

The body will decline, the body will fail and decay, but I believe the spirit will live on. And in a way, I am fortunate that mum's mind is so clear and she still remembers a lot of things from the past, and it has been beautiful viewing pictures of the places we have been together with her. I know one day she will not physically be there for me to hold or touch, but she will live on in my mind, in my heart... And I know she will be with me, watch over me, care for me wherever I may be... I told my cousin about how the month in Canada has been therapeutic and been like a pre-mourning period.

I told my cousin about going to see altars where we could place mum immediately after she passes. I told her about the frank discussion we had just yesterday about what clothes she would like to wear on the day of her funeral, and what she would like to "bring" with her. Mum replied very calmly and clearly when I gave her suggestions and even showed her pictures of the beautiful dresses she wore once. I seem to have this strange ability to describe it all as-a-matter-of-factly, which makes me so uncomfortable at times. Why is it that other people cry after seeing my mum, why is it that brother struggles to contain his tears, whereas I don't even shed a tear...?

"You have prepared well..." my cousin said.

Have I really? How can one really prepare for death? All I've done is take a bunch of pictures and memorabilia home with me on this trip, because I know it'll be the last trip. I did it too four years ago when I rushed home to be at dad's side. Because you just know. You just know...

In Chiayi

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Arrived in the late afternoon, and first stop was my aunt's place. She (dad's older sister) was surprised, but happy to see me, for it's been a while since we last really connected and talked. Last time I saw her, earlier on Monday, I did not say goodbye, but quietly left after the farewell ceremony. It's part of tradition here: you don't say goodbye or keep the guests for longer than necessary. You just leave.

We caught up on news, and my aunt revealed how in the last month or so of my uncle's life, she was constantly in hospital, afraid to even go home. He weighed 46kg (or so) when he passed away. Before, he was a strong man who stood almost as tall as me...

"He told me he wanted to see the grandchildren grow up..." she said, after I showed her pictures of my nephew and said what happiness children bring to a patient's life. Children give them smiles, hope, and positive energy. Her eyes became red and moist.

I left a little later to visit my uncle (dad's youngest brother). A bachelor still at 62, he's the oddball of the family. I spend a lot of time with him whenever I am in my parents' hometown, because he's by himself, but also because he likes to bike around like I do. We took our usual route, to visit my grandma's resting, and later went to the old folks' community centre for a session of karaoke. I can't sing for my life, but as it was just me and him, I sang- at times mockingly and with a funny taiwanese accent, at times with soul and feelings, especially songs about love and longings for an illusive partner.

I am spending the night at my mum's youngest sister's place, the one who over the past few years has periodically gone up to taipei to be with my mum whenever she needs help around the house. She was a great relief over the past few months, and without her I would have not gotten the few hours of solitude and time to go home go shower and rest.

My aunt and I chatted, mostly about mum. Earlier, when I spoke to mum she said the doctor told she can be discharged as early as tomorrow. But she is worried to go home, for who will take care of her? She can barely walk a few steps, let alone clean herself well or cook for herself. Who will take care of her and look after her needs, something she took for granted at the hospital for she had access to a 24hr carer? I'm leaving in three days, I can no longer be around and keep a constant ear and eye out for mum's well being. And Brother certainly is not up to the task, as well intentioned as he may be. As for my sister-in-law... Well, she's just very distant and handsoff, and she has her hands full with taking care of my nephew...

My aunt said she will go up in a few days, and told me not to worry too much. "Go back and co concentrate on your exam. Your uncles and aunts will take care of things here..."

I don't know what will happen, but my aunt mentioned that around two weeks ago, mum expressed interest to come back down south back to her hometown, where most of her siblings are, so she can have people to look out for her and take care of her in this crucial period of recovery. Mum never mentioned this to me, but if she is willing, if she really means what she said to my aunt, then it may be a good idea, for she needs all the family support and help she can get, and tree is no better place than back here in Chiayi, where all her closest family members are. But mum has a thing with being picky, and being difficult when it comes to asking for help... Maybe she said things back then for the sake of it, because she really never mentioned any of this to me.

Departures

My aunt (mum's youngest sister) left this morning. Last night I slept at home, as it probably will be a while till I can have a good night's rest at home. I actually slept for a good nine hours, I actually overslept, which was embarrassing, as I promised I'd bring breakfast at seven in the morning!

Mum's youngest sister has been with us for over ten days. She's been a great help, especially as she gives me the opportunity to go home for a few hours a day to rest and shower. Plus, she has been brewing soups and broths, so that mum can at least get a little more than just water. She has been very helpful, not only around the house, but by being there, and being someone with whom mum can talk to and feel like less alone. But she has her own life back home, in the southern part of the country, and I always knew she would have to go back someday.

My uncle (mum's first brother) and his wife have been in hospital even before mum checked in. Today, he was discharged and also going back home. He and his wife lived in the ward next to mum's and every day they would come in and sit down, watch tv, watch the sunset. Their daughter, my cousin who works at the airport would come by every evening to bring food, and we've enjoyed many meals and talks together, given each other mutual support and encouragements. My uncle and his wife came into mum's room around noon. He is the silent type, but in the greatest show of affection, he held onto mum's arm with both hands. "You have to take good care..." His wife's eyes were red. She leaned in closer to mum and whispered something I could not hear, but I knew it must have been touching. "If there I anything, please call. Being like this is no state to feel like you're imposing. Please call us if you need anything." They quietly left, and the daily chat sessions, the routine walks around the ward, moments sitting around mum and chatting, reminiscing, drinking warm high mountain green tea from their home region while munching on peanuts and other delicacies, became a thing of the past as the door shut behind them.

It's just mum and me now... Mum and me, and the unknown days ahead.

Three sisters

Mum's second sister came up from the south, from the hometown where they were born and grew up together. Together with mum's youngest sister, who has been staying with us for almost a week, it was a beautiful reunion of the three sisters. 

I was embarrassed to be in the room, and said I would leave, even when they told me not to. I wanted to give the sisters time to bond and reminisce, time to talk and catch up. I imagine them once as little girls who grew up in a small town, who did everything together, who have gone through so much together growing up. How they must be feel now they have grown old(er), now that they have led such separate lives leaving home, how having raised different families and watched their children leave home to come together in one room years and years later as one of them is slowly, slowly leaving...

When my second aunt first came into the room  her eyes were a bit moist and red. Perhaps mum third aunt had told her pretty much everything. But nothing can prepare you for the real image, for the reality of seeing someone you grew up with lie there in a foetal position looking so sick, looking so thin, looking so frail... I stood around a little, and watched as they interacted and chatted. There was an extremely touching scene as my aunts sat around mum's hospital bed, while I sat next to her on her bed and massaged her feet. 

 The distance between their hometown of Chiayi and Taipei is only about two hundred or so km, and yet typical of Taiwanese warmth and hospitality, all the more because we are family, there were a lot of "greeting gifts". My second  aunt unpacked her suitcase (yes, a suitcase full!) of goodies, including fresh guavas, wax apples, egg rolls, cookies, and plums from their hometown. It really weren't the goodies that mattered, for all these things you could buy in the big city. But the thought, the thought that my aunt thought of bringing all the things that mum likes to eat, was touching to the heart.

"You didn't have to come so far..." mum said at one point weakly, "You must taken such an early train to get here..." My second aunt just smiled. I quickly joked: "Just shows how important you are!" which made everyone agree with laughter.

Later, they were joined by mum's oldest brother, who is staying in a ward right on the same floor, and also by mum's second (step)brother, who dropped by for a visit. Mum's youngest brother visited yesterday already, and he stayed for quite a number of hours. for out of the siblings, they seem to have the closest relationship.

So over two days the family has come from all over the place to rally around mum, to encourage her, to tell her to open up and not think too much. I have spoken to everyone, at times needing to fill in on the bits of information that mum may not be too willing to talk about or think about. I know it all is very heavy on everyone, but I try to tell it as calmly and clearly as I can, I try to tell them things are the way they are.

And I thank them, thank them again and again, for all the time and effort they put in to come and see mum, even though they 'chastise' me for thanking them for all the help they offer in so many ways. I know they are family, closer in some ways and in different ways that I cannot imagine, for they shared with mum a part of her life when I was not even around.

But I am still so ever grateful for their care, for showing mum their care and love, for being there to make her feel less alone, to make her feel that her life, what was, what is, and what will be, is worth every breath, is worth every day, every moment she is still with us...

48 hours

I just got home from the hospital. I didnt come home to rest or shower at all in the last forty-eight hours. Constantly I was at the hospital, next to mum, taking care of her every need. Very tired, but a fulfilling kind of tiredness. I would have stayed tonight again, but mum told me to come home, for she says she will be fine and actually sleep much better if I were not around... Last night, I for some strange reason could not sleep, and had to get up early this morning, for my brother's mother-in-law came to visit. We had a nice time together, and it was the first time that both grandmas and the grandchild were together in one place. Again, I watched from a distance and started to tear. What a beautiful scenery, of two middle aged women, both single, and yet brought together by a marriage, brought together by the common joy of a grandchild. I can see in their eyes, in their smiles their genuine happiness, their true joy and pride... We took mum out of the hospital today for lunch. We had to hide her under a blanket and large shawl so that her hospital gown was not showing. It was fun and felt very naughty, even though all we needed to do Was just tell the nurses we were going out for lunch. We went to a fancy restaurant, the first time for mum in two weeks or so, and the first time for me since I got back (otherwise, every meal has been some kind of take away...). Though mum's voice is still very lost and coarse, I could see she was enjoying herself a lot, being among family, and being surrounded by both her children (and daughter-in-law), and by her grandchild... Im retiring soon... I just hope mum will be alright by herself...