Earlier I saw a picture of brother and his family in Taiwan. They were together with all my relatives from mum's side, having the annual get together in this lunar new year period. I cried seeing the picture... They all look so happy together, and I'm not there to share the joy of being together as a family... Four generations, grandma, my mum's siblings, their children, and my nephew. All twenty or so of them together in a big picture...
I napped, as I slept only three hours or so last night (terrible sleeping patterns...)
I felt my body shake and move. I was on the bus in downtown Taipei. I saw the familiar surroundings, I recognised the route. It was the route I took everyday (almost) to and from the hospital... I felt the memories come back again... Mum lying in hospital, and me bringing her whatever nourishment I could think of buying or cooking up...
I shook awake. It was all a dream...
My relatives and my family are so far away... They are all a dream...
Showing posts with label reunion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reunion. Show all posts
02 February 2013
14 January 2013
Call from brother
The last time brother and I spoke was two weeks ago, when I called him on new year's eve from some obscure location. It only struck me when I looked at the date that two weeks have already gone by, and I realise again what a waste of time and my life to be so unproductive and so down...
The beginning of the conversation was about (family) business, which I just dread talking about, even though it must be dealt with. What to do with my mum's house, what to do with her belongings (chuck them or donate them...), and so on. He wants me to be available online in the coming period so he can skype with me and show me things to decide what to do with every single item in mum's house. It will be a very tough process, especially from afar...
It depresses me even more to think of all these things, especially knowing that for the first time in five years, I cannot be there for the lunar new year celebrations. When my brother mentioned what he plans to do to commemorate my parents on this special occasion (specifically for my dad, the anniversary of whose passing falls on lunar new year's eve...), I just cried. When he mentioned that he will not be spending new year's at home, but instead will go to stay with his mother in-law, I cried even more... Cried quietly of course. Thank goodness the office door was closed.
Just the image of my mum's home being empty for the first time ever is heart-wrenching. To think, only last year we were all together. Mum was still there, though sickly and weak, but we were together. We shared a meal, even though she ate very little. Mum, brother, his wife, my nephew, and I, all of us together. I could still hold her hand then, I could lie next to her and fall asleep imagining I'm a baby next to his mother. That's all in the past now... no more, no more... Momentarily, the past and all those beautiful memories saddened me.
"Are you alright? How are you doing nowadays?" he asked I think he could hear from the sound of my voice that I am really deflated and unmotivated (I imagine anyone can...). In a rare moment of bonding and care, I felt he was genuinely concerned, perhaps more so because when I visited three weeks ago I told him I have been terribly lonely and often sad these few months since mum left-- a feeling that intensified only after my return to Canada and as I began to pick up my life. I told him then about how lost I feel, so uncertain I am where to start and what to do with myself.
On the phone today, he encouraged me, told me to do things to distract myself and feel less lonely. "You just have to go on... what else can you do?"
Yes, go on, swallow the unpleasant feelings and debilitating emotions that leave your mind and soul so weak and tired, and you must try not let the loneliness and feelings of loss get to you and affect you. Or at least try not let it all affect you too much.
Coming from my brother, it was rare, and heart warming.
The beginning of the conversation was about (family) business, which I just dread talking about, even though it must be dealt with. What to do with my mum's house, what to do with her belongings (chuck them or donate them...), and so on. He wants me to be available online in the coming period so he can skype with me and show me things to decide what to do with every single item in mum's house. It will be a very tough process, especially from afar...
It depresses me even more to think of all these things, especially knowing that for the first time in five years, I cannot be there for the lunar new year celebrations. When my brother mentioned what he plans to do to commemorate my parents on this special occasion (specifically for my dad, the anniversary of whose passing falls on lunar new year's eve...), I just cried. When he mentioned that he will not be spending new year's at home, but instead will go to stay with his mother in-law, I cried even more... Cried quietly of course. Thank goodness the office door was closed.
Just the image of my mum's home being empty for the first time ever is heart-wrenching. To think, only last year we were all together. Mum was still there, though sickly and weak, but we were together. We shared a meal, even though she ate very little. Mum, brother, his wife, my nephew, and I, all of us together. I could still hold her hand then, I could lie next to her and fall asleep imagining I'm a baby next to his mother. That's all in the past now... no more, no more... Momentarily, the past and all those beautiful memories saddened me.
"Are you alright? How are you doing nowadays?" he asked I think he could hear from the sound of my voice that I am really deflated and unmotivated (I imagine anyone can...). In a rare moment of bonding and care, I felt he was genuinely concerned, perhaps more so because when I visited three weeks ago I told him I have been terribly lonely and often sad these few months since mum left-- a feeling that intensified only after my return to Canada and as I began to pick up my life. I told him then about how lost I feel, so uncertain I am where to start and what to do with myself.
On the phone today, he encouraged me, told me to do things to distract myself and feel less lonely. "You just have to go on... what else can you do?"
Yes, go on, swallow the unpleasant feelings and debilitating emotions that leave your mind and soul so weak and tired, and you must try not let the loneliness and feelings of loss get to you and affect you. Or at least try not let it all affect you too much.
Coming from my brother, it was rare, and heart warming.
04 May 2012
Touching moments
I could not help myself even though I turned away and began to cry. The teardrop flowed down my cheek, even though I pretended it did not happen. I know mum saw it, and that she was hurting too. We were both hurting, both dreading the moment when we must say good-bye... Is there anything more painful than seeing your loved one cry and be utterly powerless to stop your own tears?
"You have been too good to me all these months..." she said, "Having a child like you is worth it all..." She shed tears, and it was so very difficult, so very painful to see mum openly cry. She does not cry when she is feeling pain, she does not cry when she feels so much discomfort. And yet I make her cry... I am making her cry!
I handed mum a tissue and wiped my own tears with my sleeve. "I just hope you are comfortable now you are back home again..." I choked on my words and had difficulty getting my voice out. I stuttered and croaked. "I just hope you can eat and regain your health. The doctor said that's the most important thing now. Eat and recover..." The doctor said so much more, but mum does not need to face so much when she has just overcome an almost six week stay at the hospital. Really, the most important thing is for her to eat, to rest, to eat and eat some more so that she can regain some of her lost weight and look healthy again. In the picture I took of her yesterday, one with me posing next to her as she ate perhaps two, three spoonfuls of noodles, you could tell mum lost a lot of weight... You could tell she's ill. She had the look my uncle had at my brother's wedding. A dazed, fatigued and tortured look. A painful look to look upon...
"I'll eat well and I'll get better. You've done too much for me to let it go to waste..." Mum likes the new mattress cover, and she said several times it's so comfortable and that she feels less of her sores. She kept on asking me how much it cost, and I kept on telling her it was deeply discounted. "The store lady was moved by my story, and she gave me great discounts. And she threw in the heart-shaped pillow for free!" What price can you put on comfort and good rest, I asked mum rhetorically.
"I'm sorry I've been moody and shouted at you, I..."
"It doesn't matter. It's all in the past..." I broke her off. Nothing matters. Nothing except mum being comfortable and at ease in her mind. Nothing else really matters. I have no regrets. The pain I feel is not from regret, but from having gone through so much with mum over the span of over four months. The pain comes from having pulled through, and to see her back home again. What will happen now, what will happen in two weeks, two months from now, nobody knows. The moments of frustration, anger, confusion and being so pushed to the limit... It's all gone, and we made it, somehow we made it. It is a joyful pain, but just as painful, just as heart-wrenching.
"It will be so painful to see you go. You've been here so long. You've done so much, and spent so much money..."
Inside my heart was shattering. I cannot imagine how it will be... Already I am crying, and I feel the tears are just beginning. "It'll be hard to go back, but I must. I promise I'll study hard and do well on the exam. And I'll go to my graduation." Alone, at least without any family present as I had hoped for, but I will go nonetheless.
Brother entered the room. "Mama, are you crying?"
Mum wiped her tears with her fingers. "Weiwei is leaving. It'll be so hard..."
"We're here..." brother said.
"But soon you'll leave too..."
With red and moist eyes, brother uttered the words with difficulty: "Sooner or later we will all leave. You will leave too..." My sister-in-law stood next to him and clung onto my nephew close to her chest. With a free hand, she wiped the corner of her eye.
My nephew giggled, and the mood and all attention turned. He wriggled in his mother's arms like a wriggly worm. He chuckled and seemed to find something so terribly amusing. Perhaps he was laughing at us "crybabies", for the real baby was not crying, but the four of us were. I laid down next to mum while my brother and sister-in-law stood at mum's bedside. I felt in that moment like the luckiest person, and was basking in the warmth of our bonds, our togetherness.
It was such a brief and rare moment, but it was a moment I could not have wished more for. Just the five of us, our whole family together, mum smiling at her grandchild, her children and daughter-in-law at her side. Such a beautiful, touching moment. Shame it did not come earlier, and that there are only two more days for us to relive similar moments together. But we had that moment, and it was so beautiful.
One day, we must all say farewell. But today is not that day, this moment is not that moment.
"You have been too good to me all these months..." she said, "Having a child like you is worth it all..." She shed tears, and it was so very difficult, so very painful to see mum openly cry. She does not cry when she is feeling pain, she does not cry when she feels so much discomfort. And yet I make her cry... I am making her cry!
I handed mum a tissue and wiped my own tears with my sleeve. "I just hope you are comfortable now you are back home again..." I choked on my words and had difficulty getting my voice out. I stuttered and croaked. "I just hope you can eat and regain your health. The doctor said that's the most important thing now. Eat and recover..." The doctor said so much more, but mum does not need to face so much when she has just overcome an almost six week stay at the hospital. Really, the most important thing is for her to eat, to rest, to eat and eat some more so that she can regain some of her lost weight and look healthy again. In the picture I took of her yesterday, one with me posing next to her as she ate perhaps two, three spoonfuls of noodles, you could tell mum lost a lot of weight... You could tell she's ill. She had the look my uncle had at my brother's wedding. A dazed, fatigued and tortured look. A painful look to look upon...
"I'll eat well and I'll get better. You've done too much for me to let it go to waste..." Mum likes the new mattress cover, and she said several times it's so comfortable and that she feels less of her sores. She kept on asking me how much it cost, and I kept on telling her it was deeply discounted. "The store lady was moved by my story, and she gave me great discounts. And she threw in the heart-shaped pillow for free!" What price can you put on comfort and good rest, I asked mum rhetorically.
"I'm sorry I've been moody and shouted at you, I..."
"It doesn't matter. It's all in the past..." I broke her off. Nothing matters. Nothing except mum being comfortable and at ease in her mind. Nothing else really matters. I have no regrets. The pain I feel is not from regret, but from having gone through so much with mum over the span of over four months. The pain comes from having pulled through, and to see her back home again. What will happen now, what will happen in two weeks, two months from now, nobody knows. The moments of frustration, anger, confusion and being so pushed to the limit... It's all gone, and we made it, somehow we made it. It is a joyful pain, but just as painful, just as heart-wrenching.
"It will be so painful to see you go. You've been here so long. You've done so much, and spent so much money..."
Inside my heart was shattering. I cannot imagine how it will be... Already I am crying, and I feel the tears are just beginning. "It'll be hard to go back, but I must. I promise I'll study hard and do well on the exam. And I'll go to my graduation." Alone, at least without any family present as I had hoped for, but I will go nonetheless.
Brother entered the room. "Mama, are you crying?"
Mum wiped her tears with her fingers. "Weiwei is leaving. It'll be so hard..."
"We're here..." brother said.
"But soon you'll leave too..."
With red and moist eyes, brother uttered the words with difficulty: "Sooner or later we will all leave. You will leave too..." My sister-in-law stood next to him and clung onto my nephew close to her chest. With a free hand, she wiped the corner of her eye.
My nephew giggled, and the mood and all attention turned. He wriggled in his mother's arms like a wriggly worm. He chuckled and seemed to find something so terribly amusing. Perhaps he was laughing at us "crybabies", for the real baby was not crying, but the four of us were. I laid down next to mum while my brother and sister-in-law stood at mum's bedside. I felt in that moment like the luckiest person, and was basking in the warmth of our bonds, our togetherness.
It was such a brief and rare moment, but it was a moment I could not have wished more for. Just the five of us, our whole family together, mum smiling at her grandchild, her children and daughter-in-law at her side. Such a beautiful, touching moment. Shame it did not come earlier, and that there are only two more days for us to relive similar moments together. But we had that moment, and it was so beautiful.
One day, we must all say farewell. But today is not that day, this moment is not that moment.
17 March 2012
Recall
Mum kept on asking me what brother wanted to talk to me about in private. I told her we want to discuss how to divide her assets (that was a joke...). The truth was I asked my brother to talk this weekend, to have a serious talk about what steps to take to deal with mum's deteriorating condition, and the possibility of the end of her long journey. Be prepared is what our conversation was about, and it was perhaps the calmest and most serious conversation we have had (ever?).
My sister-in-law came to visit today for a couple of hours at my urging, and she could see how weak and fragile mum's health has become. Brother, through skype, cannot really see much, but a more personal account from his wife I imagine gives my brother a better understanding of the seriousness of mum's condition.
I told him frankly about mum's diagnosis. Most likely, unless some miracle occurs, it will be downhill from now. The cancer will spread, mum's organs will weaken and begin to fail. Treatment, further treatment is an option, but what purpose will that serve? There is only one resolution at the end of this all, and we all know what that is. The impending surgery is just to make sure she does not starve, to make sure mum can still ingest food properly. A part of me, and I expressed this fear to brother, fears that with mum's condition now she may not survive the trauma of another surgery. These coming two weeks will be critical, and I have to be ever so vigilant and ready to make the difficult phone call to ask my brother to return at a moment's notice. I have also made arrangements so that he has enough means to get a ticket, if need be, immediately.
Yes, it all seems very impersonal to describe mum's condition this way, but those are the facts, those are the realities. It is up to us, the children, to soothe those hard facts and hopefully make this final stage of mum's life a memorable and easy process. I told him that he should consider spending more time with mum, and my brother and sister-in-law understood what they role is and are making good suggestions about what they can do.
My brother said he can get a few months' sabbatical to come home and spend some time with mum. His main concern is that being on unpaid leave he will have the burden to pay bills and the mortgage, but I reassured him that I can step in to help in whatever way I can. "At this point, there is nothing more important," I said, referring to the fact that there really is nothing more important than spending time with mum, precious moments with mum, and sending her off in a beautiful, moving manner.
I promised I'd be in touch, and my brother said he always has his mobile close by. I imagine he is agitated and anxious being so far away and unable to do much. I reassured him I am here, and doing what I can, and he actually thanked me for all I've been doing. I just smiled and said I'm just doing what I can, and it is only so much.
We both have different roles to play, and I feel as we get closer to losing another parent, there is a bond between my brother and I that is becoming closer and warmer.
My sister-in-law came to visit today for a couple of hours at my urging, and she could see how weak and fragile mum's health has become. Brother, through skype, cannot really see much, but a more personal account from his wife I imagine gives my brother a better understanding of the seriousness of mum's condition.
I told him frankly about mum's diagnosis. Most likely, unless some miracle occurs, it will be downhill from now. The cancer will spread, mum's organs will weaken and begin to fail. Treatment, further treatment is an option, but what purpose will that serve? There is only one resolution at the end of this all, and we all know what that is. The impending surgery is just to make sure she does not starve, to make sure mum can still ingest food properly. A part of me, and I expressed this fear to brother, fears that with mum's condition now she may not survive the trauma of another surgery. These coming two weeks will be critical, and I have to be ever so vigilant and ready to make the difficult phone call to ask my brother to return at a moment's notice. I have also made arrangements so that he has enough means to get a ticket, if need be, immediately.
Yes, it all seems very impersonal to describe mum's condition this way, but those are the facts, those are the realities. It is up to us, the children, to soothe those hard facts and hopefully make this final stage of mum's life a memorable and easy process. I told him that he should consider spending more time with mum, and my brother and sister-in-law understood what they role is and are making good suggestions about what they can do.
My brother said he can get a few months' sabbatical to come home and spend some time with mum. His main concern is that being on unpaid leave he will have the burden to pay bills and the mortgage, but I reassured him that I can step in to help in whatever way I can. "At this point, there is nothing more important," I said, referring to the fact that there really is nothing more important than spending time with mum, precious moments with mum, and sending her off in a beautiful, moving manner.
I promised I'd be in touch, and my brother said he always has his mobile close by. I imagine he is agitated and anxious being so far away and unable to do much. I reassured him I am here, and doing what I can, and he actually thanked me for all I've been doing. I just smiled and said I'm just doing what I can, and it is only so much.
We both have different roles to play, and I feel as we get closer to losing another parent, there is a bond between my brother and I that is becoming closer and warmer.
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