Big move

Finally, after seven months, the flatmate moved out of the apartment. Maybe I should have asked her to move earlier, just be hard on her and not care if she has a place to stay or the money to pay for a place to stay. But I guess, like someone said, I'm too soft, too nice. Plus I was away for a while, so I just let my friend stay around. Two weeks turned into two months, turned into seven months...

A month or so ago I gave her notice and now I can hardly believe she finally moved out. It's not a completely clean move, as in there are still many things she left behind, and and pick things up over the next few days.

I had originally planned to start cleaning her room, as since she moved in, it's been cluttered with her belongings that there is barely any space to walk on. Even now, with half of her belongings gone, the place looks like a refugee camp that's been plundered not once but three times over. She'll be back to pick up the rest of her things, she said, but I wonder how long still till my cat and I get full 'visitation' and usage rights of the room that for the last seven months was effectively severed from the rest of the house ( she had habit of keeping the door closed to prevent the cat from getting in... And perhaps to prevent the mess from being seen or getting out...)

I came home tonight after a night out with two friends. I entered my apartment, and for the first time in such a long long time , I felt so free to do as I wished and to walk around the place without having to think that there is someone there. For the first time in such a long time, I don't have to smile and make conversation or appear interested in small talk Nd exchange pleasantries. Maybe it's me, the way I'm, but after this experience of living with someone, I would think long and hard before living with another person.

I enjoy living alone, and the peace and quiet and freedom. That fonts with it.

Brother's birthday

I called my brother today, the second time since we last saw one another around a month and a half ago. I wished him a happy birthday, and spoke to him for a while, asking him how he and my sister-in-law (and baby) are doing these days. Just a little catching up, and a sign that our relationship has improved much in recent times.

He sounded a bit down, as he is worried about the process of his wife immigrating to the Netherlands.  For the last decade or so, it has become notoriously difficult to immigrate to the Netherlands. The situation is so dire that  human rights organisations as well as the European Court of Justice have on several occasions  chastised the country for having an inhumane and excessively strict immigration policy-- a policy that has seen the imprisonment of children, the deportation of young girls to countries like Afghanistan, and forced separation of families and partners. According to the authorities, it is not enough that you are married to someone who is a legal resident or citizen of the Netherlands. You must demonstrate the ability to communicate in basic Dutch before you can even begin the process of applying for immigration. And being able to converse in Dutch does not automatically mean you are eligible. All sorts of papers have to be filled in, and a long waiting process is due before you can actually set foot in the country.
 
What does this all mean for my brother and his wife? The very likelihood of very long delays, bureaucratic hurdles as well as headaches for my brother and his wife, even if they fulfill all the necessary and legal requirements to immigrate.

I listened to brother's troubles, and tried to be helpful by saying that I'll try to do what I can to help if need be. I think he was touched by that, and we ended the conversation on a lighter note.

As I put down the phone, there was a warm fuzzy feeling inside. We are connecting on a whole new level, and that is heartwarming.

Feast for my family

It wasn't exactly today, but I woke up early to shop and start preparations for a big feast for my ancestors.

Traditionally, Qing Ming Festival 清明節 or Tomb Sweeping Day falls some day in April or May, and it's a day for Taiwanese to pay respects to the deceased family and relatives. Food and offerings play a central part in the commemorations, and families usually cook elaborate meals and put it in front of the family altar for the spirits of loved ones who have left before us.

Mum wanted to commemorate this day by visiting the temple where dad is laid to rest, and like everytime when she visits, she tires herself out by waking up especially early to cook, not to mention the trips to the market the day(s) before to buy fresh produce and flowers and paper money to burn. So this time I made a 'pact' with her: I will host my own feast and celebration here in Canada so she doesnt have to make it so elaborate and exhaust herself there.

I cooked nine dishes, including soup, a dessert, and variety of vegetables and bought half a roasted duck to offer, together with packets of biscuits and bottles of fizzy drinks. Luckily my friend was with me to help out and lay the tables, so it was all done with relative ease and speed ( but still it till over 3 hours from start to finish...)

I had my neighbours over to eat the 'leftovers'. While people may have mocked or thought it strange that I would go through all that trouble to cook for 'invisible' guests, I didn't find it at all odd. I may have lived abroad almost all my life, but there is a deep part of me that is still rooted to my roots. Roots that are tied to my ancestors, my forefathers and foremothers, tied to my late dad, without whom I would not be here and live with such ease and in such comfort today. People may not understand why I choose to engage and trouble myself with rituals and superstition, but what's wrong with giving my ancestors and dad an opportunity to visit Canada? :)

I put my hands before my chest and spoke to them quietly in my heart... Thanked them for their hardships and sacrifices, remembered them for who they were and what they meant to me growing up. What little food and drink I could offer then is but a small token of my eternal gratitude and appreciation.

Charity?

I've been told I was too naive, too nice, and even too stupid (well, maybe not with that exact word, but something to that effect) to offer a friend my spare room to stay in. She'd never leave, they said... She's exploiting you, they said.

Perhaps... Perhaps... But after seven months, it looks like she's finally found an alternative solution to her housing problem, as my roommate found a room to share in an apartment elsewhere.

It hasn't been completely easy living with her. especially after being away for so long, what I most wanted was a place of my own, without having to think about whether there's someone in the next room I might be disturbing. But that will all come to an end soon enough, and my cat will also be glad to know the room she has been physically barred from entering will soon be free territory for her to roam in.

Was it out of a sense of charity that I took my friend in, and let her stay for so long without ever asking for a cent in rent? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm too idealistic, too nice as they say, but in my mind from the very beginning was the idea that if I could do something to help, why not? If I had the spare space to offer, even if to offer to someone j knew would be difficult to live with, why not? Even if it might be to my own detriment and growing inconvenience, if I could help A friend in need, why not? I wouldn't call it charity, as such. Just trying to help someone in need to the best of my abilities, which is more than what a lot of people would do, and I can be grateful that I have the patience and space in my heart to be able to do so.

The motivation has changed little from the day I offers her the spare room to live in, despite seeing my own things gradually shoved aside to make room for hers, despite having to come home at night only to find the kitchen sink cluttered wish unwashed dishes.

Seven months on, the sharing of my living space with another is soon over. I really look forward to having my little comfort zone where u can retire to at the end of the day... And I deserve it.

nightmare,,,

I woke up, so terribly shaken, groaning and my body curled up in a ball, writhing.

The images And sounds were so terribly disturbing,all too real, all too possible...

Mum, brother and I were on a trip somewhere, driving next to a river with little settlements on either side of the bank. We stopped at a place to rest, a place which happened to belong to someone we knew.

Mum retreated to bed early, but from the door open ajar, I cod see her in terrible, terrible pain and agony. "why did you come out when you were in such discomfort?" I asked.

She did not reply, but just kept rocking back and forth, holding onto her aching arm. It was à terribly sorry sight to see...

In the next scene, 　mum begun crying, begun lashing out at people all around her, and she was sweating profusely, talking gibberish like she had lost her ability to speak. I watched in tears, rushed to camp her down , to reassure her that it'll all be alright, but even I panicked and was so terribly lost and shaken by her convulsions and throws of her fist.

"please, mum, nooooooooo!"

That's when I woke up and found myself groaning, but Those groans were not answered..:

worrying too much?

I still get emotional when I talk about my stay with mum recently. I guess it has really had a tremendous impact on me, more than I realise, and more than anyone else can ever comprehend...

at lunch with two friends today, out of concern they asked me how mum was doing. To be honest, I'm always lost as what to answer. She's not well, but at the same time she's not in a great degree if pain and suffering either ( at least not to my knowledge...) "Stable" I said eventually, "At this stage as long as it does not worsen thats a good thing".

even having been back here for almost three weeks now, in the back of my mind I still wonder whether it was right to leave her, especially whenever mum has to go to the hospital all alone. I sleep terribly at night, my mind so disturbed and strained by thoughts and worries, and i wake up often more exhausted than before sleeping.

I call her twice a day , sometimes three times- to the effect that she jokes that I'm calling her as if after each and every meal of the day. "You really worry too much" she said the other day "Concentrate on your own things and get your work done"

It's easier said than done.... But somehow I'll have to manage.

misunderstanding?

I left after dinner. Perhaps I should have stayed, but my heart told me to go, for I felt so frustrated, mainly at myself. For the second time in as many weeks I felt like I shouldn't be around him because I seem to have this ability to make him feel unappreciated (worse still, depreciated...) by the things I say.

Did he want me to stay? I'm not sure, but he looked saddened and hurt by comments I had made, especially as he went out of his way to make me a nice
meal. And the evening was ruined by my commments and incessant questions. Was it a simple case of miscommunication, or does it come down to the fundamental problem I have receiving what others want to give me? I felt terrible to have mislead him, but felt there was little I could say to make the situation better.

Maybe time and space apart will make soothe whatever tensions or misunderstandings there may have been... I sure hope so...

disturbed

I suddenly woke up at a little after two in the morning. On the ground was a fresh sprinkling of snow, yellow in the glow of the street lamps. I tried reaching mum numerous times in the course of the evening, yet she could not be found. I tried again, and much to my relief she was home.

She went to get a massage, she said, after complaining of severe pains in her arm that made her feel so restless and uncomfortable. The latest treatment left her feeling tired and drained, I could hear it in her voice. More so than previous treatments, I'm not sure.

I went back to sleep, but it was a restless night of flipping and turning, and I could swear I felt sores and discomfort in my arm for no apparent reason.

Test

This will be the first time Im publishing through my new iPhone. Kind of difficult to type on such a small keyboard, but I'll have to get used to it!!!

Talk

Lying in bed last night, we discussed about travel plans, namely the possibility to go see my boyfriend's family when he visits them in a couple of weeks time. As much as I really would like to visit him in the surroundings of his upbringing, and to get to know his parents better, I am somehow so weary of travelling. Just thinking of booking tickets, of packing my bags and being away from home for even just a few days or so makes me feel tired... I was even thinking of planning surprise visit and just show up at his doorstep one day. But that seems like an improbably fantasy...



There was a time when I could just pack my bags and be on my way to the next adventure the next morning. There was a time when travelling, flying, exploring the world filled with such enthusiasm and joy. But the back and forth between here and home (in Taiwan), and the ever-constant worry about mum's wellbeing, has really sapped the enthusiasm and joy of travelling from me. And whenever I hear my boyfriend speak of how he would like to go here or there, and do this or that with me, I find it hard to share in the enthusiasm and excitement, which makes me feel bad towards him.



I think part of the reason is because I really am not sure how long I have till the next time I pack my bags to go home and be with mum. With her unstable health condition, and the possibility of a major surgery looming, I could only just have weeks, or at most a month or two before I am on my way again, before I am separated from the comforts and familiarities of my own home indefinitely. That prospect scares me, disturbs my subconsciousness at night when I sleep, however much I try to tell myself not to think or worry too much about the future.

One day retreat

A father watching his twenty-something year old daughter sleep soundly and is reminded of her face as a little girl so small... someone talking a shortcut through the park, and is struck by the sight of a little squirrel nibling peacefully on a piece of bread as cars all around sped past... a mother moved by the interaction a mother with her  mentally impaired daughter on a bus... someone driving and racing to make the class and for many moments her mind was so confused and clouded by haste and worry... and a girl walking toward the class, her mind filled with thoughts and wellwishes for the people suffering in the aftermath of the devastating earthquake in Japan...

So many scenes, sights and sounds of the world, all brought together by twenty strangers who had woken up on a Saturday morning to sit in a little hall. As you made your way here, what left an impression on your mind, the teaching asked, and how did you deal with that impression? Were you moved to tears, anxious, amazed or annoyed? Did you get caught up in those feelings, and let them spin your mind and drown your mind with agitation and frustration? Or did you let watch the feelings, watch them as they came or went?

For the six or so hours we were together, it felt like a great union of bodies and minds at one place. The day-retreat centred on the theme of "Equanimity", the Buddhist concept that whatever happens in and around you, you should maintain a calm and unmoved state of mind. If happiness arises, realise that there is happiness, enjoy the happiness, but do not dwell in it, do not cling onto it. If sadness arises, or if you are confronted with situations that is mentally and physically tormenting, see that sadness, that pain, that suffering, and do not linger in it, do not despair in it. All things, all feelings will pass, and emotions are always moving (e-"motion"), always changing. Being equanimous, or at ease, requires great restraint, requires the ability to see through things, see through feelings and the understanding that the world is never stable, and nothing is really "yours" or "mine".

Through a mix of sitting meditation and walking meditation and talks, the morning went and too soon, or so it felt, the session was over. I opened my eyes, after having closed them in meditation for a long while, and adjusted to the room. What an experience it was, even if at times I was afflicted with memories, feelings of shame, guilt, anxiety and worry. What an experience it was to close your eyes, and to watch the mind, watch what looks like a faint flame that blows in the direction of the winds, yet never fades.

This is the practice... to be able to face and be blown over by great storms or gentle breezes, and yet not stir...

Reminder

A few years ago, I set my (future) self a number of goals online, and every six months or so, I would get a reminder. One of these goals is "to love and be loved in return". Many times, when I get this reminder, I would just dismiss it, and be left forlorn in hope.

Yet, as I opened my inbox today and saw the reminder, for the first time, I smiled.

I have accomplished this goal today, and I can only be grateful for being able to love, and be loved in return...

Insult...

I don't know what possessed me. It was such a wonderful day working with a colleague and my boyfriend, and we decided to round it off with a nice meal at an Indian restaurant. The food was delicious, conversation and laughters flowed.

And at the end of the meal, I dropped a comment making fun of both their belly sizes. My boyfriend's face immediately turned, and we did not speak for a long while. Luckily it was already the end of the meal, so the awkward silence at the restaurant did not last too long We said goodnight and parted quietly. I ran to make sure I made it to his apartment before he did, and I waited for his return. In the snow, I wrote "SORRY".

Again, I don't know what possessed me to blurt out a comment that hurt his self-esteem. Did I say it with malice, with the intention to hurt? Or did I just blurt out something without thinking of the consequences?  I fidgeted with my fingers, and felt so terribly ashamed how I injured him so badly emotionally. It felt oppressive, and the mood reminded me of the tumultuous days back in November-December last year when the future of our relationship felt under jeopardy. He had every right to be upset, to be angry, to be deeply disappointed in me. I could not but apologise and say how sorry I felt for hurting him so... Karma comes back to haunt you, and my stomach felt so very upset as if the food could throw up at any moment...

He could have scolded me, called me names, hurt me back. But he did not. Instead, he was numb, perhaps numbed by how much the hurt and insult was, especially coming from someone you would think could only give you joy and love, and do you no harm. Perhaps he felt betrayed, angry, frustrated why he was with somebody who would make fun of his body image...

Clandestinely I grabbed a pen and wrote on my hand "I'm sorry I hurt you"... "Hurt", in the present sense of the word, but also in the past tense too, because this is not the first time. In the two year or so of us knowing one another, and being together, I have on occasion blurted out remarks about his appearance. Am I just downright mean and someone who likes to preach compassion and love, yet can so easily throw insults around, and right in someone's face?

He could have thrown me out, said he did not want to see me, or said things to make me feel like scum, but he did not. Instead, we watched an episode of our current most-watched series, and as the episode went on, we inched closer and closer together. I stayed the night, and fell asleep with his scent tickling my nose, and the warmth of his body against mine...

Not all is forgotten, and I slept poorly the whole night. Quietly I left, and on leaving I left a little note for my boyfriend. No matter how many times I say or write the words "sorry", it does not justify what I made him feel. And that enough is punishment for my being mean and malicious... or simply being so  utterly dumb and inconsiderate for speaking without thinking .

Snowstorm

It is as if the weather was sad that I have not yet experienced 'real' Winter this year, so a few days after my return dumped some 40cm of snow as if in my honour. The sun is now out, and the city is covered with white. It may be a nuisance walking down the streets-- a dirty and at times dangerous affair to trudge through the sludge and puddles (not to mention to avoid getting splashed by speeding traffic). But there is a certain beauty to be enjoyed when everything is covered in snow. At least, I am often told, this feeling of excitement and being mesmerised by snow, will last for a short while until you are just so sick and tired of the cold and having to shovel snow from your doorsteps.

The jetlag is slowly subsiding, even though in the evenings my head is sometimes heavy with tiredness. Almost a week since my return to Montreal, I am slowly picking up the pieces of where I left off over two months ago. I've been doing some work at the office, in a way to help myself adjust to a 'normal' working day with some not-so-demanding office chores before I dive right into the mentally-straining task of finishing my  long-overdue thesis. A number of nights I have spent with my friend, and to appear and behave in front of our mutual friends officially as a couple fills my heart with a certain sense of belonging, and contentment that I have long longed for. And mum's health condition has been relatively stable, and she sounds cheerful when I  call her in the morning and evening.

So at the moment, life seems to be going relatively well on most levels... except the housing situation with my roommate. Perhaps it is being away for so long and wanting to have my own private space, but after  coming home  last week I feel more and more that I need to live alone.

It has been already six months since my roommate moved in, even though in the beginning we both agreed it would only be a temporary solution. Granted I was away for a while, so there was no real problem of her staying at my place and taking care of things, but now that I am home again, I am feeling more and more frustrated about her constant presence. Her personal items are scattered all over the place, and though she may not be a malicious person, she has this tendency to stalk other people's online profiles and gossip about what other people are doing, which I frankly do not enjoy listening to, especially after coming home at the end of the day. It has gotten to a point where I kind of dread going home and having to interact with her, and having to exchange small talk and pleasantries just for the sake of it-- when in reality I just want to unwind and not talk.

In a way I feel bad for her. Already close to forty, but she still has no stable income or stable life to speak of. Part of it comes down to the fact that she is somewhat of a difficult person to get along with. At the same time, she also has a very high opinion of herself, so does not want to just get any odd job, even if it is to pay the bills. So she stays on, and in a way is living off of me, because I don't charge her anything at all for rent. As often happens, my soft spot for other people's misfortunes becomes a weakness that over time is exploited.

Last night, I put it out there, for really it has reached a point where, though not yet unbearable, I feel I should just be frank before things get too uncomfortable, at least for my sake. I said I need my own space, and reminded her that it has already been six months, and that it's time she found an alternative solution. She started tearing, as often happens when she becomes upset, but I was unwaivering. Have I not been patient and generous enough, especially when nobody would have gone to the extremes of letting her into their homes for so long? I really don't think I need to feel any guilt or remorse for asking her to leave, especially as she is just a friend, and not really someone I feel that close to. As much as I care about her wellbeing, there comes a point when you have to say enough is enough.

She said she understood, and agreed to try to look for something within the month. I was relieved to have spoken to her in a calm and rational manner, and I fell asleep with relative ease. So the countdown to the day she moves out has begun.

How I look forward to the day when I, and my little cat, can walk around freely again in my own apartment without having to think about whether I am disturbing anyone.

Results

I woke up at various times during the night, at midnight, at three in the morning, and then six in the morning. I was woken up by dreams. Not terrible ones, but ones that seem to be telling, and that revolve around people in my life.

At six, I decided to get up and start the day, first with a period of meditation. I think I needed it, just before calling mum.

Her voice was 'normal' sounding as she recounted her day at the hospital. She waited over eight hours today to see the neurosurgeon, who was fully booked with appointments because he is going abroad for a conference soon. The latest whole body scan for tumour revealed that the situation is not as bad as we imagined (though, that does not mean it's good either...). The most critical place where the cancer is growing is indeed in section C-7 of the spinal column. The tumour  growing inside the column has taken over half of the space inside, and as a result pressing on the nerves, which causes the periodic numbness and pain in mum's left arm.

On the whole, the neurosurgeon recommends surgery, as it will (most likely) get rid of the tumour once and for all (if successful), and will prolong her life for at least some period of time. No surgery will mean eventual collapse of the spinal column, and definite paralysis-- a prospect that mum is very worried about. She will have to take another MRI scan soon to determine the risks of the surgery, and then it will be decision time. It will be a difficult decision, and I told her she should consider it and weigh the decision against everything... quality of life, length of life, and whether she really wants to go through the risks to live that much longer, even though "that much" is always going to be a mystery. Once again, in the face of death and life-changing illness, you are forced to confront life, and make the most of it...

Mum sounded reassured, and she did say that she was feeling somewhat lighter as she went home from the appointment. At least the good news is that the cancer has not spread all over the body and is at the moment localised. But the growth in the spinal column is a very sensitive area, and the risks, as well as time required for recovery, in the case of eventual surgery are great.

Mum sounded reassured, and to be honest that is the most important thing I care about at this point. Whatever she decides, whatever happens in the future, I will be there somehow to support her and show that I care.

Results?

I was so tired this evening that even as I was eating dinner, and watching an episode of the Simpsons online, my eyes were closing. I tried as much as I could to stay awake, but the longest I could drag it out before I dragged myself to bed was a little after quarter past eight at night...

Earlier, the noise of my roommate returning home, arranging her groceries and cooking did not really wake me, or keep me awake. But suddenly, close to midnight I woke up, and had difficulty falling asleep again.  I think something else within my body woke me up, like an automatic alarm set to wake up before some important event.

The long awaited results from mum's complete body scan will be revealed today. It was supposed to be Monday, but she postponed the appointment till today because she was doing chemo on that day. I called her just now, feeling a bit apprehensive as the ring tone sounded over the speakers of the computer. I was wondering to myself what to say, how to react to the news, even though I was not sure what kind of news it would be...

Somehow, there is a nascent fear that the results will reveal something very negative. I guess my primary worry is mum's response to the results, especially now that I am gone. If I were there, at least I could physically support her, console her, and make her feel at ease somehow, for it is very easy to descend into depression and wallow in the pains of inacceptance and disbelief, especially something as important as these results are revealed.

Mum was still waiting for her turn when I called. so she sounded 'normal'.

 But I wonder how she will feel after she walks out of that appointment room, and walks home alone... The best I could offer were two words "good luck" (加油), even though it sounded out of place. The results, whatever they will be, are the results. "Good luck" will not change them and make them any better. It all depends on how you respond to the results, and whether you will let the results influence the way you feel and think.

Back again

For the first time in over two months, I lay down on my own bed last night, and fell asleep as if it were a dream... There is something so comforting sleeping in your own bed. It may be the scent of the duvet that you are so used to, the softness of the pillow, or the company of the soft toys you are so used to hugging... There seems to be no greater joy than sleeping in the comfort of your own bed.

The first full day back in Montreal it has been. I feel tired still from the travelling, and the back of my head is aching for some reason. It has been aching for a number of days already since I returned, at times, the aching intensifies to the extent that I cannot concentrate properly. At other times, it seems to be completely non-existent. Even so, I really  am happy to be back,  and to be surrounded by the friends and personal belongings I am familiar with. And despite being away for so long, even my cat is warming up to me quickly, purring and lying her back as I play with her.

Last night, a few of my closest friends threw a small get-together on my behalf, and we sat around a table, eating, drinking and re-bonding over stories and  anecdotes from one another's lives which we missed while I was away. At work today, I reconnected with my colleagues, many of whom missed my presence, and were glad to see me back. I remember one vivid moment this afternoon when I broke out in laughter from joy... joy of being part of the carefree banter, merrymaking and  frivolous gossiping that goes on at the office.

 All these people I thought of at times while I was away, and now back again, I appreciate them even more seeing them all again. Through their letters, brief conversations on the phone and greeting cards, they offered their invaluable compassion and care for my wellbeing while I was away and going through difficult times. Now that I am back, they offer their support and kind words of understanding and encouragement for what I am going through. "It is never easy to be away from a parent who is unwell," one person said, "But try to make the most of your time." I feel truly blessed to have this kind of support.

Even if at get-togethers I am  mostly the person who stands at the side, and someone who quietly listens to and smiles at what other people are saying, it feels good to belong, and to know that I am thought of and welcomed with open arms.

En route to YUL

I caught a last glimpse of the plane that would fly in the opposite direction towards Taipei, whereas I was sitting in a plane about to take off and fly eastward toward Montreal. Sometimes situations and circumstances in life make you wonder whether things can  merely be dismissed as coincidences, or are coincidences trying to make you think and smile at symbolism of it all.

A few hours of sleep later, I woke up to the dark sky outside my little window dawning on the horizon. A faint sliver of orange at first, the day eventually triumphed over the darkness, revealing a vast cold, snow-covered land beneath that is enchantingly beautiful and boundless.

In the final dozens of minutes before landing in Montreal, I’m in a strange pensive mood. It has been a long, long trip home, and finally I am almost there, almost in my own home, almost back to the place I left in a hurry, and with apprehension and fear, some two months ago. Much of the fear and apprehensive has subsided now, at least at this moment. But the tiredness from the travels, as well as worries at the back of my mind about mum’s latest treatment, has sapped a lot of the initial enthousiasm of return out of me.

 Slowly, slowly, I must pick up my life, and gradually work on my life, or at least try to bring an end to all the things I began or make a start to the things I planned to do.

Clear skies ahead, and we’re due for a smooth, gradual descent.

Really letting go...

It's close to 4.30 in the morning in Vancouver. The last three nights I have arrived back here, still unaccustomed to the 'time travel' (jetlag) has tuned my body to automatically wake up around this time of the day (night?). It takes some twisting and turning before I can fall back to sleep again. It does not help that, despite the relative calm with which I left Taiwan, I find my mind drifting back to mum...

The feelings of longing grow more and more as the moment of receiving her test results approaches (which is in around 12 hours time...) I'm not sure what the doctor will tell her, and what the latest complete bone scan and tumour scan will reveal about the state of her condition, and frankly, how long she has left. But my main concern is that she will most likely be alone when she is receiving that news. And straight after receiving the news, she has a chemo therapy session planned, and this time with a new drug she has never used, which potentially may have unexpected or never before experienced side-effects.

So, at times in my  drifting state of consciousness, whether during the day or asleep at night, I encounter nagging thoughts of whether it was a wise decision to come back, even though I seemed to be so certain before. Being at times lost in thought, and not really enthusiastic about going out and doing things, has also caused so strain between my friend and I. I feel bad that he flew all the way to greet me, and with the intention of cheering me up, and making happy memories together, and perhaps I cannot fully appreciate what he is trying to do for me, for us. Though, really, at times it is difficult to really fully enjoy the moment when my mind drifts and wanders, and clouds over with dark thoughts about mum's wellbeing.

I remember mum saying to me one night, just before sleeping... she looked at me, and softly said:

“You’ve really done a lot for all of us.” I guess I know it deep inside, because people has said that to me, because the things I do for her move people to tears, and most important of all, she said it herself. But being too hard on myself, it takes time to really believe it.

Personally, being there for my parents is something of an ongoing personal 'mission' I strive to accomplish. And at times, unfortunately, feel I have not really done enough, especially in the case of my dad who passed away all too soon, and all too suddenly. Do I have a chance to make it all better in the case of my mum? That is a question that has been on my mind for the last couple of years, and with her ailing health, the question continues to cast a shadow over my life and life decisions.

Looking back, there is a reason why in the last two, three years I’ve flown back and forth between where I live (be that the Netherlands or Canada) and Taiwan. I want to make the most of my available time to be there for my mother, to give her a boost of confidence and human contact during those days she needs it most—especially days when she is undergoing chemo therapy, and when she is at her weakest, physically and mentally. Whether it’s making her bed every morning or warming her bed with the electric blanket at night before she retires, whether it’s sweeping the hairs off of the floor so she does not feel upset seeing her hair loss, every little bit helps, it feels like. Whether it’s making a meal for her, making sure that she gets enough nutrients and can quickly recover from her chemo treatment, or whether it’s accompanying her to the park to do exercises and to get a breath of fresh air—they’re all little things that make her feel cared for, make her feel loved. 

But there comes a point when I have to face reality, and let fate take its course. Call it a gamble, a leap of faith in the world and the way of things. There comes a point when I have to just trust myself, trust that I have done enough, and make peace with what I have done to be there for my mum, to support my mum emotionally and physically when she needs it most. I must learn to trust that I will continue to do so, whatever condition she is in, and wherever I may find myself. I must tell myself that sometimes, a phone call or a letter is enough, and the most I can do, even if it does not feel like it. 

And in the meantime, I must be ready to let go, must remind myself to let go, even when I am so far away, and not regret my decision to go and (re)start my own life abroad, away from her. Staying put and staying constantly at her side will do nobody any good, as I have been told by many outsiders, and even by mum herself. The more I stay around, the more she will feel like I’m waiting for her to ‘pass on’, so that I could finally begin my life. The longer I stay around, the more I will feel there are many opportunities or chances that I am missing, and the more I will feel resentment and regret, at myself, and at life itself. Nothing will make mum feel more at ease, more ready to leave this world in peace when that moment comes, than to see that I am making something of my life, making something out of the years of study and time and efforts that I have invested into my studies.

Nobody knows what the future will bring, or when people will come or go. What I do know is that I have been there for my mum, and I have fully given myself to make sure she feels love and cared for. 

“You’ve really done a lot for all of us…” Those words are a reminder to me that it is time to let go, time to go and do my own things. Whatever will happen will happen, even if things happen in ways or at moments when you least expect them to.

I hope gradually, and with mum’s words in mind, I will be able to find peace in leaving, find peace in my waking moments when I think of her, and find peace in my sleeping moments, when I dream of her. I hope gradually, I will find peace in leaving, and in knowing that I have really done the best I could under the circumstances. 

And, most importantly, mum knows and feels I have done the best I could, and treasures it deeply.

  

Tears

As I couldn’t sleep, I got out of bed, and started to meditate. The sky was just dawning, and there was the soft breathing of my friend sleeping in the background.

For various moments, there was nothing (much) in my mind but my own in-and-out breath. All of a sudden, out of nowhere flashed a memory of my mum and I, and then came a flood of memories of the past two months we spent together.

A stream of tears unexpectedly flowed, and dropped with a  muffled sound against the pillow I was sitting on.  I could not explain the emotions, or why I suddenly started crying, for the very first time since I got on the plane and left for Canada.

The trigger was not sad memories or worries, even though they lingered in the background. The main triggers were actually scenes and images of happy moments, of smiles, of beautiful moments mum and I shared together. such moving, touching moments together, that no one except us experienced, that no one else will ever be able to feel or appreciate the extent of.

Happiness can make you cry, I realise again. 

En route to YVR

Almost at the end of a 12hour flight, and slowly approaching the coast of Canada from the Pacific. It’s the first time for me to fly from Hong Kong to Vancouver, and on the way the plane actually flew over Taiwan. I was fast asleep at the time, exhausted from the day, and from walking around and planespotting at Hong Kong International Airport for almost two hours because I didn’t want to be sitting for too long before the long flight ahead.

It has been a turbulent flight, with here and there extremely bumpy bits along the way. Originally I booked myself an aisle seat, so I could stretch my legs easier, and get up to use the bathroom if I need to without needing to disturb anyone. But there was a family, a dad and his two small children, barely 8 years old, who were separated by some oversight during check-in, so I offered to switch seats with the dad. Besides having water spilled on me, and not being able to really sleep long or well enough, it has been an alright flight.

Once or twice, my mind drifted to mum, drifted to thoughts and dark images of death and pain... It felt relatively easy to leave home and to say goodbye to mum, but perhaps as the distance between us grows, the more difficult it becomes. Or, at least, it just feels that way. Maybe I have not completely let go yet, for part of me fears I may have to return to mum if the next test results are bleak. But really, the only thing I can do is to see how things turn out, and deal with situations as they arise. In the meantime, I must try to work as hard as I can to accomplish my goal of completing my thesis within the next two months.

Almost in Canada… the thought fills me with a sense of freshness and excitement, and a sense of joy of returning to a place where I feel at home. As planned, my friend has arranged to fly all the way to the West Coast in order to greet me at the airport, and we are spending a few days together to bond after so many weeks apart.

I look forward to seeing him again, and to spending time together, alone. Yet, at the same time, I’m a bit apprehensive too about staying around the Vancouver area for four days. Sure, I’m going to see my relatives, and do a bit of sightseeing, but to be honest, I really just want to be back home, back in my own little space in Montreal, especially having been ‘on the road’ for almost two months. I’m not sure how to describe that feeling, because it is not as if I’ve been living out of the suitcase while I was at home with mum. But sometimes after being away from home too long, it feels comfortable, safe just to be surrounded by familiar and personal items.

Almost in Canada again… it’s been two months since I left. Much snow has fallen, much change must have taken place. It will take some getting used to to return, but I  am glad I have come back.

At TPE

One by one, I called my relatives to bid them farewell. All of the conversations with the same blessings and well-wishes. I called mum last.

She sounded cheerful, and it was comforting to hear the cheerfulness in her voice. All all mothers, she told me to take care of myself, to eat well, dress warmly, and not to worry. "I will live my life well," she said. Shortly after I left, my brother and two of her friends called to ask her how she's doing. I am so grateful that there are so many people in her life who care about her wellbeing, and who keep in touch with her to encourage her and to give her emotional support.

I gave mum a hug before I boarded the taxi to the airport. I closed my eyes, and wished her well. And I let go. It was not as difficult as I had feared. I had cleaned the house a bit before I left. I bowed before her little shrine, and asked Buddha to watch over her. I stood before dad's portrait, and asked him to look after mum. And I left my big teddy bear on her bed, so that she will have company at night, and together with the pictures I had put up, so that she can surrounded by smiles, warmth and love as  soon as she gets up, and whenever she goes to bed.

Just before I closed the door of the taxi, I gave her another hug, and she was surprised. "Another hug?" she asked.

"Be happy! Live well!" I said. If my thoughts, my warmth and affection could travel, I hope she felt it through my hug. She did not have tears in her eyes, but I think deep down, she must be sad to see me go... But that sadness will pass, and that sadness I believe, can be overwhelmed the beautiful memories we have shared in the past two months.

As the taxi slowly drove away, I wound down the window and called out "Mum!" She turned to wave, and just before the taxi turned a corner, I watched her, head a little down walking back to our front door. Nobody is sure when we will meet again, and under what circumstances. But somehow, that uncertainty does not scare me as much now.

Soon I will take off... and my heart is for once, at least for now, calm and at ease.

At TPE

One by one, I called my relatives to bid them farewell. All of the conversations with the same blessings and well-wishes. I called mum last.

She sounded cheerful, and it was comforting to hear the cheerfulness in her voice. All all mothers, she told me to take care of myself, to eat well, dress warmly, and not to worry. "I will live my life well," she said. Shortly after I left, my brother and two of her friends called to ask her how she's doing. I am so grateful that there are so many people in her life who care about her wellbeing, and who keep in touch with her to encourage her and to give her emotional support.

I gave mum a hug before I boarded the taxi to the airport. I closed my eyes, and wished her well. And I let go. It was not as difficult as I had feared. I had cleaned the house a bit before I left. I bowed before her little shrine, and asked Buddha to watch over her. I stood before dad's portrait, and asked him to look after mum. And I left my big teddy bear on her bed, so that she will have company at night, and together with the pictures I had put up, so that she can surrounded by smiles, warmth and love as  soon as she gets up, and whenever she goes to bed.

Just before I closed the door of the taxi, I gave her another hug, and she was surprised. "Another hug?" she asked.

"Be happy! Live well!" I said. If my thoughts, my warmth and affection could travel, I hope she felt it through my hug. She did not have tears in her eyes, but I think deep down, she must be sad to see me go... But that sadness will pass, and that sadness I believe, can be overwhelmed the beautiful memories we have shared in the past two months.

As the taxi slowly drove away, I wound down the window and called out "Mum!" She turned to wave, and just before the taxi turned a corner, I watched her, head a little down walking back to our front door. Nobody is sure when we will meet again, and under what circumstances. But somehow, that uncertainty does not scare me as much now.

Soon I will take off... and my heart is for once, at least for now, calm and at ease.

Day before departure

There is an ancient poem called the "Song of the Parting Son" (遊子吟). 
The poem describes a mother sitting and sowing the clothes of her son, who is about to leave home.
Thread by thread, she sows, but her heart is full of worry, because she is uncertain when the son will return home again. The poem ends with a rhetorical question: the gratitude of the child is like the meager blade of grass that is merely a few inches tall... can that blade of grass ever repay the glorious sunshine of many Springs?

慈母手中線， 

遊子身上衣。 

臨行密密縫，  

意恐遲遲歸。 

誰言寸草心，

報得三春暉  

(translation mine)

A loving mother with thread in hand,
[Sewing] On the clothes of a parting son;
Intimately, intimately [she] sows before [his] departure,
[In her] Heart fearing a long, long overdue return.
Who says the love of only inches of grass,
Can ever reciprocate the splendor of sunshine, Spring after Spring?

This afternoon, that very scene seemed to be replaying in our very living room. For some time, mum has noticed there is a hole on the inner seam of my winter coat. As I was packing my suitcase, she got out a needle and thread, and started to sow my coat. I watched her sit by the window, head down, fully concentrated, and carefully pulling the thin thread in and out, in and out as she nimbly mended my coat. It was a touching scene. 

When she finished sowing, I put on the coat, and felt the warmth and affection of a caring mother. The coat is no longer just a coat that I put on to brave the cold. It now has a special meaning, as if it were blessed. Indeed, how could any child  ever repay the amount of time, energy and worry of a mother?

Tucking mum into bed tonight might be the last time for a long time to come... it might even be the very last time I am sitting by her side, and watching her close her eyes to sleep. This time tomorrow, I will no longer be around. The sadness of leaving has not caught up yet, but I know and fear it will come soon enough...

Two months have already passed since I arrived her, hoping to make a difference, hoping to give mum emotional support and encouragement while she is going through a very difficult time in her life. I've been told by various people that I've done more than enough, that I've done more than most people would. It is rare, they say, for a son who lives abroad to want to spend so much time with his own mother-- especially someone who can easily just go off and enjoy his own life far, far away... More than once, complete strangers on the street have complimented me on how I treat my mum praised how wonderful our relationship appears to be.

I can only say I try... I try, because it is the only thing that we as human beings do best when we do not know what fate or life has in store for us. 

I try to make the most of the time together with mum, even if there are moments of frustration and grumpiness, especially being in a confined space together for a long time. I try to make her feel comforted, loved and cared for. Try, with my words of encouragement, with my pats on the back, with little gifts and surprises, with those little notes and photographs that I leave around the house. In the latest attempt at surprising mum and trying to inject a boost of confidence and refreshment in life,  I put up various pictures in her room. There are pictures of nature, of many places around the world mum has visited, and also beautiful pictures of moments of mum smiling, laughing and looking very happy, looking as if there were not a worry in the world. "See, it is possible to have fun, to enjoy life!" I said, as I pointed to her in the pictures and relived memories together. One picture is of mum standing next to a big tall tree, and she put her hand on the tree trunk, because the tree had a huge tumour. I remember clearly she said to me that day that even trees have tumours, and they still grow to be old and strong.

I may not be here tomorrow this time, but there are many memories that will linger. And there are many things that I have done and many things I have left behind that will fill the void after my suitcase, my wintercoat, and my physical presence has left...

letting go...

“You’ve really done a lot for all of us,” mum said as she looked into my eyes. She lay in bed in her pajamas and was getting ready to sleep. I was by her bedside and stroked her back a little to wish her goodnight.

There are many things a child can do to show love and affection toward the parents, and one of them is to provide care and support when they are old and frail. Growing up in a culture infused with the Confucian philosophy of ‘filial piety’, a child is expected to tend to the needs of the parents in old age, is expected to provide and house the parents till they leave this world. All this grounded in the idea that the nurture and love of a parent toward a child during childhood and adolescence (and beyond) is like a debt that can never be repaid in kind, so the least a child can do is try to care as much as possible for the parents while they are alive.

But times have changed, societies have modernised, and values and beliefs have radically been simplified, or even forgotten. Personally, though, being loving and caring for my parents is something I always strive to do, and unfortunately, sometimes I feel I have not really done enough, especially in the case of my dad who passed away all too soon, and all too suddenly.

Do I have a chance to make it all better in the case of my mum? That is a question that has been on my mind for the last couple of years, and with her seemingly ailing health, the question continues to cast a shadow over my life.

There is a reason why in the last two, three years I’ve flown back and forth between where I live (be that the Netherlands or Canada) and Taiwan. I want to make the most of my available time to be there for my mother, to give her a boost of confidence and human contact during those days she needs it most—especially days when she is undergoing chemo therapy, and when she is at her weakest, physically and mentally. Whether it’s making her bed every morning or warming her bed with the electric blanket at night before she retires, whether it’s sweeping the hairs off of the floor so she does not feel upset seeing her hair loss, whether it’s making a meal for her, making sure that she gets enough nutrients and can quickly recover from her chemo treatment, or whether it’s accompanying her to the park to do exercises and to get a breath of fresh air—they’re all little things that make her feel cared for, make her feel loved. Even strangers on the street have complimented me on how caring and loving I am toward her, which seems to surprise people pleasantly.

I may not be the perfect son, for I can be impatient and at times clumsy. But my care and my love toward my mum is genuine, and it moves people, moves even me, to tears. I never regret anything I have done, for I do it all willingly, and I could never say I’m sacrificing my own future or happiness to make my mum feel cared for and loved.

But there comes a point when I have to face reality, and let fate take its course. There comes a point when I have to just trust myself, trust that I have done enough, and make peace with what I have done to be there for my mum, to support my mum emotionally and physically when she needs it most. I must learn to trust that I will continue to do so, whatever condition she is in, and wherever I may find myself.

And in the meantime, I must be ready to let go, and not regret my decision to go and (re)start my own life abroad, away from her. Staying put and staying constantly at her side will do nobody any good, as I have been told by many outsiders, and even by mum herself. The more I stay around, the more she will feel like I’m waiting for her to ‘pass on’, so that I could finally begin my life. The longer I stay around, the more I will feel there are many opportunities or chances that I am missing, and the more I will feel resentment and regret, at myself, and at life itself. Nothing will make mum feel more at ease, more ready to leave this world in peace when that moment comes, than to see that I am making something of my life, making something out of the years of study and time and efforts that I have invested into my studies.

Nobody knows what the future will bring, or when people will come or go. What I do know is that I have been there for my mum, and I have fully given myself to make sure she feels love and cared for. “You’ve really done a lot for all of us…” Those words are a reminder to me that it is time to let go, time to go and do my own things. Whatever will happen will happen, even if things happen in ways or at moments when you least expect them to.

I hope I will leave here with mum’s words in mind, and find peace in leaving. Find peace in leaving, and in knowing that I have really done the best I could under the circumstances. And, most importantly, find peace of heart and peace of mind in knowing that mum feels I have done the best I could, and treasures it all too.

Night before departure

"This is life..."

The second last night before I leave on a jet plane. I sat next to mum's bed as she lay covered in bed, the white teddy she bought me sitting right next to her pillow. Almost every night, I would sit by her bedside and talk with her till she is about to fall asleep. "It's already been two months," mum said, "The days have passed by so quickly..."

In the last few days, I noticed that some of the things she says reveal her sadness about my departure. I feel the same way too, and maybe that's why I'm sensitive to those sentiments too. And it feels more difficult to hear that coming from her. It is not that she is trying to make me stay, for really she does want me to go and do my own things, but how can a mother not miss her child when (s)he is not around?

"This is life..." I said quietly, "If you live with worry and fear, days will pass by [feeling] as if they were [as long as] years. But living happily, living with laughter, the days pass by so quickly." Like so many times before, I tried to encourage her, to comfort her, and to help her get back to life on her own.
Again, she said that I've done many things for her in the last two months, and thanked me, to which I could only reply with a smile. What is there to thank? I thought. I am doing the best I can, and doing what I feel I should do as a son for as long as I can. When I am gone, I can do no more. However difficult it will be to leave upcoming Friday, if anything should happen, she will know that I care, that I love her deeply...

On her bedside table is a book entitled "Living a Healthy Life", which I was happy to see her reading while she soaked her feet. The book is written by a doctor who had terminal cancer, but decided to change his outlook on life. Instead of fear and thinking about death, live a balanced life, he recommends. Live a life of exercise, of sunshine, a life of smiles and peaceful thoughts, a life of being with nature. His illness is now under control, and he encourages other patients not to view cancer as a death sentence, for it need not be. Mum has many such books, as well as many books about Buddhism and the teachings of Dharma. They will offer her invaluable solace and mental support.

"Go out, go to the mountains when you are feeling up to it. Go see our relatives and friends and laugh a lot," I said. Earlier in the day, I took her to go see flowers at the Taipei International Flora Expo, and we had a great time together, walking among the different sorts of plants and breathing in the fresh scent of exotic flowers and trees. Every day should be like this. Seeing the world with new, excited eyes, feeling interested and alive at all the amazing things there are to admire in the world.

I may not be physically here with her in two days time, and it may take some getting used to. But really, I have done all I could to make her feel loved and cared for. Most of all, I have often strove to make her feel like that all her efforts and hardships bringing me up has been worth it.

There is a special bond between my mother and I, one that can withstand the test of distance and time...

Footbath

They say a child's deep 'love', 'devotion' and 'care' for one's parent (in Chinese, simply: 孝心, or "filial heart") can move heaven and earth, and make even the deities cry from being touched. Well, I never realised it can also be used as a bargaining tool too!

I have been eying this foot tub made from the rare Formosan Hinoki for quiet some time already, and ever since I heard about the wonders of foot baths and how it can improve health I've been wanting to buy it for my mum clandestinely. The tub itself is around half a metre in diametre, and you can easily soak up to your knee in it. Mum and I saw it at a store a month or so ago, and I urged her to buy it. But it was kind of expensive, costing NT$5800 (around US$200). Part of the reason is because the Formosan Hinoki is now a protected national treasure, so it can no longer be cut down. It has a pungent scent that lingers in the wood, even after having been cut down for a long, long time. The scent can ward off insects, and they say even bad spirits. During the Japanese colonial period, the Japanese prized the Formosan Hinoki so much that they shipped a lot of the wood back to Japan to build wooden gates of national shrines and temples.

I walked into the store tonight, and looked at the tub with great interest. I didn't really say much, just touched it and smelt it numerous times. "So this is the price...?" I asked, and went on to explain how I wanted to buy it for my mum after hearing the health benefits of foot baths.

The storekeeper was touched. He cut the price down, initially by a few hundred (New Taiwan) dollars, but the longer I stood holding the tub and looking at it, the more he was willing to cut the price. In the end, I walked away happily with a great saving, and rushed home to give it to mum.

According to the lunar calendar, today is actually my real birthday, the one that my mum remembers and feels is more important than 21 February. Rushing home, I surprised mum with the gift, and joked that it was a gift from me to her on her birth-day (...day of giving birth!). Soon afterward, mum was reading a book while happily soaking her feet.

The scent of Hinoki filled our home, warming our hearts...

Radioactive

"Are you going to glow in the dark...?" I joked. Even in circumstances when things appear bleak, one should never loose the ability to joke, to make fun of things, to see the lighter side of life. It makes things easier, even if joking and laughing is sometimes difficult.

The nurse injected a syringe-amount of Gallium 67 into mum's veins, as she explained the medical procedure. The dosage is not so much that it is lethal, in fact, it is even lower than the amount that is used in other countries. You need to wait around 48hours till the chemical spread around the body, and then you can take a scan, which will reveal parts of the body infected with cancerous cells. Though not lethal, it is best to keep away from pregnant women and young children, the nurse reminded us. I pointed to my belly, "Well, at least I'm not in danger!"

One appointment after another today. The day began already at eight, when we went in for a bone scan. That scan also requires the patient to inject some trace chemicals into the body. You must wait three hours till the medicine comes into effect and before you can take the scan. The scan itself takes only twenty minutes or so, and all the time, the patient is strapped to an MRI-like machinery while photographic images of the bones are taken. Mum actually fell asleep during the entire procedure.

Immediately after that, mum had an appointment with her main physician, and we had to wait till two before it was her turn. We bought some lunch, and sat in the park next to the hospital, watching the fishies swim around in the pond, and listening to the birds call. I looked around, at the people, relatives, doctors and patients rushing to and fro, and was reminded of events a few years ago...

"Remember before when you were staying here for treatment, I would bring you breakfast, lunch and dinner every day?" I said. That was already three years ago. Life too seemed difficult and desperate then. The circumstances we faced were at the time excrutiatingly painful, and it felt at times like it was all so hopeless...

But look at how far we have come? Of course, today's circumstances are difficult too, if not more difficult and more dire than before. But, as with everything in life, one day when you look back at events, moments and places in the past, it appears so insignificant, like a long, distant memory. Mum smiled at the memory....

As he analysed mum's file on the computer, the main physician had some good news. I'm not sure whether he was saying it to comfort her, but perhaps for the first time since the discovery of the spreading in the spinal column he told mum frankly that things are not as bad as it seems. There is always a danger of spinal collapse and eventual paralysis if there is no surgery, but immediate surgery is not necessary, especially if introvenous chemo therapy is available. And after two months of waiting, the National Health Insurance (NIH) finally approved mum to receive a better chemo treatment, which is supposed to be more effective and only target cancerous cells in the body, thus have less side effects. If  she had to pay for it herself, it would be over NT$70,000 (approx. US$2,000, which is around twice  the average monthly salary here...) per session, and each complete treatment consists of at least eight sessions.

For a while, mum fretted over the costs of the expensive treatment. Yet with the coverage of the NIH, all she paid today was NT$100 (approx. US$3.5) for the consultation fee, and the rest of the medical expenses is footed by the national insurance. Say what you will about this country, about the government, but once again, situations like this once again make me feel so grateful and so proud to be from a country that cares about the wellbeing of its people, and has the financial and medical means and knowhow to provide advanced health care to all who need it.

We made our way out of the hospital with a light spirit, and it was beautiful to see mum smile and even whistle a little later in the day. But before we left the hospital building, I turned to say I wanted to go somewhere. Mum was puzzled, and she followed me down to the basement. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"You'll see..." I replied, as I made my way into the oncology ward. I may not be here the next time when she does the chemo therapy, but the nurses who serve so many patients day in, day out will be, and they always seem to maintain the ability to smile, to be cheerful, despite what they have to see and experience every day. Importantly, they have the ability to cheer mum up, make her feel at ease and taken care of.

I entered the ward quietly, and immediately saw one of the nurses mum knows well. "Thank you..." I said, "Thank you so much for taking care of mum..." There are moments in life when your own gratitude can move you to tears, and this was one of them for me. Such heart-felt and deep, deep gratitude that words alone cannot express or capture.

The nurse and her colleagues just laughed and smiled.

"When you go back..."

I woke mum up, after she took a little nap. Woke her up to go into the hospital again, for the second time today to conduct her bone scans.

She stirred slowly. I lay down next to her, and our cheeks briefly touch. She petted my head, and softly said, "When you go back, there will be many days when I will miss you a lot..."

My eyes teared, and I closed them tightly to escape the tears from flowing. She petted my head again. "When you are here, you look after a lot of things. I'll have to manage when you leave. Your future is more important, and you need to do your own things..."

My eyes were closed still, my heart heavy with emotions. It is all so very hard....