Invitation letter

(Liberty Times, 29 July 2012)

"You are again thinking of that person who made you unhappy, thinking of those words he said that made you hurt, and also thinking of the things ge did that made you upset.

Thinking, thinking, your mood depresses, anger then gradually, gradually rises.

So then an originally good morning or evening is again ruined by this person. No matter where you go, no matte what you do, this person is closely lint to you, following you like a shadow.

Darling, whenever you are thinking of the person who made you unhappy, it is like sending him an invitation letter, silently allowing him to come accompany you, disturb you, destroy you.

So, let him to, let him be, and do not allow the person you despise be your company...."

Dashed dream

It was supposed to be along anticipated dream come true. I was felt so alive yesterday, and that first hour or so I got on the bike today. But truly, the pain is unbearable and unlike any I've experienced before...

I went to a specialist pharmacist and explained my problem. He told me to stop my biking plans and to really rest, or otherwise the injury might get even more severe than it already is, for the more I bike on the more strained my muscles around the knee will be.

Perhaps it is difficult to imagine how devastating this news is to me. I have been really planning this, been looking forward to it, believing and telling myself (and others...) again and again that I can do this. But my body cannot... Simply cannot... My body is too weak and I am too weak to do something like this...

Maybe as my brother said, I biked too far and for too long on the very first day. And this after not having exercised for a long time... But still, the disappointment is great, for I had this entire journey planned out, and was all prepared and imagining the beautiful things I would experience and see. The pharmacist (and also the bike shop owner) told me I should really rest and not over-do it...

This was a dream, a personal dream, and a promise to my mum. In fact, I have a "bit of her" with me, symbolically in the form of ash from the incense we offered her those two weeks from her passing to her cremation. And I feel I've let her down, and let myself down...

I need to rest, I know that. I need to train better and prepare myself better for such a strenuous trip. And I know I may most likely have to give up this dream, at least for the time being... (or for ever? I'm not sure...)

But it hurts and is so devastating... Because I placed so much of my hopes and dreams on this very journey...

Memories

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

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

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

Misfortunes

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This is turning to be a terrible trip.
Perhaps I expected far too much, and so can only be disappointed...

First my knee became terribly sore (better now, but still unable to walk, let alone bike, long distances...). Then as I planned to take the bike on the train further southward, to the hometown of my parents, I was refused entry to the train-- for a reason I do not understand, because last time it was fine and no questions were asked! And now the weather is changing, and a terrible typhoon is approaching closer and closer, with torrential rain and strong winds expected...

So I'm limping when I walk, my morale and spirit is wounded, and making my way to the train station to take the train (or bus... It's terribly crowded and the height of the summer holidays). Not what I planned at all... But is anything ever as planned?

I just want to get away, to go somewhere where I can be myself and stop pretending, stop smiling and keeping up appearances. I just want to spend time alone or with someone dear so that can pour my heart out... Because it's so tiring to carry a heavy heart around and so tiring to mourn without really crying...

But life cannot always be what you want it to be. You cannot get what you want, and will just have to make peace with that...

Long awaited journey

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I've been thinking about this day for years, and been planning it for months. The dream to bike around the island (or at the very least as far as my legs and energy levels can take me...) is supposed to be a life changing experience, something I need to rediscover the meaning of life and to spend some time on my own. After Mum's passing, this is perhaps as good a time as ever to embark on this long awaited journey.

So I set a date, today, after much of Mum's after-affairs have been dealt with (now we are just waiting for confirmation from her former employee to pay out some of her retirement fund). I probably should have train Ed a bit, or at least biked around the block, for after all, it has been over a month since I last packed away my bike and placed it under Mum's bed to store.

I got the bike out, dusted off the dust, and assembled it together late last night. And eight hours or so later, I was on the bike, beginning my journey.

There were moments I sang to myself. The excitement of hopping on a bike and the freedom that comes with that is so exhilarating and liberating. As I peddled southward (going around the island anti clockwise...), my thoughts drifted to mum, to various moments in the past few months. I saw mum, watching me from afar, goading me on. Before, when I told her about my dream, she told me: "go for it. Go realise your dream." I'm doing this right now, mum!

Feelings of joy were mixed with feelings of loss and pain... Sometimes so strong I could almost feel my tears mix with the almost incessant downpour (terrible weather, but at least it's not too hot...yet.)

I needed this time alone, time to myself to think over events and experiences, or at least let them wash over me and see what impressions are left behind. I need to know I can be strong and determined, and that I can do something so many people when they hear about it say: "That's crazy!" I need to show and prove to myself I can do it, I can exert myself and tire myself and excel.

Of course, there have been various moment during the day when I felt I couldn't make it. My legs and knees ached badly, probably from the lack of exercise and sudden repetitive motion for hours. My body needs time to adjust, not only to the strenuous exercise, but also the humidity and the roar of cargo traffic on very busy interstate roads and exprssways.

A "brother"

Trying to remember

When I try to remember, my mind is blank. Can I picture her face, can I replay the sound of her voice or laughter? I fear with time I will forget her, because when I try to remember her, my mind is a terrible, terrible blank...

I wrote to a friend that this is more or less how I feel now. There are moments of terrible pain and indescribable feelings of loss. And then there are moments when life just goes on, as if she never existed-- and if she never existed, then she never did leave. Then there are moments when I long to lie next to her and watch her sleep. And there are moments when I long for her motherly advice and warnings. (which I admit at times I readily dismissed because I'd heard these warning over and over again...). But those memories, those moments appear to be so very vague now, even though she has been gone less than a month or so. How much has happened in these few weeks!

Is a part of me trying to block out mum's memories, trying to drown out and suppress the past and mum's existence so that I will not feel, so that I will not hurt?

I want to cry... I want to hurt so that I know I am alive and really living!

At the dentist

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There are going to be moments, and today I had such a moment, when I will forcefully feel the pain of having no parents... And I can only say, it is so very, very painful...

I went to the dentist, one recommended by mum, to see what can be done about my wisdom teeth. There are four which should be removed, for it will only be a matter of time till they start hurting. The big problem is, the bottom two wisdom teeth are growing horizontally, which is rare and will prove to be tricky (dangerous) to remove.

Back in Canada, the dentist told me to have them removed. But the dentist I saw today, who had helped my brother almost a decade ago with his wisdom teeth removal, told me an alternative and better solution. He recommends keeping the wisdom teeth but instead removing the teeth which are directly next to the wisdom teeth on either side of my jaw. After that, I can adjust the wisdom teeth to fill the gap left behind by the removed teeth. The roots of the teeth he recommends removing are already damaged by the horizontally placed wisdom teeth compressing on them, so he says if you remove the wisdom teeth, it will only be a matter of time till you have to remove the damaged teeth. "Why pay more and go through teeth removal twice if you don't need to?" he told me to go home and think about things, and somehow even though I've just met him, I have a lot of confidence in him. Perhaps because he came so highly recommended by my own late mother.

A lady, also a mother who was there with her son, overheard our conversation. Out of good will, she said: "Go home and ask your mama about it. You don't have to remove the wisdom teeth as other dentists tell you to..."

I know she meant well. I said nothing, but her words made me feel sudden pain and loss. I have no one to ask now. No mother who can advise me, no parent with whom I can consult from now on whenever I make a life-changing (or in this case, potentially life threatening...) decision. I really felt like crying, and telling them: "My parents are both gone... Who can I ask now for advice...?"

I thanked the dentist for his expert opinion, and said I'd go home to consider things. I left the dentist and became so sad. The streets of Taipei just felt emptier, much emptier...

Surge of emotions

It just dawned on me again... Who can I turn to now for advice? Who can I just call up and ask for an opinion on important decisions and not feel like I'm imposing my feelings and insecurities on someone? My mum was there, always a phone call away. But she cannot be reached anymore.

Just the thought of that can send me tearing

Brother's check up

My nephew climbed around me, shrieking with innocent joy and laughing so loudly and happily. There is an innocence that is so invaluable, so beautiful, so admirable, and nobody and nothing (except perhaps by growing older...) can take that away from him. I watched him play, and looked at my brother sitting on the same chair that mum used to love sitting on. My brother saw my face become sad, and asked: "What's wrong?"

 Nothing is wrong... Everything is fine, except I envy my brother, for he has a family, a beautiful child. These can mean so much at difficult times, and can add to the joy and bliss in happier times. When he goes to sleep at night, he is surrounded by his wife and child. Of course, married life and family life is not without problems, and I should not idolise his life for I have little to complain about... but really, at night when I am alone in bed, I sometimes find myself reaching out into the darkness, reaching out for human companionship and a warm body to comfort my tired, tired body and wounded mind and soul.

"You really should pay attention to your health. Look at him laugh and play..." I said. My brother came home after an entire day at the hospital for a very thorough body check up. A lump was found in his intestines, too small to be of worry, but still, it is a lump. Otherwise, his weight and layer of fat around his tummy is the greatest cause of concern, and the doctor told him to exercise more and loose some weight. Moments earlier, my brother held his son and they rubbed their cheeks against one another. My brother kept on asking his son: "Did you miss daddy? Did you miss daddy?" The baby giggled so happily and shrieked. It was already half past ten in the evening, but still seeing dad for the first time today made my nephew somehow so high. That was so moving and beautiful to see.

"Two people are dependent on you now, so you really have to be more careful," I said, "So really, take good care of yourself..." I hope what I said didn't sound like nagging, and I do hope my brother heard me and is more alert. Because what he has, as I have told him a couple of times before, is so precious, and he should take better care of himself so he can take better care of his family for a long, long time to come...

Will

Mum wrote a will on my birthday last year.
I first read it the day after she passed away. I was trembling as I read it. And I immediately put it away after I read it. I did not want to read it again...

And now I have the "honour" of translating it for official purposes.

It is so painful to touch and read these pieces of paper which bear mum's very own handwriting.
It is difficult to imagine this person is no longer around, and that these wishes come from beyond the "urn"...

Pain of loss

There are moments when the pain of loss is too unbearable, when even crying is not enough...

There are moments when you realise again the significance of not having any parent to turn to, and are reminded that you are on your own now...

Yes, this is the ultimate, ultimate feeling of pain and loss, the ultimate, ultimate feeling of longing. Nothing, nothing is as painful and, at the same time, as numbing as this.

Dream: father and mother

All I can remember is me crying with such force and vigour. I saw myself sitting in a room by myself. It was some kind of classroom, and people were coming and going. I remember it was some kind of special occassion, like father's day or mother's day, or some kind of family holiday. Everyone had their parents with them. I was all alone by myself. All alone, and  just sitting there.

Seeing all these people with their parents reminded me of how parentless and 'abandoned' I really am. I buried my face in my arms and began to howl and sob. Nobody came to comfort me. I just sat there and cried, and the crying was so real that when I woke up, I instinctively went to wipe my eyes (but there were no tears).

Nightmare

I collapsed on the floor and slept for a good hour or so after getting home from a whole day of errands. Paperwork and dealing with banks and bureaucracy is for some reason so draining...

Repeatedly, I had to write mum's name, and hand over copies of mum's death certificate. Repeatedly, I have to say she "passed on", "left", "moved on", "is no longer around". And it feels heavy every single time I say it. It feels like a reminder, just in case I did not fully realise what happened two weeks ago.

In my dream, mum and dad appeared. Perhaps it is related to the fact that we were trying to get documentation to prove that indeed they are our parents, and that they are both indeed deceased. They looked well, and were smiling. I think the scene was our old home, the place where I lived for two, three years before moving abroad at the age of seven or so. They were wearing clothes I could immediately associate with them.

Seeing them was enough to make me drown in sorrow and suddenly cry. Seeing them both in my dream was a powerful and painful reminder of what I have lost, and will never have again...

That is loss. True loss of the most painful and terrifying kind...

Rush

"What's the rush...?" I asked him, "Why do you want to clear out everything already?" Brother has been telling us to get packing and clear out the drawers and cupboards. He says there's little time left, and that he doesn't want to leave everything till the last minute. But we have around a month a ten days left till either of us are supposed to leave the country. Sure, for about two weeks or so, I plan to take a break and do some traveling (hopefully, make it around the island by bike...).  That still leaves many days for us to stay home and clear out mum's belongings.

It was already difficult to start doing so when I began to empty some drawers this afternoon. And it is part of the reason why I am so resistant, which gets on my brother's nerves, because he's very eager to see everything out of the shelves and packed into boxes ready to be shipped away. All those cups, all of mum's bone china collection and memorabilia from her travels. Brother wants them all divided and wrapped and in boxes.

I tell him not to  rush so much, because frankly, it'll be depressing to look at empty shelves and to live in an empty home. Mum has already left, dad already left... if everything on the shelves are to be cleared away, then what is the point of living at home? Why even stick around here?

I need time to process things. It's just me. I need time to allow the reality of mum's absence to sink in before I can start clearing away her belongings. Besides, local tradition suggests that the deceased will often 'return' to the old residence to take another look or to stay around for a while before really moving onto the world hereafter. "How would mum feel if she were to come back to an empty house?" I asked my brother.

That would look so sad, so depressing... And it is already sad and depressing enough that we are in mourning...

Memories

It is difficult enough to shift through mum's belongings, to see pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia that sheds life to the person I just lost...

It is even more painful when shifting through the boxes and cupboards I find pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia belonging to dad.

After I do this, after I clean up this house and clear everything away, there is nothing else left... There will be no one else left...

Longing

There are moments when the depth and degree of emptiness and loneliness is overwhelming. The moments are especially felt when it is quiet at night, and when everyone has gone to sleep. Nothing, not even stuffed animals or memories of the past can fill that emptiness.

There are moments when you realise again just what you lost, and can never have back. And the realisation is so painful, so very very painful. Even more painful because nobody, nobody, can fully know or understand how painful it all is.

媽媽，我想妳...

Disturbed sleep

Three nights in a row my sleep is so disturbed...

I close my eyes and try to rest my tired body and exhausted mind, and yet i wake up after an hour or two disturbed by dreams and thoughts and images... Random images and thoughts that don't make any sense at all, but that keep me from sleeping, properly sleeping.

So tired, so tormented.

I need to get out of here. I need to free my mind and thoughts.

Mum's words

Mum wrote down these words on 12 February 2011. She showed it to be earlier this year, and told me to show it to my brother when she is gone.

I showed it to him today when I came across the booklet it was written in. His eyes became moist.

"Humans must learn to let go.
Let go the unwillingness to let go in the heart.
Let go and be able to cut away and get rid of the love between parents and children.

Because your child does not belong to you. (s)he is a symbol of humankind's continuation of life. However much intimacy, love and respect there may be between family members, everything will ultimate be covered with dust.

Let us then, with tears in our eyes, silently pray and hope:

Child, take my full, full blessing and bravely go be yourself.
There is no need to turn back your head."

Massage

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

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

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

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

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

Haunted

Death, death, signs of death everywhere... Horrible, horrible dream that just woke me up And left me gasping for air, barely screaming...

I kept seeing the urn, mum's urn. It was somewhere in this old, rundown house in some foreign country (Singapore for some bizarre reason...). The priest was performing some kind of ritual, I was present, but so was mum. But whose urn was it if mum was there too?

The urn was half buried in the ground. The priest gestured wildly with his arms and body, he chanted some kind of spell. I was so frightened in the dream, and it was made worse by the fact it was in the middle of the night, and it was pouring with rain.

Another scene: we were inside a house, and I heard mum suddenly scream. I turned to her, and she was holding an underwear. She said the deceased (whoever the person was...) wore the same underwear. I tried to calm mum down, but I broke into tears. A bunch of people rushed over to see what was going on. I was sobbing so heavily, sobbing and crying and in such a terrible state of mind. My mum was on the side, looking shocked and wild eyed and confused. I could not stop crying, and the image of the urn half buried in the ground haunted me so...

Deposit box

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

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

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

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

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

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

Return to the hospice

Brother has not gone back to the hospice ward since mum checked out almost three weeks ago. I did return, last week, with my ex, and showed him around a bit. I teared somewhat walking down the same corridors and feeling the memories come back. A nurse I met, the one who was mum's main nurse during her stay, said most do not return ever again, because it is too painful. But return brother and I did, because we wanted to thank the staff for their dedication and wonderful care in mum's final days and moments.

We ordered a  flower arrangement to be delivered at 10 in the morning, and sure enough when we got there, we saw the beautiful pot of orchids sitting on the counter at the nurses' station. The head nurse were surprised (and happy) to see us again, and moments later the nurse who was there and who helped mum in those final moments walked in.

They asked us how we are feeling, and how the "arrangements" have been. Tiring, but everything was well organised, dignified and beautiful, just as mum would have wanted it. We thanked them for their hard work and commitment, and I could see brother was not only a little speechless, but also moved close to tears again reminiscing those days.

The corridor looked the same as before. The same long corridor, with more or less the same decor on the walls. And in the air was soft classical music playing. We did not venture to the entrance of mum's room (Room 20), like I did a few days earlier, but we did walk into the common room, and I put some more donations into a box. Donations that would go to the hospice ward, and help keep it going.

 To our surprise, one of the nurses told us that this department is probably the most "loss making" and underfunded, for there are many more nurses to each patient and a lot of the equipment that are used are much better than the wards on the lower floors. I wanted to already, and I will do it soon, but I intend to write to the director of the hospital commending the staff at the hospice for their exemplary work and efforts, and hopefully motivate the hospital to dedicate more funding and resources to the crucial the end-of-life health care system.

We also met the doctor who was responsible for monitoring mum's day-to-day condition at the hospice. Gratefully, I bowed and thanked him again and again for making mum's final journey a peaceful and relatively easy one. He and the nurse told us that we have been wonderful with our mothers, and that they learned a lot from us and our dedication to mum as well.

Nightfall

"Now that your friends are gone, you have to be strong..." my brother said to me before heading to his room. I was surprised by the comment. But then again, death brings people together, death brings out the humanness and unexpressed words in people. Death cements love in a whole new way and at a whole different level.

Yes, after my ex left, another dear friend who came to visit for a couple of days, left this afternoon. And after a week of being surrounded by people, after a hectic week of funeral arrangements and rituals, it has suddenly become so quiet. I knew this was coming. I knew after being surrounded by visitors, mourners and friends, there would be a moment of quiet. Sad quietness. Lonely quietness. Quietness that eats the heart. Quietness that before would occasionally be broken by mum calling my name or her moving about in the kitchen or in her bedroom...

We spent the evening watching a movie I picked up the other day on the recommendation of a friend of mine. "Seven Days in Heaven" it's called, a Taiwanese black comedy that aims to portray and mock a lot of the local rituals surrounding death in the family. My friend told me it would be a cartharsis and good way to begin purging our emotions after two emotionally charged two weeks from the moment mum passed away and to bidding farewell to mum just two days ago.

It was, and at bits made me smile at the ridiculousness of a lot of rituals, and made me glad that our own funeral was less complicated and less regimented, and that we were not completely bound to the pressures of following traditions and the word of the elders in our family.

Even so, the final scene moved me so, and gnawed at the fears and pain deep inside. You see the daughter, who throughout has been so brave and so strong, so stoic and kept her sanity in the face of insanely long and at times absurd rituals, break down. She breaks down because for a split second or so, a memory, a thought of her late dad crossed her mind. But that split second was good enough to create an outpouring of tears for an hour and a half.

That could be me.

That could be me at any point, at any place.

Departure

He was in tears. We hugged. "Sorry..." he said. I think I know why.

"You don't have to be sorry..." He took time off work to be with me. He bought an expensive ticket to fly here and has to work weeks to catch up on work. He cried and put himself through such painful experiences. For me. What more can I expect of a friend? What can I expect from just a friend?

"Be happy... Be free..." I wished him.

He continued to tear as he entered the immigration control. He turned back and mouthed, twice, "I love you..."

I smiled weakly back.

Empty nest

Sitting in the dining area, where mum's altar was for the last two weeks. It's so quite here. No more chanting machine, no more incense in the air. No more mum.

There's an empty feeling in the room, in my heart. Perhaps I never realised how strong these feelings are, but they are there. And they are surfacing more and more with every tear I shed. Though friends are around me, I still feel so empty inside. I know not how to turn to them. And I have this image of me descending into deepest, darkest void I've ever known in my life.

That is scary. And I am perhaps for the first time since mum passed away, very afraid.

New home

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cremation

15.05

I watched as the coffin was pushed into the oven.

"Mama, get out of the way!" we all called out, as the funeral director instructed.

The metallic door closed. One last glimpse. "Farewell, mama... Take good care. Be happy. Be happy."

That would the last time I see her.

Breaking point

I sat before mum's shrine with my ex, and described a little more in detail of what happened in those final days. I told him the heavy burden I felt having been given this immense 'power' to decide the course of mum's treatment over the past few months, and at the end, having the power to, in a way, be given control over her life. "J'ai tué ma mère"  (I killed my mother)... these words kept on repeating inside my head, over and over, those last few days, especially when it came down to the decision to increase her dosage of morphine.

I missed mum terribly this evening, missed her so much I was so close to breaking and crying. I need to cry, but I only teared... Somehow, my ex seems more prone to tears than I am when I describe what happened and my feelings towards this all. Am I unfeeling? Am I cold hearted and made of stone?

I have an open road in front of me he tells me. After all is taken care of, the world is mine, and I am free. But deep down, I cannot but think: is this freedom better than having my mother around for a few more years? Is this freedom not at the expense of the dearest person in my life yet? He hugged me, and when the hug was over, I could see his eyes were again moist and red...

Eve of the funeral

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

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

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

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