In Memory Of Mum

Mum (1924 - 2004)

I have been writing about my mother lately. She’s never far away from my mind. Everything I do reminds me of her mannerisms, her take on life, her principles for living.

Just last night, Papa Bkworm and I were talking about how we should only eat a small portion of rice for dinner but have more of the accompanying dishes, be they vegetables or meat. My mother would have reprimanded us if we ate less than a full plate of rice and we were never allowed to continue chatting at the dining table while picking on the remaining dishes once the last grain of rice has been cleaned off the plate. We ate our ‘allowable portions’ and no more; her rationale being we should always be mindful of others still eating at the table. Even things like this remind me of her.

I didn’t intend to write about Mum today. The pain of losing her is still raw. I still remember years ago when she was still hale and hearty, I would get so scared whenever the thought of losing her came to mind. How would I ever cope not having my mother around? How could I bear not having her cook my favourite dishes for me anymore? No Mum to fuss over me when I am sick? No Mum to hear me rant about my day at work? No Mum for me to call ‘Mum’? I refused to dwell on those thoughts and more often than not, tears would well up before I could stop myself from thinking further. My mother must live forever, for how can life go on without her?

When Mum became so ill suddenly three years ago, I didn’t have time to contemplate on how life would be without her. We discovered her illness middle of May. Five weeks later, she died. Those five mind numbing weeks of running around between hospital and home, contacting Hospis, setting up a hospital bed in the living room and trying to get her to be as comfortable as possible through endless patches of Fentanyl. Feeding her through the tube was the hardest. I dreaded doing it because it seemed so cruel to pour the milky liquid into the tube and watch my mother survive another day like that. And each time, she would just watch me with her expressionless eyes. I cried so much inside but no one saw the tears because the tears wouldn’t come. The days moved like slow motion. I prayed that God would set her free from her suffering. I would lean towards her forehead, kissed her and whispered in her ears, telling her to pray for God’s comforting Hand.

June 27^th, 2004. I fed her in the morning. I caressed her hand that was resting motionless by her side and told myself that later at noon, I would go to Ikea and get her a nice little pillow for her swollen hand to rest on. Just before I left her in the care of my eldest sister, I kissed her on the forehead once again and told her that I love her.

I went to Ikea and bought a small pillow in pastel green. Not long after I paid for the pillow, my sister phoned me and said that Mum was gone. It didn’t really sink in then. Not yet. It was like watching a movie and my part was to go home. I called Lara to tell her. When I reached home, I walked into the house and saw my mother lying there, just like I left her a few hours ago. She looked as if she was sleeping. There was no longer any sounds of her gasping with each breath. No more labored breathing. I walked up to the bed. She was very pale. I wanted to cry but again, the tears wouldn’t come.

Three years have passed since that day. I have cried many times over. But life didn’t stop now that she’s not here anymore. I’ve learnt to cook the dishes she used to cook for me. Sometimes I hear myself say things which she used to say. I look into the mirror and I see my mother’s resemblance looking back at me.

And until today, the small pastel green pillow remains in the Ikea plastic bag, unused.

A reminder of the day I lost my mother.