For Mom

It was like she was already gone even though she was still there. Her body existed in space, in a physical space, but her spirit, her zest, her vibrancy was already gone. We had found out about the tumours in her brain at the end of April and by June 12th, she was gone.

We did what we could. It was too late for any kind of treatment, so it was our duty to keep her comfortable. We set up a hospital bed for her in the office room, so she could look outside the window and stare aimlessly at the sky, the garden, the kids passing by on their scooters. We cared for her. We bathed her, fed her food as much as we could, sang to her, read to her, loved her. My sisters and I rotated sleeping on the floor next to her each night, just in case she called out or needed us. I hardly slept those nights. I just lay there, listening to her breathing, making sure it was steady and stable. Each day, she became weaker and weaker until one day, she let go. It wasn’t a peaceful passing (we were told “once she is ready, her body will know and she will pass peacefully”). It was a struggle. She was gasping, heaving for air. I don’t think she wanted to leave. She was always the life of the party, the last one to leave. What if she wasn’t ready?