Exactly 68 days ago her body perished and the particles inside her head that may have represented her soul in one way or another disintegrated, vibrated and vanished beyond sight, smell and touch.
“This is easy!” I thought to myself almost everyday for the past month.
“Life goes on. I don’t even think about her anymore” he arrogant thoughts continued.
Surely, she crosses my mind every now and then, but much like a cough or a sneeze, I don’t hold on to it. I let it go. I dust off the thoughts on my shoulders and they go away.
But today is different and this is why I am wearing a dress that belongs to her. The same yellow, blue, white and gold flower patterned dress that I courageously wore to her funeral exactly 68 days ago. This is why I will pack her rarely worn one-piece swim suits (although last time I remember wearing a one-piece, was probably was probably 14 years ago) with me on the 5-day-on-the-boat-diving-trip that my dad, sister and I are embarking on today.
In the shower as I crouch down on my knees under the shower head’s waterfall, I let the tears flow as thoughts of her last days come rushing back like a wave that thrusts you over a cliff.
Looking back at those last thirteen days, when her swollen liver blew up her stomach to the size of 3 watermelons barely uttering a word to anyone, its hard to imagine that we were all pacing around her death bed, sitting by her side waiting to the day to see her off to the coffin.
Reminds me of the image of a mother wavering her handkerchief ferociously at her daughter, the new bride, as she sees her off to a handsome groom. Mother waved her hand at me numerous of times as I packed my bags and left to Montreal, London, and Vancouver. I liked to believe that those were tears of joy rushing down her face but in my heart, knew the truth. We just wanted different things in life.
Seeing off a Mother, daughter, sister or even wife to her coffin is an experience I would never want to wish upon anyone. Those seeking to comfort themselves may claim that we are seeing her off to Heaven, saints x, y and z, Jesus’ arms, or God. I am not about to make up a story to make myself feel better. I can face the truth and the truth is that I have no idea whether a soul exists and if it is does I have no idea where it goes after death. But one thing I am sure of, is that Mother is not longer physically suffering. But assuming there is a soul somewhere floating around, I am convinced that she is mentally suffering just like all her loved ones on earth are. But this image of her flying around in heaven with angels and saints smiling down on us, is something I cannot accept because I know the truth.
On her last days, when the room was finally empty, I sat by her side and bravely asked her the questions no one else would dare. Are you afraid? Are you going to miss? Are you disappointed at God? Did you ever think this would happen? Are you looking forward to the next chapter? I could only ask her yes or no questions because she could only nod yes or no.
The truth is that she didn’t want to leave. She was very upset. She couldn’t believe that God was letting her down. She couldn’t believe that God was letting her sister down, the one who prayed endlessly and travelled from priest to priest in search of hope. And for the last 48 hours of Mother’s life, only one person’s name was on my her lips, it wasn’t Jesus or God, nor was it Carol or Sandra, simply her sister’s name Suzy, the one who gave her hope and confidence that her life would not end. I’m glad that I never gave Mother false hope. I’m glad that I had the courage to speak the truth.
As the saying goes, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I am not dead. Far from that, with small hands rolled into fists, teeth clenched and a roar, I welcome death and smell it at every corner. Thanks to that dreaded experience, I welcome death my enemy and friend. In fact I strongly desire to experience its nearness because I know that can defeat it, without reliance on God, Jesus or anyone else. The power to triumph without false hope is what I learnt from the dreaded experience. And if I don’t defeat it so what? What’s the worst that can happen after seeing off your mum to her coffin? Trust me there is nothing worse and if there is, I will let you know.
Dearest Mother, thank you for making me braver than I ever was.
