Sunday, 24 May 2009
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Forget me not
“Xin, what’s seven times four?”
“Xin, when is your birthdate again?”
Asked once, we call it forgetfulness. It happens.
Twice asked, we call it old age catching up on us. It bound to happen.
More than twice asked, asked everyday. It means times running out.
Mum has been asking me everyday simple questions. She has been constantly repeating sentences that have been said an hour ago. At first, my patience kept her company. Then, my patience wore thin that now, I sometimes don’t make an effort answering her questions anymore. I grew tired already. Guilt often strike me as though God strike lightning upon an unfilial daughter. But I still don’t have the urge to answer to those heart breaking questions anymore.
As exams draw nearer, I chose comfort to study by my mother’s side. Although she grew senile day by day, she still understood silence is a must when I’m studying. Mum still knows me best. As I glance upwards to take my eyes off from my books, I observe her breathing patterns, her twitching of her fingers, and her spasms of her legs.
“Mother…” My mind raced through the memory lane to the point when she was a working mother who never fails to accompany me to sleep. When I was a kid, I was afraid of the dark (still do, sometimes). She knew I was afraid to sleep alone so despite a long day at work, she sat next to me and read her newspapers. Her presences, that alone gave me comfort, gave me a good night sleep. Would my presence next to her at this moment of time give her much comfort like it did on me? I hope so. She can never tell me but I take comfort in the fact that it does.
She was happy when I’m home instead of mugging up my work load in uni. She rather me carry her to the potty than some other maid. Maybe I was gentler, stronger, or maybe she just wanted her own daughter to carry her. Once again, I scrutinize every single inch of her naked body, making sure I don’t miss out on any wounds or abnormalities. Her chest used to have a full bosom clad on it, now all I saw was her chest bone sternum, protruding outwards. As I adjust her hands on the commode, I feel wastage of her muscles. In medical terms, the whole body can be termed as cachetic. I often come across this word in the context of cancer or tuberculosis. Only this time is Multiple Sclerosis.
Dear siblings, read this carefully. Our mother’s health is deteriorating gradually. God has slowed time for us for us to make amends with our mother. I was once a spoilt child who didn’t see why she should love this family when she got ill treated by her parents. Forgiveness is one thing but family values are another. I’m a Chinese, I honor my parents. So should you. Call back often will ya?
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