This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me, -- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty. Her message is committed To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me! - emily dickinson -

Friday, July 01, 2005


my mother came this close to death fourteen times. well, there were other times but these times were definite. i'm talking about the number of times my mother gave birth. she delivered seven boys and seven girls. i was the seventh boy and the fourteenth in the bunch. to picture the difficulties that she went through in each of those times, is just beyond my wildest imagination. they say, imagine forcing a mellon through your navel. hmm. would that be a large mellon or a small one? a round one or an oblong one? suffice to say that the ordeal is nasty enough to warrant comparing it to dying.
she is dying now. her knees have given up some time ago. over weight, poor diet, too little exercise. all the usual excuses. not much from the help of the walking stick that i got her but more from her will, she still manages to waddle between her bed and the toilet in her room, and then to her spot in front of the tv in the living room, and then to that one chair at the dinner table, before returning to bed. or she would head to the chair left just outside of the main entrance, then moved to the one in the car port and then returned to her room. it is all part of her daily ritual these days.

but what pains me most is her memory loss. i would show her the tudung or the sarong that i bought her. she would say nice things about the item and tell me that i should not have bothered. i would then place the item beside her. within minutes, she would ask me who does the tudung or the sarong belong to. i would tell her and she would ask me again the next minute. and this would continue unless one of my sisters remove the item from her sight.
her grandchildren would be running around her and she would ask who those kids belong to. my wife would be helping out in the kitchen and she would ask me who the person was. i would tell her and she would ask when i got married.

i won't hope for a miracle, for her memory to return or for her condition to improve. but i hope that my prayers are heard, that all her slights are forgiven and that her place in Heaven is assured.

i hope she remembers me when i see her tomorrow.


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