On reading it, I was so moved that tears rolled down my cheeks for it reminded me of the time when I felt the same way. I too lived a very long distance away from my elderly parents and the only means of travel was by air. In those days, an air ticket was very expensive, more than a month's salary.
Because of that, I was unable to make it home for my siblings' weddings. Being in the teaching profession also meant that one could not take leave unlike the luckier ones in other professions.
Each time I managed to return home and it used to be only once a year then, during the year end school holidays, the time spent at my parents' home seemed all too short as the days flew past very quickly.
My mother used to lament the fact that I was so far away and as the years rolled by and she fell seriously ill, going home was always a time fraught with anxieties and misgivings. Watching her growing more frail than the previous visit made my heart ache and each time I returned to my own home it was always with the fear that it could have been my last visit with her.
Towards the end she was in and out of consciousness, heavily sedated with morphine and whether she was able to sense her children's presence was unclear. What was clear was the pain she was in, despite the morphine. The last time I saw her was during the Chinese New Year, a shadow of herself, eyes closed, lying so still on her bed. The Chinese New Year holidays were just a couple of days and I had to return to work. Taking leave of her this time was heart-rending. I dared not shed tears for it would not do, as my father was there, with her all the time. The tears were shed in my heart and on board the plane for I knew deep down that the next time I see her, my mother would have left us. I would only see the shell of her.
True enough before the 15 days of the Chinese New Year were up, I received a call from my sister that mum had passed on.
Because death comes unannounced and stealthily, you can never be ready for it, not even when you are at the bedside all the time. It always takes you by surprise. So it was when the phone call came. The earliest flight back home was the following day. By the time I arrived, mum had already been encoffined.
She looked very peaceful at rest, very much younger too as death had smoothened the lines of pain. Her wake was well-attended by friends and relatives and floral tributes overflowed into the garden. We were much saddened by her passing but glad to let her go as she had been suffering for a long period. Bone cancer is the most painful of all cancers. Any slight movement, even a light touch was enough to send her into spasms of unbearable pain.
The pain of losing a mother is unlike any pain; it is far greater than that of losing a lover. The void, the emptiness leaves you feeling very hollow and the pain is almost physical. It was a long time before I could think of her without feeling any pain.
I would like to share the email "I wish you enough" with you.
I wish you Enough
Recently I overheard a Father and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure.
Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the Father said, 'I love you, and I wish you enough.'
The daughter replied, 'Dad, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.'
They kissed and the daughter left. The Father walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?'
'Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?'.
'I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral,' he said.
'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?'
He began to smile. 'That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone..' He paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even more.
'When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.' Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good- bye.
He then began to cry and walked away.
They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them; but then an entire life to forget them.
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