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I had a dream.
Bitched on: Sunday, December 17, 2006
Time: 12/17/2006 11:45:00 AM
Today is the seventh day after my Grandma's death.Time: 12/17/2006 11:45:00 AM
And just before we are about to leave our house to go to her place to offer more prayers, here I am, blogging.
I had a dream.
She was still alive.
And I was crying, because I was happy, that she had woken up from her coma.
Smiling... Talking...
And then I woke up, still crying, only to realise it was a dream.
And I cried myself back to sleep again.
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...
Bitched on: Thursday, December 14, 2006
Time: 12/14/2006 12:47:00 AM
In a strange way, I feel comforted to know that she passed away shortly after she fell ill. It means Mother (that's how I address...ed my Grandma...) didn't have to endure anymore suffering. And I know she is now in a better place.Time: 12/14/2006 12:47:00 AM
A place free from the pain.
sigh...
...
It was a nice funeral last Monday (Muslims believe in burying the deceased as soon as possible; so no wakes whatsoever).
Sure, there was all the mourning and crying (especially me, I think I cried more than all my male cousins put together... surprise surprise...) whilst during the takziah (funeral) at Mother's place (which now, as my sister had reminded me, shouldn't be called 'her place' anymore), but there were also prayers of forgiveness and recitations of the holy Qur'an (the ayat Yassin); which made the day very spiritually... special, you know?
I have never felt more closer to God.
But it was really heart-wrenching to see my dad and my uncles cry after the kapan (shrouding of the body with white cloths after the tukang cuci mayat has cleansed the body). That's when we were allowed to give her a farewell kiss (tears are not allowed to fall on the deceased face, which is the only part exposed; so we really had to fight back the tears). I felt like hugging my Dad when he broke down but I found myself equally inconsolable.
And the burial was also just as unforgetable. The sky was dark by the time we got to the Muslim cemetery and it threatened to pour anytime soon. But surprisingly it didn't rain a drop until the very end.
My Dad and my uncles were the ones who placed my late grandma's body into the grave. Then we offered more prayers after the grave-diggers were done covering the grave and the makeshift tombstone was erected. That was when it started to pour.
It was refreshingly cooling with the wind blowing across the open fields of tombstones. Brought me back to that day when I was sketching in front of a mosque in Putrajaya. It was slightly pouring, the wind was blowing from the lake and the prayer call echoed across the square in front of the mosque (which was where I was).
I felt spiritually at peace then and I was certainly feeling equally at peace at the cemetery...
Just when we ended the prayer with an, "Amin," the heavens opened. But I (and I could have sworn this is true) was not really drenched. We were forbidden to cry at cemeteries lest we might upset the 'occupants' but it was like (as cliche as this might sound) the sky was crying on our behalf.
It was like I felt close to God there and then, you know... and in a way I felt it was a special way to part with her.
It felt beautiful.
It felt right.
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She's gone.
Bitched on: Monday, December 11, 2006
Time: 12/11/2006 04:03:00 PM
She lost the fight.Time: 12/11/2006 04:03:00 PM
I can't believe she's gone... forever.
...
She used to kiss our cheeks after we salaam (greet) her; and she would joke that we were either warm and feverish or we were too cold. My sisters and I joked that she was the 'human thermometer'.
...
And when I kissed her today before they covered up her body, she was cold... very cold.
And I wished I could tell her that...
...
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I think my grandma is dying.
Bitched on: Sunday, December 10, 2006
Time: 12/10/2006 02:13:00 AM
Something is wrong.Time: 12/10/2006 02:13:00 AM
Last week, my grandma was hospitalised once again. She is still bedridden since the last time I blogged about her. I had wished then that she would get better and start walking again. At least be able to sit in a wheelchair. And I had hoped (as did my sister) that she could come to my sister's wedding this January.
My grandma had also lost part of her memory and it was hard for her to remember people. I thought it was 'alright' since it was part and parcel of getting old. I mean, she could still talk and joke around with the people around her.
But last Friday, I saw her again. This time she couldn't say a single word except to moan. She lost her voice, I thought, she will get it back once she gets better. It must be the strong medicine she's taking; at least she has her eyes open, I thought.
The next day, she was still 'muted' plus she had her eyes closed for most of the time, only opening ever so slightly. Even when she did open, I doubt she could see anything or anyone anymore. At least she is still moving her arms around, I thought. She must be really restless. And in pain. Too much pain.
But that same night she went quiet, stirring only when she's in pain. We had to shift her, she's too weak and drugged to move by herself. At least her heart is beating strong, I said to myself.
When I went back the following day, her heart beat is still going strong, in fact too strong, says the doctor, 130 BPM (beats-per-minute, I think). That's like equivalent to yours and mine after running a marathon.
I'm worried. So bloody worried. And scared.
Poor Daddy, I have never seen him cry in my entire life but within this weekend alone, I saw him breaking down one too many times.
I wish I could be strong for him.
I know this sounds silly after what I have just said (especially with the title, this will seem contradictory), but I feel deep (deep deep deep) down inside of me that my grandma is a really strong person and I hope (against all hope) that she will get better.
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Mother
Bitched on: Monday, October 30, 2006
Time: 10/30/2006 12:31:00 AM
My sisters, cousins, their kids and I call my paternal grandma 'Mother'. Like in 'mother' mother... I have no idea how that all started and who started it. Weird huh?Time: 10/30/2006 12:31:00 AM
What's weirder is that we call our youngest uncle 'Boy'.
*scratch head*
Good news and bad news.
Good news: my grandma got discharged from the hospital in time for the festivities.
Bad news: she is still bedridden...
Even though I have visited her a couple of times before at the hospital, it was still startling to see her again on Hari Raya (Aidilfitri or Eid ul-Fitr). Her skin is now pulled so tightly across her skeletal frame. And she looks so frail, small and shrunken like a child.
And it was also bitter-sweet cause I think she remembers me now.
Unlike those times when I had visited her at the hospital. Then, I had to remind her over and over again who I was; and everytime when she remembered, her eyes would light up, but just for a while.
On Hari Raya, she didn't need me to remind her who I was this time cause she looked at me with those 'knowing' gaze and that smile... it was so sweet to see her smile.
However, she was quiet most of the time and that could probably explain why she didn't ask me who the hell I was...
Still, that smile was comforting to see...
:)
Yet, she still has her fiery temper; evident when anyone accidentally touch her leg or adjust her blanket (cause she is in so much pain...). Its so scary to see that side of her...
Sigh...
Been having nightmares that something had happened to her.
And I would wake up with a hell of crust in the eyes (eye shit lah... trying not to be crude) from all those sleep-'tearing'.
Crap, I even cry in my sleep!
That's not all, I have also been having nightmares (more like flashbacks) to that day when my maternal grandma died (both my granddads passed away before I was even born).
Its all fragmented but I remember all those pieces of my memories so vividly.
I remember that call my mum got from her youngest brother that their mother was suddenly very ill.
I remember that long taxi ride with my mum, my aunt and cousin to my uncle's place.
And that smell of incense lingering from the house to the lift lobby.
Even at the long corridor from the lift lobby, I remember hearing the Islamic prayers from the house.
I was too young to know but my mum, as well as my aunt, realised.
The realisation sunk in (more like caved in).
I will never forget that moment when my mum laid her eyes on her mother's still body. She was almost hysterical. Blaming herself for not coming sooner.
My grandma... her body, laid there in the centre of the living room, covered partially with a cloth. Already, she was surrounded by 'faceless' men (strangers to me at that time) offering prayers to her departed soul.
Finally, I would remember seeing her face. As if she were sleeping...
And that's when I would wake up from this dream. Fearful that it would happen again...
That it would be too late.
Update:
I went to see one of my grandaunts (Mother's sister-in-law) today, she's close to 90, bedridden, unable to talk or eat solid foods. She is feed with tubes and has to wear a mask connected to an oxygen tank.
She too is small and frail like Mother.
But she has been like this for close to 10 years now.
And it made me wonder, would you want to live to a hundred... like this?
Related Entry:
Life before Death.
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Life before death.
Bitched on: Friday, October 13, 2006
Time: 10/13/2006 11:54:00 PM
You must have you seen the Singapore Hospice Council advertisement on TV.Time: 10/13/2006 11:54:00 PM
The one with Mr Mohammad Abdooh, a lung cancer patient.
He is 46-years-old and is in the last stages of his cancer.
With his unfaltering gaze into the camera, the brave man invites you to join him in his last days via a video blog thingy;
Life before death.
The reason as to why I blog about this is because of my grandma.
As bad as this sounds, I know and feel that she too is living her last remaining days.
She has been in and out of the hospital for the past month.
She is too weak to walk. Not even with a walking cane. She complains of pains in her joints, her back and her hips.
And she no longer eats anything, she just drink fluids (even that is difficult to make her do). And that is really troubling.
She (to be a frank) is and will always be a stubborn strong-willed matriach. So its hard to get her to eat or drink anything.
And her frame has shrunk so much, she looks like a baby the last time I saw her on her hospital bed. It was really an emotional sight.
And that's not all, the last I heard, she can't recognise people anymore, just maybe her own children but not her grandchildren... (does she remember me?)
Sigh...
She is my only living grandparent.
My maternal grandma passed away when I was young and both my grandfathers passed away way before I was born.
Kinda sad thing cause the only memories I have of the latter two are black and white pictures which really don't show much of their faces (badly taken candid shots).
I feel for my Daddy. He calls my aunt every night to check on my grandma now.
The last time we went to her house, my Dad was really... I dunno... I 'felt' him, how he was feeling, from his body language, like he wanted to spend every waking second with her... I dunno... I tried to put myself in his shoes... and it was heartwarming... my Dad and his Mum (oh man, I'm starting to tear thinking of it). And I was also feeling it... Like I was going to miss her... and that was sad...
Sigh...
I haven't had anyone close to me pass away since my maternal grandma who passed away peacefully (and suddenly) while watching my young cousins playing and that was close to a decade ago. And to see my paternal grandma's health deterioating... her failing memory... its just hard.
I know this sounds wrong but I have always taken her for granted in a way... I had always thought, she is my grandma, period, that's all. I admit we are not THAT close but its like the typical Asian thing; she knows I love her, I know she loves me. We don't hug or anything, no physical expression of love nor verbal expression.
The only time she does is when she kisses me on my cheeks everytime I 'salam' (greet her) her. She's the only other person other than my Mum who kisses me on my pimply cheeks, sigh... And I 'hate' that cause I am so self-conscious... I just feel like... I dunno... sigh...
Or when she looks at me. I dunno... I just feel like she's proud of me or something... Cause maybe I'm like her best-looking grandson (ehem... you should see my cousins...) or I'm the only one to make it to university... I doubt she understands what universities are in the first place, but I have always thought she saw me as her favourite, being the youngest grandchild...
But there would be none of that anymore.
She will be gone.
I will miss her...
But yet its hard for me to see her now, how she is...
I hope she can stay, to see her again, especially on Hari Raya (probably her last one).
But for now, we are just dreading that call, from my aunt.
Sigh...
Labels: grandma, personal, Singapore stories
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