Recalling mother for the last time

I HAD not planned to give a eulogy at my mother’s wake. I was dealing with my grief and the stress of making all the funeral arrangements. And I felt I had already said enough about her in this column over the years, culminating in my previous article titled, “Freed finally from dementia’s cruel grip”.

On the second and final day of her wake, my sisters and our children spoke, sharing loving tributes and stories of our mother, their grandmother.

After they had all spoken, I decided I would say something after all. Above all, I wanted to play a recording of my mother’s voice that my youngest sister Claire had recorded some years ago. It was a voice that we had not heard for almost two years after she stopped speaking.

Claire had recorded Mum praying in Cantonese to Jesus and Mother Mary. To hear her once again was extremely poignant and moving for the family and everyone present.

Before I played the recording, I spoke off the cuff about Mum. I later realised what I said was not very coherent nor reflected my relationship with her.

At the wake, I had said that while I loved my mother, I found it hard to like her and described her as a difficult person – hot tempered, feisty and opinionated. But I failed to really explain why she was the way she was.

I would like to correct that here and I will refer to what I wrote about Mum to mark Mothers Day in May 1995. That was 30 years ago, but those thoughts, feelings and sentiments still hold true for me.

This is what I wrote: I didn’t like my mother for a long time. That sounds horrible and unfortunately true. A lot of our difficulties could be traced to how we communicated. Or rather did not communicate. Mum, as typical of her generation, did not go to school and she spoke Cantonese, many other Chinese dialects and colloquial Malay. And I, as typical of my generation, studied in English-medium schools.

Dad and all my siblings were similarly educated, and in our household, English was our default language of communication. As we grew older, Mum found herself cut off from our conversations, jokes and discussions.

I confessed that I was quite cruel and mean to Mum, although not consciously.

For example, I was impatient with her questions about the plot in a TV movie because she was distracting. When she interjected in a conversation with a random question or opinion that had nothing to do with what was being talked about, I was irritated and dismissive. It was much later that I realised she had only wanted to participate, to be involved in her children’s interests and not be left out.

I confessed I was my meanest when I started my first job. I revelled in starting my career, in earning my own money and driving my own car – all the things my mum couldn’t do or didn’t have.

We had frequent arguments. I couldn’t make my points clearly to her with my broken Cantonese and she found my way of speaking confusing and rude.

By that time, I was the only daughter living in the house and she would criticise my job, my friends, my “extravagant” spending ways. I couldn’t stand being around her and stayed away as much as I could.

That thoughtless, arrogant and cruel young woman had overlooked the fact that Mum might not have worked at a job but she ran our home efficiently, was extremely house proud and a gifted cook.

Dad gave her an allowance for household expenses, but she still managed to save up a tidy sum for rainy days.

I forgot she had driven in her younger days but became less confident as the city roads became more convoluted and congested. I also conveniently forgot it was Mum who lent me the money to buy my first car, a second-hand Honda Civic.

It was years later that I finally matured, grew less selfish and conceited and our relationship improved. But I finally realised how wonderful my mother was when I became one myself.

After each birth – I had three – it was Mum (and Dad) who pampered me during my confinement. She cooked all the traditional, nourishing food, boiled my special bath water that took hours as it has to be done over a slow charcoal fire, helped with my newborns, especially my first child.

When I needed a babysitter, she was there. When I came down with a nasty, lingering cough, she would feed me her own-brewed linctus. My children were weaned off milk with her homemade baby food that she blended and packed in sterilised glass containers.

When her other daughters needed her – they had to undergo surgery – she dropped everything to fly to Sydney, Australia, to take care of them.

While she was sensitive and fiery tempered, Mum also had a great sense of fun. She loved Cantonese opera and enjoyed singing. When we celebrated her 71st birthday in a grand party, she happily went on stage to enthusiastically sing with the band.

Despite her lack of formal education, she was wise and well-informed in her own way. And even though she was not a regular church-goer, she was a devout Catholic who would bless every new home we moved to with holy water and incense, and who prayed every night for the well-being of her family.

Mum was charming and made friends easily. Many of the friendships she and Dad made lasted for decades, even if contact became less as they grew older and less able-bodied.

We were extremely touched when the children of one of our parents’ friends, with whom we had lost touch, came for her wake at the behest of their aged mother who remembered Mum fondly.

And this is the vibrant, lively mother I want to remember, not the woman who was reduced to a voiceless, frail, pale shadow of herself by dementia and Parkinsonism.

This daughter who had once been so thoughtless and dismissive of the woman who gave her life and raised her well is grateful to have been given the chance to make it up to her by looking after her in her twilight years. I only wish I could have done more.

We chose a photograph of her taken at that 71st birthday do for her wake and funeral.

She was glowing, absolutely radiant with a smile on her nicely plump face that made us want to smile back. That framed photo now sits on the sideboard in my home alongside the one of Dad. The sight of them gladdens my heart, just as it makes me miss them very much.

My family and I would like to thank everyone who came for Mum’s wake and funeral, sent flowers, condolences and well wishes. It means a lot to us that she was so loved.

A heartfelt thanks to the BEC of Kristus Aman TTDI for their support and presence in our time of need.

The views expressed here are the writer’s own.