Remembering Mum

7 January 2022 will be 16 years since I lost my mum. 16 years feels like a long time. You could even call it a lifetime! Yet, for me, this one gaping hole remains: my mum isn’t here with me. It signifies to me that all is not right with the world and never can be. Not till Jesus returns, anyway. 

From quite early on in December, I find myself looking back on my mum’s passing. It is an amazing story as for almost 2 years prior to her passing, I was planning a trip to the UK. One of the best people I know, was getting married and I was her bridesmaid! The whole thing was exciting. She sent me gorgeous blue material, which I took to a tailor to get my dress made. Man, he was expensive! But that dress he made was stunning. I loved it to bits. It is my favourite dress even now, as I write this! My mum had been so very excited for me. She helped me design that dress and I took her very precise instructions to the tailor. Her health prevented her coming with me at that point, much to her chagrin. I have to say that the tailor appreciated her instructions very much! He complimented her abilities in choosing a style that flattered me, and ventured on to say how he felt she must love me so very much. He was so very right, of course. 

Plans were made. I would spend Christmas 2005 in the UK and return home to usher in 2006. I wanted to see more of the country I had spent time in as a student, and spend time with friends and family. My excitement about going to the UK for my friend’s wedding suddenly turned into anxiety. The travel agency I was using called to let me know that I would only be getting a flight back on 3 January, which meant I would miss being home to see in the New Year. I was in my office when this happened, and I had a meltdown. It was messy and I was unhappy. 

As days went by, I started feeling like I didn’t even want to go. I wondered how to explain this to my dear friend who was getting married. Mum’s words to me were “you can’t let her down!” So on 8 December 2005, I found myself flying to the UK, full of inexplicable angst. My friend said that they could tell I was distracted. I never realised that. I was trying to play it cool. But on 10 December 2005, after the wedding, which was beautiful, where my friend made such a beautiful bride, I was ready to come home. Then started one of the most bizarre times of my life. I called the airlines everyday trying to get a flight back. This was the busy Christmas season and I was put on waiting lists. I called friends back here in Malaysia, to see if they could try calling the airlines for me from Malaysia. I did all sorts. Then news came that I could get on a flight on 23 December, leaving Manchester late at night and I would be home by Christmas Eve. 

At the airport, I thought that my dearest friend, would hate me forever. I couldn’t explain to her or to any of the other friends and family who I cancelled on, why it was I was leaving. I didn’t know myself. All I knew was, I needed to get home. I remember my friend’s eyes too, as she looked at me, while we drank coffee at the airport. There was hurt. I knew I was causing it. There was no explanation then. I just had to come home. On the plane, I broke down in tears. I thought that this whole thing would be the end of a friendship I cherished and I was also very anxious to be home. 

Whilst I told my dad and an aunt that I was coming home, I wanted it to be a surprise for mum. What a surprise it was too! I was overjoyed at being home that Christmas Eve. My parents were thrilled. I remember my mum’s delight, especially. How she loved me. She was very happy to have me back. We talked a lot that night, mum and I. Our conversations are like elixirs to me these days. I love remembering them. They bring me pain as they remind me of what I’ve lost. I admit this. Yet, I am ever so thankful for these memories, for they remind me of so much love. They remind me that God has blessed me greatly indeed. 

That Christmas was the loveliest of Christmasses we’ve ever had. We didn’t have a huge open house or any of the usual parties. But I remember it for the conversations that mum and I had. Mum and I always talked and shared things, but this seemed to be a marathon of conversations. Over the entire week leading to the new year, we had so much to discuss! We also watched some of our favourite shows together, discussed the characters we loved from various books, and as always, we talked about our faith. Mum was in good spirits. 2006 was before us. We were both joyful. It still feels magical. How she loved me.

On 3 January, I remember making plans with a friend to catch a movie. As I was prepping to leave, mum didn’t feel too well. She said she was finding it hard to breathe. She was very anaemic, thanks to rheumatoid arthritis, and I organised for an ambulance to come and take her to hospital. Even when I cancelled plans with my friend, I wasn’t worried. The ambulance was called purely not to stress mum by making her walk to the car, etc. She was still in great spirits and even joked with the ambulance medical attendants. I followed the ambulance in my car and soon she was in the ER. It was the wee hours of 4 January when they settled mum into a room. They weren’t really sure what was wrong but they wondered if it was bronchitis. I stayed with her that entire night. She was so glad I was with her. How she loved me. 

The days we were in hospital were like slumber parties. On 5 January, the last time we had our precious conversation, she spelt out her feelings for me. I think for any child, even an adult child, knowing the depths of your parents love for you and how proud they are of you, is beyond precious. It wasn’t like I was in doubt of her feelings! She always told me. But this was almost like a blessing pronounced and a declaration made. How she loved me. 

The next day (6 January), they took her in for a CT scan. It was after the scan, that we got the dreaded news. “She’s got 6 hours to live..” I’ll never forget the nurse and doctor who shared this news. They were sorry they couldn’t save her. I’ll never forget how crushed I felt and the desperation in my heart. They wanted to know if they could intubate her. In more than one of the many conversations that mum and I shared, she had told me that she never ever wanted to be intubated. Her desire to be free of intubation was so strong. I remember the intensity in her voice and the look in her eyes, which never changed all the times she shared this with me. It broke my heart, having to say ‘no’ to the intubation question. In my heart, I called out to God, to give me an answer. More reminders of conversations we had came flooding into my mind. I knew I had to be strong. I knew what I had to do. 

We didn’t intubate my mother. We remained by her side right throughout. I know friends and family came. I know my dad shed tears in the hospital staircase exits. This was behind a closed door and the only evidence was his shirt that was wet by his tears. I know there were all sorts of tugs of war, silly disputes as well as an outpouring of love, but I cannot remember caring about any of these. I was losing my mum. The world as I knew it would never be the same. 

In the wee hours of 7 December, one of my aunts told me that if I spoke into my mum’s ear, she would be able to hear me. So that is what I did. I told mum that papa loved her. I told mum that I loved her very, very much. I told her that I wanted to always look after her but that now, it was time for Jesus to look after her. I told her I would miss her as it was time for her to go to Jesus. As I said this, mum squeezed my hand so tightly. Her grip shocked me, because with rheumatoid arthritis, I knew she didn’t have strength in her hands. Naively, I thought she was getting better and started calling for nurses. Mum squeezed my hand so tightly and then breathed her last. How she loved me. 

I write this because this period makes me especially sad. I remember my mum. I write this too because I remember that God really showed me His Hand. It wasn’t coincidence my wanting to return so quickly from the UK. Anyone who knows me, will know that I love it there. I would never have wanted to shorten my holiday there. It was also in 2005 that I really went back to church, after years of annoyance with the kind of preaching we had, which led to me avoiding church. 2005 prepared me for the storm I would face in 2006 with the loss of my mum. God really showed me His Hand by bringing me in so that I could be supported through His Word. 

I don’t think I will ever be done grieving my mum. Not while I live on this earth. I am however, very grateful for how God has provided for me over the years, grappling with this loss. I quit a career that was my childhood dream and am so changed that I doubt very much I could be the same lawyer I used to be. I have been told on many occasions that I have wasted the education my parents paid for. My dad has never said such a thing. He saw my grief and he knew his child was broken. As for my mum, of all people, she would’ve known what losing her would do to me. I have been told that my mum would be so disappointed that I’ve not gone on to marry and that I have shrunk in my ambitions in life. I have been told I am not strong because I am grieving for so long and that my mum would be disappointed as I do not possess her strength. To the people who purport to speak on behalf of my mum, I have nothing polite to say. If anyone of them had a sense of the relationship I had with her, they would never have said such things. They could never understand how she loved me.

Over and above this, my life is hid in Christ. My successes and failures here no longer have life and death consequences. Instead, if through this grief, I can walk alongside someone else, through whatever pain they have, I think Jesus would be pleased. If I can be a constant source of encouragement to my family or friends, just as my mum encouraged me, I think Jesus would be pleased. If I can face life and embrace it’s highs and lows, despite this hole in my heart from this grief, I think Jesus would be pleased. It means I can trust Him despite this outcome. It means I believe there will be a day when all these tears end. I am so grateful to Him for my mum. The magnitude of my grief reflects the magnitude of His blessing to me. I thank Jesus for my mother. How she loved me.