Contemplating My Mortality

My dear Ma’s passing is a constant reminder of my own mortality. Someday, not too far away, I will find

myself in a hospital bed, battling something potentially fatal and slipping away quietly  in the night, aided by Fentanyl or Morphine, or whatever pain or respiratory relief medication rules the day. 

I find myself struggling with a combo of my late parents’ health issues though thankfully not diabetic… really the Crohn’s that came  from nowhere aka the “gift” that keeps on giving is complicated enough. Will I find myself succumbing to a secondary hospital acquired infection as they both did? Who knows…?! Sigh. 

Sometimes, my mind wanders to the thought of who will be by my side in that twilight time when I fight my last battle and find a sweet release from the cage of this mortal existence. My spirit will some day be free, and my failing body will have served its purpose. Are we spirits in bodies, or bodies in spirit? It’s mysterious. I hope to return to my Maker, and to be part of creation. A host of many, and yet part of One. Paradoxes abound, but since life is a mystery, why should death be any simpler? 

I only hope that when my time comes it will be quick, and I will not linger for long, a sad, crumbling, rapidly decaying shadow of myself. Watching my sweet Ma deteriorate, in pain, and being treated with less dignity than she deserved, left me deeply saddened for her. Selfishly, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it also left me deeply scarred, thinking of my own turn at death’s door. 

Please don’t pray for me to linger, let me go, I am always ready, truly, perhaps you should be too. Please don’t be afraid to speak of death and dying, I can face it, and so should you. Please weep if you need to, and say whatever needs to be said, I can bear it. All you will hear from me is gratitude for having been a part of your life. Thank you, I love you, I shall remain with you, always. 

Someday, each of us will have to face death. I am learning to embrace it, not so much to rush towards it, but to dispense with the fear of it, and to consider its inevitability, and also its gifts. Certainly, time left is short, and are we not all moving towards our end, every single day of our lives? 

How long do any of us have? Perhaps I’ll have another 20-25 years more before I leave this earth. How do I want to live? What do I want to do? Who do I want to be? I think of my sweet Ma: if you were lonely, she befriended you, if you were hungry, she fed you, if you were lost, she helped you find your way. She was the hands and feet of Christ in this world, in her own special way. 

Ma, I miss you. When my time comes and if I am remembered with the same love, warmth, gratitude, and affection as you, I shall have lived a life worth living. Hugs and love, sweet Ma, I love you, always. ❤️

My Mother Was Me, and I Was Her

 Grief. Trying to understand it while you’re experiencing it is difficult. I often catch myself and step back, observing my emotions, trying to describe what I feel, and to understand them better. It’s a kind of self awareness, if you like. And what to do about the bouts of sobbing that come uninvited? How to “move on” or “move forward” as everyone tells you, or to “be strong” while experiencing the deepest of griefs… the loss of one’s self as reflected in one’s own mother? 

My mother was me, and I was her. And now a part of me is gone from this world, and I am heartbroken. I have not felt this kind of grief since my marriage ended, and I recall that it made sense to me then when I understood that the depth of one’s  grief reflects that one once loved deeply. We mourn because someone beloved is gone, because something or someone precious has died, or ended, and because we are adrift without the other. We are at sea. 

My mother was me, and I was her. I am so much like her, and I wasn’t ready to have the primary source of my selfhood leave this world. Now so much of her lives on in me, and while that legacy is a privilege and a blessing, I’d much rather have her embodying those qualities herself on this earth. She was so much more than I could ever be, and gave so much while she lived, and even in her passing. 

It’s been 15 years since my father passed, 12 years since my marriage ended, and a little over a week since my mother passed. It took me many years to get over my father’s passing. That I did not know him well helped in some way. When a marriage ends you eventually do move on for your own sanity, severing bonds that are no longer meaningful. But when your mother dies, the bond still remains, forever. I don’t think anyone ever gets over their mother’s passing. 

I don’t think I’ll ever really heal from this grief, and that’s okay. It’s been traumatic in a few ways, especially at the hospital, watching my mother on a rollercoaster ride, recover, go downhill and then leave us too soon. But it’s even more traumatic to know that her familiar face in her favourite spot, her trademark smile and cheeky laugh, her love and concern for all of us, her unconditionally generous and giving self… these are no more. 

We celebrate her life, and rejoice that she is with her beloved God. We are happy for her that she no longer suffers. But I am sad, selfishly enough, for me. 

My mother was me, and I was her. And now she is gone, and I am no longer myself. Grief takes as long as it needs, and reflects on the love that once was there. I’m not rushing it. I’m going to sit with grief, cry my way through it, allow my heart to grow because of it, and accept that I’ll always feel the loss of my mother. 

You were me, Ma, and I was you. I miss you, sweet Ma. Rest in peace. ❤️

Farewell to My Sweet Ma

 My beloved mother, Dalip Kaur, (Bibo) (8th Jan 1941 - 4th April 2025) passed away at 10.32pm Friday, 4th April. A light has left us, and a loving heart beats no more. Her health had taken a turn for the worse, but her departure is still sudden. She will be deeply missed, and forever cherished. 

Reposting a tribute I wrote for her on her 80th birthday. Farewell to my sweet Ma. Thank you for everything, Ma. I love you. ❤️

My Ma, Dalip Kaur Penu aka "Bibo", is a true survivor. Born at the start of WW2, she evacuated to the village in Punjab with her mother and brothers, and her cousins. Their ancestral village is Moghal Chakkhe, in Amritsar district. Their ship from Singapore was bombed but managed to limp into Bombay harbour. Apparently many prayers were made at Ma's feet on account of her childlike innocence, and the hope that God would save the ship because of her. A simple yet carefree life in the village saw them safely through the war and they returned to Singapore where her father had remained in the Police force. 

Ma went to Raffles Girls' School and skipped a couple of years schooling, as did her brothers at ACS. While they went on to uni, she went to Teachers' Training College, and got married the day after graduation, at age 19, to my father, who was a Malaysian government scholar at University Malaya in Singapore. They returned to Malaysia, and travelled about as my father was appointed state auditor for Selangor, Perak and Penang, with each of us children being born in these various states, while Ma taught at govt schools. Sadly, things didnt work out between them, and Ma took the very bold step of leaving for her parents' home in Singapore with us 3 kids in tow in 1970, when I was three years old. 

We spent 5 lovely years with our beautiful Grandma, and Grandpa who retired from the Police and was a night watchman at a bank. Ma had a great job with the Children's Charities, driving her sporty yellow Datsun to meetings at the Istana to plan events and zipping about cutting a dashing figure in her embroidered saris or her practical pantsuits. She even won a "Belle of the Ball" prize which was a trip to Bali. I remember her energy and zest for life, and I think those were her happiest years. 

We returned to KL in 1975 after my father wooed Ma back, but eventually they parted ways again, and I rarely saw my father more than twice a year. To top it all off, we became Christians in 1981, and he disowned us, remarried, and adopted a child. Ma, however, dedicated her life to us. We stood by and watched God provide for our every need, and more, as Ma prayed for us, and opened up our humble rented apartment home to countless visitors who came by for food and fellowship. No one left our home hungry. Ma cooked the most delicious chicken curry, mutton curry, mixed veggies, dahi vadai,  chapatis and masala tea. Every single thing she cooked was the tastiest meal, no matter how simple. 

God became her rock and comfort and she overcame every difficulty life threw at her simply by praying her way through it, often in tears. She's one of the strongest and most generous people I have ever known. She gives, with no expectation of anything in return. Everyone who walked through our home was blessed by her generosity of heart and loving care, her hospitality and willingness to share, and her desire to share her love for God. 

My Ma was a missionary to the Barios in the mountains of East Malaysia, and to Nepal, having graduated from Bible School later in life, in 2001, aged 60, with several distinctions. If her health had allowed it, she would have continued being a missionary but she had to be grounded as she grew older after a chest infection floored her in Kathmandu. Ma remains cheerful, and keeps busy with her Bible study and copious note taking and sermon writing. She's a veritable storehouse of all sorts of information. 

She loves to learn, speaks several languages, and has a zany sense of humour that has seen her through tough times. I remember cuddling with her and watching tv together as a teenager, and being wrapped up in her warm embrace and feeling that I was in the safest and sweetest place on earth, and we'd laugh about her wobbly fats, and how all mothers have just the right amount to be the best pillows, and Ma is really the perfect pillow for snuggles. Those were the happiest times of my life, in Ma's embrace.

Ma taught me how to swim; on lazy Saturday afternoons in Singapore she would fry up chicken wings while we watched Sesame Street, and she'd take us to the Singapore Swimming Club and we'd swim, and some nights we'd have open air movie screening nights right next to the beach there because they hadn't reclaimed the east coast then in the early 1970s. Ma was a progressive, ahead of her time, prepared to push the boundaries as a woman, and refusing to be bullied or cowed by backward traditions that oppressed her. 

Multi talented and beautiful, she has a charm that is quite alluring, but as she reminds us, she never remarried because she had daughters to raise, and she worried about us. I think Ma has been happiest doing her own thing, being her own person, and living her own life, entirely on her own terms. I salute her, and her courage, strength, generosity, kindness, and her deep love for God. 

Like all of us, Ma isn't perfect, but her faults are tiny compared to her many strengths. I love you, sweet Ma, and I'm so very sad not to be with you on your 80th birthday. You deserve a big fuss, a noisy party, lots of yummy food and thoughtful gifts, and especially, I wish we could snuggle up like we used to, with both our wobbly fats now, and just giggle away, content to be with someone who knows our every failing and loves us unconditionally anyway. I love you more than you know, and I miss you. ❤