coming to terms

I still can't get used to the fact that she's gone. Market days on Saturdays will not be the same anymore. That familiar hunched figure in her wheelchair will not be seen being wheeled among the stalls, among the colourful racks of clothes on sale, checking out the fruits on sale. No more will she sit with us for breakfast with her usual cuppa. No more will she josh with KH (on that final morning, she had joked with him about "why KH tak ada blanjah?" and then when KH quickly whipped out his wallet, she laughed "Cakap main-main sajah lah!") and caress the cheeks of my children. [She loved to poke sly fun at us and I loved to take the mickey out of her too. Many were the times when mom frowned disapprovingly at me when I teased her. But she was never offended. She always took it in good spirits.]

Just yesterday after the funeral, I caught a glimpse of another old lady in a wheelchair being wheeled by her maid and for a quick second I thought it was her. But it wasn't of course and I know I will be feeling these little wrenches of grief many times more in the months to come.

Yesterday was the funeral. But for me, the reality of her death really hit home between then and the time that mom first told me she was gone.

On the third night of the wake, Trin needed to be showered and washed - she had had a jolly good time running around and playing in the nearby playground. So I took her up to Popo's flat for a shower. Like a chicken, I asked KH to come with me. I don't know what I was afraid of - it was just Popo and if she was around, she would not hurt me. I felt sheepish but asked KH to come along anyway.

I regretted it the moment the lift doors opened on the 10th floor.

A huge tidal wave of emotion just swept right over me. And I just wanted to cry so badly. As it was, I could not help myself and tears did escape me but I tried not to let KH see. I have never been comfortable crying in front of him. And this was one of those big ones that needed release and I could not release it in front of him.

It got worse as we neared the flat. The sight of her familiar slippers at the door always told me she was home whenever I visited her. And that night was no different. The slippers were right there. Except of course, she was no longer home.

As I fumbled with the lock, the door opened to the familiar flat - the green terazzo floor, the cream walls and the blue-tiled walls of the kitchen. I grew up here. Here, was where she fed me, washed me, clothed me, nagged me and took care of me in my early childhood years.

The sight of the neatly folded wheelchair undid me. Her room was in darkness. I clicked on the ancient switch and saw her bed where she lay as she died. Her comb still lay on the table, as her bedroom slippers lay beneath her bed. It all looked as if she was still around.

I took a towel from her cupboard and her scent filled the room. That familiar whiff of baby talc and medicated oil.

I brought Trin to the bathroom and bathed her. And as I bathed my daughter in the tiny bathroom, the tears came. Years ago, she had done this very same thing for me here. I wept soundlessly in the bathroom, taking care not to let KH hear me. If he did, he was careful not to allude to it or to offer any comfort. It would make him feel very uncomfortable I'm sure.

After I'd finished drying and changing Trin, I wandered to the fridge and took a packet of cold chrysanthemum tea. Popo always had a six-pack of packet drinks in the fridge in readiness for visitors. She would not mind me taking one then - she always urged us to do so whenever we came to visit.

Trin took Popo's comb and ran it through her hair. I took it from her and combed her hair neatly - as Popo once did for me too. Then I replaced it on the table.

I wanted to linger in the house. I could still feel her there. But KH was in a hurry to go down to the wake. I tried to switch off the light in her bedroom but it would not be switched off immediately. It took two or three clicks before the room resumed its darkness.

As I locked the main door, it was still so hard to believe that she's gone. I had trouble believing it yesterday at the funeral even as I saw her casket go into the flames. I will have trouble believing it today as I go to collect her ashes. I know I will continue to disbelieve the fact that she is no longer here.

regrets

We all have regrets in life. Over the past two days, I have had many but defined these down to the following:

1) I regret not spending more time with my grandmother, even when I promised myself I would.
2) I regret not buying her more of those cherries she loved.
3) I regret not buying her those adult diapers she was always fretting about, even when I said I would.
4) I regret not sitting down with her and listening to all her old stories, writing them down for records' sake.
5) I regret ever being impatient even when I visit with her, always being in a hurry to leave. I never knew what to say after the first five minutes. And I never had the patience to sit for hours and just listen. Or just sit in silence and just be.

And now all that has come to an end. With the passing of one, regrets are born.

They are not new. I have written about them before I think. And I have read about them. Other people have expressed similar regrets.

Why do we never learn from the regrets of others? To regret is always sad. We always read the sad stories of others, promise ourselves not to go the same road, and yet, promptly we do. At least, I do. It seems I never learn.

On Sunday morning, at 1.10am, my last remaining grandmother died peacefully in the arms of her eldest daughter - my mother, and the one, in popo's last words: "the one I love the most".

It was a gentle death. And there are far, far worse ways to go. I'm glad she went peacefully and lovingly, having told her daughter she loved her.

I saw her on Saturday morning - unknowingly, for the last time.

It was Saturday like any other Saturday. Market day in the Lorong 1 market, sitting for breakfast with mom. Popo came along in her wheelchair, pushed by Desi the maid. I thought she looked paler than usual, and she complained of itch. I thought it was pruritis, a sign that her kidneys are failing and said so to mom, suggesting that tests be done, but then concluding what was the point? She was 85 and we've known that her organs are quietly failing one by one ever since she was admitted to the hospital late last year for a heart attack. We just sighed and said: matter of time. Little did we know how near that time would be.

Unusually for us, most of my children were there, except Isaac and Trin. Isaac had prelim oral exams in school and at that early hour of the morning, Trin was still sleeping. But everyone else, to our surprise, had gotten up early and insisted on coming with KH and I to the market.

So that morning, we sat there, having breakfast and popo, sitting with us. I can't remember what we talked about. It just seemed like a usual, normal market day. But that's life eh? Death strikes on normal days and never lets on that it was in fact a special day and that she had less than 24 hours left to live.

Our conversation was prosaic - going up to the food centre for breakfast and kopi, she wanted to eat Indian rojak and they were considering wheeling her to Toa Payoh Central for some R&R. I remember her smiling and caressing Owain's face briefly. She said something about is he still drinking breastmilk and I say no he's stopped but the baby at home still is. She asked how old the baby is and I said she's going to be three. And she shook her head disapprovingly, pursed her lips and said cannot you know, so long no good.

Sitting here now, I'm trying hard to remember this last conversation but nothing really stands out. My goodbye was not special either. I just waved, called a casual 'okay bye, I'll see you later' and left.

Why didn't I give her a hug? I didn't know. That she was going that very night. But we all never really know, do we?

Yesterday she lay in her coffin, dressed in her sarong kebaya, my mother's kasut manek on her feet, I gazed at her. And I could almost feel her in that non-existent last hug: her frail bones, the stooped shoulders, the baby powder smell, the pat of her hands.

It felt so real that for a moment, I could not believe she was gone. All I could hear was the Rediffusion in the morning, her chasing me to get up, wash up and change into my school uniform and get ready for school, her walking me down to wait for the bus. The clacking of mahong tiles. Her babi-chin. An A-frame hut on a beach. A veiled head in church. Praying before the Immaculate Heart.

Are those my only memories? She took care of me while my parents worked, for most of my younger childhood. Why can I not remember anything more of that time?

Instead, all that comes to mind is a vague memory of the prosaic - the day-to-day. The day-to-day never sticks out. But it is the day-to-day that forms us and makes us who we are - like the tide that flows over the rocks every day. The ebb and flow shapes and polishes the rocks. Popo was the ebb and flow of my day-to-day as I was growing up.

There is nothing unique, special or outstanding to remember about those days. But they were still part of the big picture that makes me who I am, that defines me. And maybe, despite the lack of earthshaking memories and events, these were equally as, if not more important.

I must try to remember more. It will be all I have left of her.

These elusive memories, and those wretched regrets.

Quiet days

KH is out of the country for the rest of the week, returning only on Friday - his birthday! I think I shall ta-pao chilli crabs for dinner for the occasion. And maybe throw in some XO durians too. That should be a prezzie he would be happy to get.

After so many years together, honestly, I have long run out of birthday and Christmas and anniversary gift options for him. Add the fact that he is one fussy dresser (read sloppy and particular in his tastes), the fact that he eschews all gadgets (one of the rare men I know who does not hanker for his toys) and the fact that I am dead broke - most of the time, its no wonder that many Christmases, anniversaries and b-days have gone past without a gift from me.

With KH out of town, Gillian will be staying with my mom for the next few days - shorter walk to the bus-stop in the mornings. So the house will be quieter than usual. Trin will be missing her gadgets - the handphone and the MP3 player.

Had a quiet Sunday yesterday too which saw me wielding a needle and thread and sewing not one, but TWO soft toys for Cait and Owain. It was not difficult but a needle and thread are really not my favourite things in life. In fact, after struggling with that darn green checked ugly apron, plus blue floral night dress and yellow A-line skirt we had to do in Home Econs in sec sch, I really swore off all things that had to do with needle/thread/sewing machines. The best I could do was to fix a button, but even these days that is rare. So I surprised myself yesterday by sewing the toys for the kids. There is hope yet for me to turn domestic goddess.

So we were home on a Sunday afternoon, lunch-less by choice (though Gillian was moaning about getting some food into her tummy before she died of parent-imposed starvation), each of us doing our own small thing.

Cait was busy watching the new neighbours move in, giving us blow-by-blow accounts - "They're parking their car in the driveway now... ooh they are bringing in boxes from Ikea... hey they have two older boys and a little girl!... now they're sitting on their new sofa..."

Owain and Trin were busy on the computer playing Diner Dash. Once in a while we would hear a yell of despair from the study: "No, no, NO Trin! Don't delete the... aaaargghhh!"

Isaac was snowed under piles of homework from school and extra stuff that we, his unsympathetic parents, shoved on him. From time to time he would emerge hopefully, blinking in the sunlight. And we would promptly send him back to his dark cave to "Finish your work Isaac!" He will not see daylight until the PSLE is over. I have already told him that if he does not get into SJI, I will not speak to him for a year.

KH wandered round the house like a caged tiger, unused to spending so much time at home on a weekend. I finally put him out of his misery at 5pm by going out for an early wanton mee dinner.

Engs at Dunman as usual, had great tongue-numbing chilli wanton mee. Then it was a drive to Telok Blangah Hill Park for an evening walk with about 50,000 other Singaporean families and their dogs.

At the foot of the hill, there seemed to be some traffic obstruction. We stopped behind a car which was flanked by a traffic policeman in civvies. A man stepped out the car in front of us. From the way he looked, carrying a briefcase, I told KH: That man is a security officer. There must be some VIP minister in the vicinity.

Before the words left my mouth, another man stepped out - this one wearing the distinctive telephone-wire ear-piece that secret service agents love to wear in the movies - apparently they also wear them in real life! And then, stepping out of a champagne-coloured Lexus in front of us, were two other officers and Mr Lee Kuan Yew, our Minister Mentor.

Wow - celebrity alert!!

I got excited of course - along with the other joggers and families standing around. Jaws dropped, handphones were whipped out and flashes of light blinked. Mr Lee, surrounded by four SOs, walked a bit haltingly and slowly, but steadily past our car. He wore a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, cream long pants. He was tall and looked well (although the word that keeps coming to mind is, strangely enough... "fluffy"... must be due to the white hair and eyebrows!) and certainly larger than life.

He put up a hand in acknowledgement as he neared our car. And KH says: Let the record show - he waved first THEN we waved! Then the entourage disappeared up the hilly path of the park and we were waved on. By the time we reached the same area where we saw him, he was gone.

And that was my first - and probably my last - glimpse of the man who made Singapore the way it is today. The good and the bad in economic, social and political engineering. Like it or love it, warts and all, Singapore is what it is and the people who they are - largely because of his foresight and derring-do. I think I, like many other Singaporeans, have a great deal of awe and respect for him, and even, dare I say it, affection - love or loathing for the policies of the govt aside. The man is a living icon in his own right and some national pride in me recognises that, no matter how I grouse about the nitty-gritty.

After that we walked the Telok Blangah nature walk - the new trail - all the way to Preston Road and back. Nice exercise and fresh air. And my sweet Owain-boy said, when I saw he was tired and offered to carry him: "No thanks mum. It will be hard for you."

Hard to do what?

"Hard to carry me and walk. You will be too tired."

See? Moments like this tell you why I love this boy so deeply.

The evening finished with a nice ice-cream at Estivo Gelataria at Greenwood - which Owain gave two thumbs-up.

These quiet happy days just come and go. And while I may not remember the details of such a day - nothing really outstanding happened - I think I will carry the feeling of well-being for a while more.

Protein and PH signs

Last week I bought a box of test strips to test my pee. My inner hypochondriac made me do it.

I've wanted to do this for sometime but never gotten down to it. I wanted to monitor my condition re the protein in the urine and to give me an early heads-up for any signs of glucose leakage which could mean diabetes. Having a dad and a paternal uncle and aunt with diabetes, I have a strong family history of this so I thought better to catch this early instead of late. Diabetes is pretty much a silent killer and will usually be undetected at early stages. So I thought these urine test strips might help me detect any early signs of glucose leakage.

So the other day, browsing in the KKH pharmacy, I saw the stuff and decided to buy it. Not very expensive, just about $7+ a box of 30 strips. I've have been using it since.

So what have I found?

As they say in bad movies: I've got some good news and some bad news.

Well the good news is, the glucose levels are normal. So no sign of diabetes for now!

But the bad news is - the protein leaks seem to be getting worse. They are significant in quantity enough to register in a test strip, instead of the usual 'negligible' values I usually get.

In the past whenever I had these random urine test strips, the protein window would still be in the normal window - yellow. But these few days when I tested, the colour patch is no longer in the normal yellow box - it has gone up a notch to the light green box which shows a +1 increase in protein values. I know I have been leaking protein for some time, but this is usually microalbumin, which the doc was not too concerned about. With micro albumin, only a blood test would show up those leaks - it would not show in a standard urine test strip. But with this new development, I think the leaks might have increased.

On top of that, the Ph is also abnormal. Instead of a salmon pink, I now test a deep green. In normal, healthy individuals, the Ph of pee would be between 5 to 6. The higher you go, the more alkaline the pee. I am consistently testing at levels of 8 now.

Seen on its own, a high Ph might also be a sign of UTI. I have no symptoms and although UTI can be asymptomatic, I do not think it is UTI because of the corresponding increase in protein leakage.

I don't want to press the panic button and I really think it is still early days. But the high alkalinity and the increase in protein leakage does not augur well. Put together, this might indicate some form of chronic kidney disease.

There is no cure for kidney disease and once you've gotten it, it's pretty much just a matter of time before the kidneys conk. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I am not inclined to do the usual dialysis thingy etc if and when the kidneys do fail. But I believe I have time yet. I will bring these results to my usual doc when I see him next month and see what he says.

Exempted!

So it was on Wed 2 July 2008 that I was on a bus at 1.20pm when I got a call from home. Over the loud TVMobile din of the bus, I could barely hear what Isaac had to say. Or maybe I just could not believe my ears. I had to ask him to repeat a few times before it sank in.

Isaac is officially exempted from Chinese. The MOE application came through!

Wow. I sat there, feeling stunned, stomach knotted, heart beating so fast I thought it was about to stop. Such a big weight off. It worked. We should have done this earlier, what was I so afraid of? All these thoughts just ran through me at lightning speed.

I was tearing away in the bus as I messaged friends and family the good news. Mom messaged back: Good for him so the $1000 is worth it got little bit of sambal prawns for you. Prosaic mom and her kooky SMS skills. Always makes me smile. And sambal prawns - oh icing on the cake!

Yes, mom is right. Well worth the psychological evaluation fees we had to cough up. $1000 seemed like so much to us to part with on a gamble. But it really was worth it after all. I called KH, who was also overjoyed at the news and stunned that it was so quick. We had expected MOE to respond in at least a month's time. We never expected them to come back so quickly - I think it was only about 3 weeks since I submitted the application to the school and for them to send to MOE.

Maybe it was cut and dried - after all, he is on the autism spectrum disorder and his low phonemic awareness scores is good reason enough. There would be no way he could ever pass Chinese no matter how hard he struggled. His brain is just not programmed to do this.

I came home and asked Isaac to tell me how Mr Lim had told him the news. He said he was called out of class (a very interesting class too since the teacher was talking about sexuality and was showing the class a condom!!) and Mr Lim handed him the letters from MOE with a brief "Congratulations Isaac. You are exempted." After which Isaac told his best pal Patrick, eliciting sighs of envy and "Argh, you're so lucky..."

I read the letter over and over again, hardly daring to believe that it was right there - but it was. It was just one line. The word 'approved' is underlined. As if it sensed that parents like me would be whooping with joy and struggling with disbelief and shock at the same time, and needed the underline to emphasise the point.

We celebrated with French food that night. Took the kids out for a nice dinner at La Petite Cuisine at Serene Centre where the kids tried French food for the first time. KH and I love the traditional confit du canard, and I of course love the foie gras. The kids had a taste of this and their own simple pasta with ham in creme sauce - also yummy. We ended the night with our usual ice-cream treat at Island Creamery.

Its been two days since we learned the good news and I'm still feeling wonder everytime I think about it.

The exchange between Cait and Isaac in the car on the way to Serene Centre that night summed it up.

Cait: "Eh kor, I prayed for you to get exemption and God heard me! That's why you got exemption!"

Isaac: "What? Hey you're not the only one who prayed you know? That doesn't mean that He heard only YOUR prayer! I also prayed very hard you know!" (Oh, an eye-opener. I never guessed it meant that much to him to be exempted - always thought he was pretty blase about it!)

Me: "So did I! So we should all give thanks to God! And Isaac, please thank your sister for praying for you!"

And me? I thank God for all His tender mercies and gifts. He is good to us indeed.