AFTER my mother died, I wanted to write about many things. But I couldn't. The thoughts sat like a heavy, congealed lump in my chest. Yet, the story in my heart refused to go away and the thoughts whispered, growing louder in my ears. Writing this helps release some of that weight from my heart.
The days and weeks following my mother's death on Aug 12, 2022, were long, foggy, silent and painful. I was lost in a sea of disbelief; my heart shattered. That year, I kept myself busy, trying desperately to stave off the gut-wrenching pain that was unlike any other I'd I had ever endured.
Everything felt like an insurmountable effort. Engaging in conversations was exhausting. Sleep wouldn't come and I would find myself quietly sobbing into my pillows for hours. I replayed mum's voice recordings endlessly, desperate to hear her voice again.
I would walk through a store, see someone who resembled her, and my heart would break all over again. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, I would pretend she wasn't gone. Other times, I would cry and beg God to bring her back.
CONSTANT THREAD
My mother was a remarkable woman — loving and funny. Her unexpected comments would always make us laugh out loud. Together with dad, mum created a positive and loving childhood for my sisters and me.
She was the cornerstone of our family; a pretty woman with soft curly black hair. Even at 80, she retained her soft, curly black hair and that aura of extraordinary grace. She was humble yet confident, driven by an unwavering passion to care for her family.
Mum gave herself entirely, sacrificing her own needs and desires for those she loved, always giving without question and never asking for anything for in return. My mum fought to remain here with us, until she could no longer.
She never gave up — she would always try to find a way — for whatever it was she was doing. She stood up for her beliefs and for those she loved, exemplifying the strength that shaped my sisters and me into the women we are today.
Mum was never meant to leave us. She was the constant thread that held our family together. Her three daughters — each shaped by her kindness, humility, fortitude, and fierce love — were her pride and joy. She was the matriarch of our family and we loved her dearly.
Mum relished life, embracing every moment with joy, adventure and unwavering faith in the goodness of the world, and most importantly, in God, her creator. But mum's death, though it was a possibility we had prepared for, still came as a profound shock. There really isn't a single word to encapsulate the different emotions surrounding loss — just a tapestry of feelings.
The final days were marked by a desperate wish for time to stand still and a dread of the inevitable. In those last hours, my dad, sisters and I stayed by mum's side. We held her hands, stroked her hair, cried and whispered our love. We moved in and out of her room, but never left her alone. One moment mum was there and the next, she had moved to her eternal home in heaven.
JOURNEY OF GRIEF
Two years on, I have come to realise how deeply the loss of a significant person can affect other lives. Though death had taken loved relatives before, this pain was different. It gutted me, for the loss of a mother is heartbreaking, no matter how old you are.
This kind of loss changes you and is perhaps the only certainty in the journey of grief. This process can break you and overwhelm you. The only way out is to move through it, navigating each wave as it comes. Sadly, I found that I couldn't relate to the theories I'd read about grief, so I can offer no guidebook.
The stages of grief, where you pass through and emerge on the other side, didn't happen for me, mostly because grief doesn't realise it's supposed to come in stages. There's no set plan in grieving because grief takes its own journey for each person. No two people grieve the same way.
In our family of five, now reduced to four, each of us grappled with our own pain and isolation, struggling to come to terms with this new reality. The emptiness in the house, in our hearts and by our sides stayed with us for what felt like eternity.
While the experience of loss is universal, the way through it is as diverse as the colours of the rainbow. Grief is always a personal experience, shaped by each individual's unique circumstances, no matter what threads tie you together.
Unless one has experienced the loss of a beloved, explaining the depth of grief can seem melodramatic. Even the kindest souls may say or do the wrong thing. Some people respond nervously, even awkwardly, often unaware that their well-intentioned words can further alienate and isolate the grieving person.
This is because the idea of death is terrifying and entering into another's grief requires facing that fear, which can be unsettling. In our society, we often advise people to "move on" before they are ready. This not only fails to help but can also instill a sense of shame, as if their feelings are somehow strange.
No matter how supportive and well intentioned those around us are, no one truly understands the depth of the grieving person unless they have faced it themselves. I only truly understood this after losing my mum.
When the weight of her absence hits me anew, I find the most comfort in people whose words offer a gentle solace, asking nothing more than for me to be present in that moment. Their words provide a small haven amidst the sorrow.
REMINDER OF HUMANITY
Over the past two years, I have learnt a profound truth: loss never fully disappears, for you cannot let go of the ones you have lost. Instead, we grow around the grief, but it remains as present as ever.
Sometimes, it comes in waves, as intense as it was in the beginning.
Gradually, the grief becomes softer, more pliable, finding its place in our lives. But it never truly goes away because the emptiness of losing someone you love stays with you for a long time, and the heartache comes and goes. Grief serves as a reminder of our humanity and the price we pay for loving as intensely as we do.
I miss mum every moment of every day. There are times when I'm having a good time and suddenly, I wish she was there. But where my grief once felt like a dark cloud, I have learnt to find comfort within it.
Rather than being overwhelmed by pain, I find comfort in seeing the world through her perspectives. I love walking down memory lane, looking at her photographs, videos, and recordings because they offer a sense of comfort to me.
Rather than reminding me of my loss, my mother's love and memory inspire me to become the person I want to be. I thank God every day for blessing me with Maureen Cheah Swee Lian as my mother. I'm so grateful for the incredible gift of being her daughter.
I will always have a mother. She lives in my heart. As I age and journey through my later years without her physical presence, I will learn to embrace my graying hair and wrinkles on my face. Because of my mum, I know that growing old is a privilege.
Mum, it's not goodbye forever. Someday, we will meet again in a life after this one. And as my mum would say: "See you later, alligator."