It’s a year since mother left us on 23 April 2013.
There are two things that stand out from that night of nights.
The phone call
I’d set Vivaldi’s Four Seasons as the ringtone for the nursing home, so that anytime my phone rang with that piece of music, I’d know it was from them about mother. Most times, the calls were to let me know I needed to bring some item or other for her the next time I was going there. But on the early morning of 23 April 2013 when I was awakened by that familiar tune, I knew at once it was the call I’d been waiting for.
“Your mother’s gasping, you better come now.” One of the staff said when I answered the call.
I sat in bed, feeling very anxious but telling myself I needed to calm down because I needed to call my sister and to drive over as soon as possible if we wanted to see mother one last time.
In the end, we did not get to see mother one last time. Later, when I thought about this, I realised that mother passed away surrounded by the people closest to her: not her children but the carers who’d looked after her during her final year.
The moment mother passed away
We were driving past the school that was along the way to the nursing home. I was thinking about mother and realised I was thinking of her in the past tense. I would later find out that that moment was very close to when the Lord had taken her home and the Holy Spirit had prompted me that mother was now a part of my past and no longer in my present or future.
One year on
So it’s a year since mother left, and nine years and eight days since father left on 15 April 2005.
I used to wonder how I would deal with not having both of them around. I told a good friend I might have to move away because my parents were so much a part of where I was staying and the places we frequented together. And I did move away after father’s passing, but only from the house I’d shared with them. It so happened that the lady renting my apartment said she would be moving out to her own place so I was able to move in to mine in early 2006.
It was hard the first few months after mother left; I would commemorate the 23rd of each month, remembering exactly how many months since. Saturday afternoons were the hardest cuz that was when my sister and I would visit her. Gradually I adjusted, not even commemorating the 23rd of the last couple of months leading up to this day, the first anniversary of her passing. But some Saturday afternoons, I would find myself suddenly thinking where I was a year or so ago, visiting mother, sitting next to her, sometimes holding her hand, and always feeling some response from her as she grasped mine in return.