Two days before Mum passed away, I was prepared to let her go. To see her in such a state hurt me deeply. To see her struggling for every breath, struggling to swallow, and lying there on the bed in such a vegetative state was too much to bear. Even then, I was hoping that she would wake up. Even if she does not recover fully, even if she was bedridden, I was willing to look after her for as long as it takes.

I know right up to the end, Mum was still worried for me. She was not willing to let go but she was too tired to fight anymore, her body ravaged by leukaemia. For most part of her life, she lived only for one purpose � to look after me. I should have learnt to be independent earlier so that she need not worry so much.

On Tuesday, one day after Mum came back, one of my cousins invited a priest to perform The Sacrament of the Sick on Mum where she was anointed. Although she did not attend Mass regularly, Mum was always a Roman Catholic at heart.

The night before Mum was called back to be with the Lord, the Prayer Group from the Cathedral of the Holy Spirit came to call upon God to ease Mum of her sufferings. At the same time, I was meditating for her to be healed. Towards the end of the prayer session, I had a vision of Mum, smiling and being led by two angels. That was not what I had prayed for!

Late Thursday evening, Yanti came to tell me that Mum had drank all the fortified drink that she fed her. I went to take a look at Mum before calling it a night. I found Mum’s breathing laboured and got Yanti to turn her to her side. When that did not help, I called my cousin Peter who stayed one floor below me.

Peter came and then went back to summon my uncle and his family who had travelled all the way from Melaka to see Mum. They came and started praying for Mum. Mum’s breathing became increasingly slow and weak. I kept telling Mum not to be afraid and that it was all right to let go.

I held Mum as she breathed her last breath, kissed her gently on the cheek and whispered softly into her ear, �I love you Mum. Thank you for everything. Do not worry for me, I know how to take care of myself. Go in peace. You are with Jesus now.� Those must be the most heartbreaking words I have told Mum, ever.

Mum passed on at 1.45am, surrounded by her loved ones.

A sudden gnawing emptiness filled my heart as I hugged my uncle and cried. Part of me died together with Mum. It was she who gave me life. It was she who nurtured me from a baby to what I am now. It was she who gave me everything. It was she who led me up from the chasm of depression when I became paralysed. It was she who looked after me for eighteen years, and then another eighteen years after I broke my neck. She devoted half of her life looking after me. And now she is gone forever.

Mum passed away peacefully at 1.45am yesterday.

Mum has drifted into a world of her own now. She does not open her eyes. She is not responsive anymore although I know for sure she can hear. Every now and then, I would whisper into her ear telling her not to worry about me, that I will know how to care for myself. I urged her to go seek her own peace.

Wuan would call and I would place the phone on Mum�s ear. I know Mum is very fond of Wuan for she knows I am in good hands. Mum was immensely happy the week that Wuan was here because Wuan had looked after her well. Wuan would constantly tell Mum that she will take good care of me.

Mum has always, and still is despite her condition, worried about how I will be cared for when she is not around anymore. Wuan�s reassuring words have alleviated her worries somewhat.

Yet, I can sense that she is still fighting. Perhaps she is waiting for Wuan to come. Wuan had promised Mum that she will come see her this weekend.

I get Yanti to spoon-feed Mum with Jevity, an isotonic, fibre-fortified, high-nitrogen liquid formula that is her sole source of meal intake now. She swallows eagerly when fed, which is a good sign.

While I do not want Mum to suffer anymore, I will support her decision if she decides to fight on. Who am I to tell her to give up when she still has that yearning for life? I am not able to do much at this moment except to make sure that she is well taken care of like what she had done for me all these years.

All the same, I will give her the moral support and whatever that is needed to keep her hopes up. I am not expecting miracles but Mum has again and again showed her tenacity in overcoming great obstacles.

Mum sat up and attempted to stand, which she did a few times. Although it was only for a moment, I am happy to see her determination. She had come home to recover in a familiar surrounding.

Mum is back home. When I saw her last Friday, she was cheerful and alert, and looking forward to be discharged. She talked about coming home to exercise so that she could walk again. Jenny, my former physiotherapist, has even offered to come help Mum back on her feet again.

However her condition took a turn for the worse on Saturday when she kept complaining of severe bodily pain which left her moaning in agony despite being given painkillers. When I went to see her in the morning, Mum was holding on to the side of the bed and crying. She told me that she was in pain and had breathing difficulties. I kept reassuring Mum that it was only a passing discomfort, as her blood counts were all looking good.

Yanti, the maid told me that Mum kept asking her to call me to go see her in the hospital. I gave Yanti my phone number so that she could call should Mum ask to see me in the middle of the night again.

Still, I dreaded to receive phone calls in the middle of the night. I feared the call would be the harbinger of bad news. And when I went to visit Mum, there was always a constant trepidation of finding her bed empty or the nurse telling me that something had happened to Mum. The only relief was seeing Mum still in her bed.

Mum kept asking me, �How am I supposed to go through tonight?�

She feared the pain that, oddly, appeared only during the night. Seeing her in such anguish, I decided to stay the night with her in the hospital. I wanted to be there to comfort her. I wanted to be there for her when she called out my name.

I told Mum not to be afraid as I was going to spend the night with her in the hospital.

�Where are you going to sleep?� she asked, worrying about my comfort despite her own sufferings.

�I can just lean over and rest my head on the side of your bed,� I told her.

Although Mum would very much have liked me to stay with her, I can sense that she was reluctant to let me do so because she knew there was no way I could have rested comfortably while sitting on my wheelchair. Nevertheless, I was willing to stay with Mum so that I could comfort her if she really needed me to be there, even though there was nothing much I could do to ease her pain.

I kept reassuring Mum that I could manage and that she should not think so much. Mum was prescribed Dormicum, a sleeping pill, to help her sleep. I left the hospital after seeing her fall asleep and making sure that she was tucked in comfortably.

When I went to see her on Sunday, she was still moaning in agony. Despite that, she put up a brave front and told me that she would be discharged on the next day. On Sunday evening, Mum�s condition deteriorated. As I entered the room, I could hear her moaning in pain softly. My neighbour Mr. Ong, his wife and daughter were there to see Mum.

Mum kept moaning in between consciousness. I leaned over to stroke her back again and again. She had asked me to do so as it made her more comfortable. When I stroked her, she would close her eyes and try to sleep.

During one of those times that I leaned over and stroked her, she said to me, �I am going to die soon. Everybody has come to see me. Even Ah Kau has come to see me.�

�You will not die so soon,� I retorted. �You still have the strength to whine.�

Come Monday, Mum was becoming delusional. In between her moans of pain, she kept asking me to take her home.

�If I die, I want to die at home,� she told me in between sobs.

This is the saddest thing I have ever heard Mum say. In my mind, she had always been a fighter. I had expected her to fight till the end. But now, she is giving up.

One part of me wanted to let her go, seeing her in such misery. One part of me still clung on to the hope that she will recover. I was not ready to lose Mum. I still am not.

�Please do not leave me,� I pleaded. �What will happen to me when you are gone? Who will love me? Who will look after me?�

I did not want Mum to go just like that. There are so many things I still want to give her. There are so many more years that I want to share with her. I wished she would live to a ripe old age, however old that is. I wished she could enjoy those last years of her life in happiness. Mum has had a hard life. I have done nothing to make it easier. Instead, I broke my neck and she had to look after me, even as a septuagenarian.

�I cannot help it,� she quietly whispered. Those words just totally hit me. I had expected Mum to live forever. I had never anticipated life without Mum.

“But Swee Wuan is coming to see you at the month-end.” I told her, trying to keep her hopes up.

“I cannot wait that long anymore.”

Mum kept insisting that I take her home while the doctors were preparing for her discharge. She said that she could not wait anymore. Mum was discharged at 3pm Monday. She came back in the ambulance.

When I saw her sleeping so comfortably on her bed in her own room, I wished I had taken her home earlier. She looked so at ease. She looked so contented. She looked so happy. However, Mum�s delusions have worsened. She has that distant look in her eyes; her pupils are dilated and glassy. She can hardly recognise me. That is not important. What is important is that Mum is back home where she wants to be. I know deep inside she is at peace. I know she is glad that she is home.

Despite Mum�s poor prognosis, I am still clinging on to that glimmer of hope that she will snap out of the stupor, her leukaemia will go into remission and she will walk again. Regardless of what Mum had said about coming home to die, I know that, like me, she is still clinging on to that glimmer of hope. I should know. I have her blood in me. I pray that her wish will come true.