Forthnights

Sorry ma...

Its Sunday night, 3 days before the Chinese Lunar New Year when I received the call from my mother.

She was coming down again. This time, she gave a 6 hour notice. Her train was due to arrive in KL at 7. Where were we to put her? Ever since we moved out of our apartment, my brother has been squatting at his pastors place, while I went to live with my girlfriend and her brother and in their rented apartment. We had no place of our which we could comfortably put her without troubling myself.

But there was little choice, and tentatively we agreed that my mother would come to my place first. What to do with her next was the real problem. We spoke about it long and hard. We knew she had been wondering from place to place; people had been telling us that. But we were only to know how bad when she arrived. It was tricky, because there were so many things to consider. We knew that bringing her to the hospital would instantly make enemies of ourselves to her; she might run away, put up a fight, create a scene and never trust us enough to come back to us again. But letting her be was no better. She has been sleeping on the streets by choice, she has been robbed twice, all her documents, bank book and identification have been lost. Admitting her into the hospital would also carry a big financial impact on us not to mention the trauma it would inflict on both us and my mother. I did not look forward to another episode of forcing hospital admission on her. Yet we knew, if it were to go through, it would have to come to that. Apart from hospitalisation, we discussed the possibility of admitting her into this shelter home again, the one where she ran away from the last time. It seem the only medium term solution that would safe guard her and keep her in a controlled and safe environment. Drawbacks there would be she would instantly hate us for putting her there in that prison, cursing that we want her to die faster. Plus the RM800 a month fee was something I could hardly afford. With my brother jobless and my father no where to near to helping us out, I felt like the burden was mine. I told my brother I could not afford to put her in the home for now, not when he was till jobless and I had to pay for it alone. He would have to stop his bumping around and get a steady income and share this burden with me. He talked about an emergency plan of using his credit card to pay the bills first. I said it was crazy to go into further debt spending money you dont have when you dont have a job.

But something had to be done, and we agreed that at the least, we would try to admit her to the hospital, then take it from there. Monday morning came and I woke up, prepared her things (which were being stored with me) and waited for my brother to go pick her up from the train station. I was in a dilemma. I had work to attend on Monday. Should I apply for leave? My brother was available the entire day, and he could manage her, but what was I to do? The right thing would have been to just call my boss and explain my situation and ask for emergency leave. Perhaps I failed in this respect, because if possible, I did not want to take leave. It just felt unprofessional to give my long personal sob story, and expect sympathy. I had a personal crisis to handle, but I had a my professional integrity to keep to.

My mother arrived, and that was when I finally just got to see how she had been living. She was wearing the same orange T-shirt I saw a few months ago. Only, back then it was clean and new, and now, it looked worn out and dirty, very dirty. She was dark and tan she smelled, she looked disturbingly skinny, her finger and toe nails were black and her hair was dirty. I was heart broken again.

She was under the impression that she was free to stay as she pleased. She took out her dirty laundry and started washing it in the bathroom, and she placed some rotten onions and garlic on the kitchen table, insisting that she will cook later. We told her to bath, and that we were taking her out, and that were is where my Monday  morning nightmare began. She went berserk, raising her voice, shouting at us to not bring her to the hospital. She said she just wanted to stay for Chinese new year for a few days and return. I explained to her that she was welcomed and free to stay with me, as long as she was calm and composed; something she is incapable of when she is off medication. I do not own the house I live in now; there are others in the house whom I have to respect. I cannot make others put up with what essentially is a burden of my brother and I. What more, my girlfriend mother was coming to stay during Chinese new year. How are we suppooised to house 2 mothers, both with mental illnesses? She said in that case, she will leave straight away. She packed her dirty and damp cloths into a plastic bag, and was ready to leave. I didn't know what to do. I told my brother that if we were to admit her, I would take leave a do it with him, despite my reluctance. But when it came to it, my brother has a change of heart. He felt that if we were to do it, it would be severe emotional wound to her for her own two sons to force it on her. He felt that we should do what we can with her and that admission should not be done by physically forcing her. 8.30a.m, I was already late for work, and I had to decide fast. If were were not going to admit her, I had no strong excuse for an emergency leave.

So in the end, I went to prepare for work. My brother would handle it. He would either bring her to the hospital or do something with her. I had to rush to work. My brother took her to his car, but even then she refused to enter, and created a scene right in front of our apartments. The last sight I saw was my brother arguing her in front of the guard house while many on lookers seemed to enjoy the monday morning drama unfold in front of them. Later in the afternoon, I asked my brother for an update. She had walked off that morning, refusing to get into my brother's car. My brother in his frustration gave up and let her be. So that was that.

But 6 in the evening she called me again. She had bought a ticket for the next morning to return, but in the mean time she had nothing to do and no where to go. I told her to wait for me there. i would come straight after work. I informed my brother and we went together. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot in the morning, but she seemed less in the mood to fight in the evening. I told her we would bring her for dinner and she would sleep in my place tonight. She sat in the back seat and I drove to the nearby KFC. She feel asleep in the car, testimony to just how exhausted she was. I was quiet and kept my conversation to a minimum over dinner. My brother initiated most of the conversation, and she seemed only too keen to share what has been happening. She related her robbery, how she struggled with the snatch thieve for her hand bag before being assaulted. She talked about how she would sleep nearby ATM's where it was air conditioned. When she overslept the morning security guard would chase her away. She barely had just a few hours sleep everyday, fearing that people might do something to her. Some days she would just sleep at a bus stop or in a deserted area. i kept extremely quite. At times when i spoke up, it was to scold her for being stupid and foolish for choosing to live on the streets. My brother pulled me aside and asked why I was being such a sour puss. But I had no answer. I was having  a hard time trying to come to terms that my  mother sleeps on the streets.

I brought her home and she said she wanted to sleep. I knew from the way she feel asleep in the car that she was exhausted. We had short burst of arguments in the car, but for her sake, I tried to keep it to a minimum. I gave her the bed to sleep, but she insisted on sleeping on the floor. After she had feel asleep, I took her dirty laundry and put them to wash and hang, for her to bring with her the next day. I did what I can to make her comfortable, but she seemed used to sleeping on the cold hard floor.

Despite turning a cold shoulder the entire night and being hard on her, a part of me just wanted to be there beside her and caring for her. But even in that I failed miserably. Even during chinese new year, I am unable to take my mother in and give her a safe place to stay for a while. What kind of son am I? What kind of son would let her mother sleep out on the streets while he returns to a warm comfortable bed every night? If only my friend could see me now, they would not think I am so good after all. I tried to justify myself; we were living together, the entire of last year, before she decided to take off and not return. She wanted to live on her own, not being controlled by us. I made it crystal clear to her the last time. If she was to stay with us, she MUST be on medication. And for that reason, and that reason alone, she refuses to come stay with us. I asked her over dinner, why should would not just come back with us for good, and she said she wanted to, only if we did not force medication on her. But despite going through all these motions, I still felt guilty. The fact is, my mother had no place to stay, and I was refusing her safe refuge in my place. She cried before sleeping, rambling on and on about how she married the wrong man and how she hated my father, and then she feel asleep. I stayed there quiet, just watching over her. I could feel the emotions swelling in me. I reached out and touched her hand. It felt so familiar yet so strange. It was my mothers hand, and the touch of her skinny was always soothing to me. But her hand was coarse, dark and skinny from all the ordeals she has been facing these 2 months ever since running away from us, then from the Gospel Hall where she stayed. I wanted to lie down and just feel her close to me, to feel again what I used to feel when I was a child. My mother putting her hand on me and patting me to sleep. But I dared not wake her from her sleep, and I dared not show her that despite my harsh words, despite trying to tell her what to do all the time, I still longed for her touch and her love. I just held on to her hand for a while, and when I could not take it anymore, I left the room and wept quietly by the corner. I have failed my mother in so many ways.

The next morning, before leaving for work, I dropped her off the trains station. She slept like a baby the entire night, and I couldn't help but wonder just how many nights good nights sleep did she have these past few months. While walking to the carpark she said to me "Hann, last night you stayed and watched over me izit? Thank you." I kept silent.........

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 10:28 am Comments: 1