‘Lou Ma Ji’ was our favourite cheeky term of endearment for my Mum.
A Cantonese word translated loosely as ‘old mother’, it was a term she found most amusing.
Well-meaning friends consoled by saying, “your Mum is already 89, she had lived long and happy, you should be glad for her.” But then, when it comes to our mums, there is no such thing as ‘old enough’. “Mothers should not die; they should just go for holiday.” These words, spoken by a friend, captured so truly what those of us who have lost a loved ones wished – that the loss was only temporary and then all will be well again. But alas, it was not to be ….
The most difficult part in letting go of Mum was her cheerfulness, her constant laughter and great sense of humour which were such a constant part of our life.
A gutsy woman who brought up her 10 children almost single-handedly on a meagre income, she never complained about the hard life she had to endure but instead always found something to laugh about. Her infectious laughter and chuckles can never be far away when she was around.
Her life revolved around only one thing – her children. Everything she did had always been for, and because of, her children. Until the very last moment of her life, her only thought was still ‘ng moi mar fun nei dei’ (don’t want to inconvenience you all).
Although a woman of strong principles, she never imposed any of her principles on us or insisted on how we behaved when we were growing up. Instead, her actions taught us better than words. She was an exemplary example of ‘action speaks louder than words’.
Her humility (she called everybody ‘Ah Cheh’ (big sister) or ‘Ah Ko’ (big brother) no matter how young or whatever status they were), endeared her to many back in our hometown and from that we learned our manners in addressing others.
Her compassion to others had taught us to be more thoughtful about other people’s feeling other than our own. Despite the limited food we had on our table, she will still offer food if there was any to spare to the needy. Although living on limited income and sometimes borrowed money, she would still find a few cents to give to any beggar she came across.
She brought us up happy and cheerful despite what we lacked in material needs. Her cheerfulness, wit and ability to laugh at herself taught us that being poor was not something to be ashamed of, or sad about, but to face life challenges with optimism and confidence.
Her love for us was immeasurable. When we were growing up, chicken on the table was a rare occasion and only during Chinese New Year. During these occasions, she will always says she doesn’t like any other parts except the ‘bishop’s nose’ and neck. Because we were young then, we believed her, but we knew now that she was actually keeping the best for us.
"I’m not hungry, you all eat first" were words she frequently used during times when there were not enough food for all on the table. She would let us had our fill. At night, when we were asleep, she would scrapped whatever was left at the bottom of the rice pot, cleaned off the burnt part of the rice and add water to whatever she could salvage. Together with whatever veggie we left behind, if any, that would be her dinner for the day.
The only luxury she accorded herself was going to the movies (and she loved the movies!), but even then her tickets were always paid for by a wonderful and dear friend, who knew and admired Mum’s resilience in bringing us up.
She hardly spent anything on herself. Even after we grew up and able to fend for ourselves and give her monthly allowances, she will hardly use the money, preferring to save it for a rainy day in case any of her children were in need.
During every Mother’s Day when I read in the papers of somebody’s mum winning the Mother of the Year Award, I had always wished that it had been my Mum in there. I know she was more than deserving of the award and yet I’ve never had the confidence to submit an entry to the newspaper. How I wished I had made an effort then and showed her how much she meant to us.
My constant regret is that I never told Mum how much we appreciated her because I refused to believe that one day she will leave us, even until the last moment. After all, she always said she wanted to live to a 100. So, Mum, you have always been such a strong woman, why did you give up?
It may be too late now, but I still want to say to Mum:
Thank you for taking care of me in the middle of the night on the many occasions when I had nose bleeding and you had to wake up to pluck hibiscus leaves to stuff up my nose to stop the bleeding and wet towel to cool my forehead (yes, that’s Mum’s remedy for nose-bleeding! :-))
Thank you for carrying me, even when I was 8 or 9 yrs old, all the way into town in the middle of the night whenever I had tonsillitis and high fever, which were quite often - banging on the doctor’s door, insisting that he checked on me. (Although we were poor, when we were sick, Mum will always take us to see a family doctor and not the local hospital even if she had to borrow money because, to her, her children deserved the best.)
Thank you for shielding us from the hardship that you faced.
Thank you for always putting us first and yourself second.
Thank you for being my wonderful Mum.
I will always miss you.
VL
04-08-2009
