No matter how old we get…translated…
My best friend’s older brother in his seventy had passed away recently of cancer, her mother in the ninties was heartbroken, cried on, “I’d lived too long already, I’d, had to see my own son off.” And she’d, disregarded her offspring’s words of consoles, tried to run to the funeral home to see her son one last time.
My friend said, as her mother learned that her eldest brother was ill, she’d not cared about how elderly, or how frail she was, she’d ridden the bus as it shook, to transfer to the MRT, to the hospital to visit him, “an elderly woman of about a hundred, sat next to the bed, asked her son who’s, also become, an old amn, if he was thirsty, or if he needed to get his diapers changed? And even asked what she should cook for him. Like she was still young, and taking care of a five-year-old child.”
Later on, her brother went into a coma, was in critical condition, and the doctors asked if he should be resuscitated, and there were the siblings who were there caring for him, and they’d believed, that it was a matter of life and death, naturally, this decision should be made, by his child, and so, they’d called his only daughter who’s already married in, as the daughter entered into the hospital room, she’d cried on, “of course, save him! He is my father, I can’t let him die like this.”
And so, the patient was, put through an assortment of painful procedures, and surgeries, and finally, his heart started, beating again, but, he was now, in a vegetative state, his body was put under a ton of pains, and those around him were all, overcome with the burdens of caretaking too, everybody became strained and spent, slowly, the daughter started showing up less compared to her elderly grandmother in her nineties, in the end, she’d, gave her aunts and uncles her ultimatum, “I have a family too, I can’t keep on coming over to the hospital to look after him, my father is your eldest brother, naturally, you guys should shoulder up the care of him.”
As the elderly woman close by heard, she’d, lifted her head that’s completely white, “it’s no big deal, you guys can go off and busy about your own lives, children are more important, take good care of them, I will take care of this, no worries.” And so, she’d, still ridden the busses, and the MRT, to the hospital to care for her son, and, he wasn’t responsive at all, but that was, okay, as he didn’t respond to her words once before when he was still, infantile too.
From when my father was still alive, he’d loved telling us that story, “back home, as the son in his seventy was about to head out, the father in his nineties still reminded him, that the weather’s cooled, to put on an extra shirt, that there are a lot of bad people out in the world, that we must, be really careful.”
No matter how old we get, the ones who’d worried the most about us, are always going to be our parents; no matter how old we are, it’s always going to be our own young, who’d, worried us the most.
And so, this, is the story of a mother’s endless giving to her own son, and even after he fell ill, she’d still, gone to the hospitals to visit him every single day, because that is what a mother does, take care of her son, and she’d not asked for anything in return, and this, is the unconditional love of a mother, shown, toward his son, and, it’s true, that you NEVER stop worrying about your own children, unless you already KNOW fate like I do………
Life, the Obstacle Course 