births. and the pain with it.

I nearly didnt marry this man because i wasn’t sure if i wanted kids. And he did.
Lets decide later. Together.
No matter what. We will be ok. Together
he said that.

With the first kid. I will always recall how he rushed into theatre. Face pale. muttering. God is in control.

With the second, he left the delivery suite before we went into theatre. to pray he said.
His hands, with which he always offered to set my IV, trembled. His bright eyes, brighter with unspoken words.

This time..
The desperation when there is no movement.
And you hear that practised calm professional voice.
lets admit you. Just to be sure.
Babies sleep well. might be nothing.

There is no colder, louder sound
than the silence when a child is born.
never have i wanted to carry my child as much as i did then. His voice reciting psalm 27 did for me what medicine couldn’t. Rideout panic and uncertainty.

where is the trust. what faith. where is the goodness.
where is the grand plan.
I just want to go home. with my husband and kids.
all of them.

So
thank you for the prayers, faith, kindness when we could muster none.

Because
Here she is. finally.
With everything out of our hands. our control.
our Rei is finally home with us.

August 29, 2018 0

i never knew

it begin earlier this year. Almost a lifetime ago. And i wrote this somewhere else… and we live a little differently again.

Gratitude. In this dawn.
this last journey.
36 weeks truly seemed like the eternity of the hour… When 28 weeks was a “possibility”. When it went from too little perfusion, to bleeding. From normal to cautious to rest. From statstics to frantic googling. From eating well to supplements to medications. From i never thought abt, to i never knew, to i dont know anymore, irrationality.

When things become uncertain, no matter how remotely, one becomes greedy. For normality. For time. For memories. For certainity.
I never knew, it could be this way.

And hence,
seeing the heaven in the wild flower meant the night wakenings of the boys became precious. So precious. As i listen to the breathing. Watched for the breaths.
And secretly prayed for just a bit longer sometimes,
to the accounting of days
to watch their hands grow bigger
their dreams of policeman or dragonfighters to their calling in this life
to watch the light in their eyes and giggles turn to chuckles or laughter
We cuddle faster. longer. Tighter.

And hence,
The infinity grain of sand distills into, will they be brave. be kind. know God.
And sometimes, that still still persistent voice..
Will they remember me. (Irrational. I know)

When D wakes up shouting or taking to holding my hand asking .. is it today?.. will it hurt if they cut again… Will u die… My world stops at his fear. My fear.
“So Irrational!” Shouts my brain
“but it feels so real” says my heart. Quietly.

Then the whispers over the roaring fears.
No. It wont.
My gentle wonderful doctor replied firstborn. We have God right? We ask. n we wait. N lets get mama n meimei home together when its time.
My husband in his quiet acts of love with the noisy boys. His hands finds mine at every scan, every review. Listening for heartbeat. The rushes of blood. For growth.
And in the dark. Wordlessly.
I hear his heart. His prayers
For her. For me. For our family.
Never once questioning my mammoth anxiety. Always holding. Just quietly there.. when i cry. In the middle of the noisy playground. In the bath. Esp In the absence of reason or logic.

And here we are. Aware of how things are bigger than our questions. Our fears. Our control.
Here we are, closer.
Yet like many who have glimpsed through the glass darkly, we hesitate. Or react tt little bit quicker.
Just in case.
Tt odd taste of anticpation with apprehension.
set up the cot. wash her clothes. make promises we have no answers to. truly who really knows.

Yet. here is that singular true promise.
In the nights of habit, i lay increasingly awake amongst the gentle snores over the weeks.
And i feel i have crossed a line as i, finally, started preparing our thanksgiving gifts today.
Because we give thanks.
even when we dont know.
Even. So.

Its not only divine grace when things turns out well.
Its not faithfulness only when he answers our prayers. He isnt the light at the end of the road.

it is Him. The light in our darkness. In our dawning world. with us. the big n little people we hold so dear. in all that is still good. still wonderful precious things.
right here.

So even before she is born, we know this.
she will be our little Rei
:my shephard.
I shall have no want.
In darkness or in light. My God is here

May your life bear testimony of His faithfulness.
See you in a fortnight (hopefully) sweetheart.

– my hardest post ever.

June 16, 2018 0

he dreams

D: I had a nightmare mama. Did i tell you?
Me: no. Was it Scary?
D: Yes. I cried a lot. Me: oh no. Monsters?
D; No.. i dreamt tt your hand dropped off. You told me not to jump across the lava. But i didnt listen. N i fell off the cliff. N you tried to pull me up. N then it got cut off by the steam.
Me: Oh. But were you ok D?
D: mama! You ALSO asked me tt qn in the dream! I was alright! But i cried so much.
Me: Why? Werent you safe?
D: Cos you love me so much. You lost your hand but you were so happy i was safe. Even in dreams you also love me..

And now at 3-5am. S after being febrile/ incessant cough/ vomitting
Me: you feeling better?
S: (grabs my hand drowsily). mama hold hand. S safe if mama here. Even virus scared.

the heart of mom-ing. At 5am.
the glimpses that my lapsing acts of love, roots the boys in their (exaggerated) faith in us.

May 10, 2018 0

real. education.

How teachers change our (son’s) lives.

We ended talking abt death.

At parent teacher meetings, we never really know how his teachers may react. When they ask us what we want to find out, we want to know how he has developed as a person. Has he been respectful, been kind, been trying to listen to his teachers n obey school rules…

And tt is an awful lot of trying for our 4 yr old, if u have ever met him.

Then we apologise if he has given them any trouble. Because he is a handful. A big handful. We are not excusing him but we know him. More clown than crown. he’s made tt way. We know cos we (still) live with him.

Then we share tt we worry we screw him up because we dont feel tt we need to maximise his potential. Truly. dont need to be best. Of him. Or class. Or anything. Truly. Just not to fall back too much n get (teachers) into trouble.

After tt long speech. My palms get sweaty n i usually wait to hear their response..

Last yr his chinese teacher told us. Never bother using flashcards for this child. He learns completely by engagement n exposure. Daniel came home rattling in chinese 2 weeks after meeting her. N he started requesting stories to be told in chinese. no one cared whether he recognised words in time..

Tt it is more important to both his teacher and us, tt dan learns to love the language rather than recognising the words, made all difference. Up to today.
My husband wished he had a chinese teacher like her.

Then this year.
We met His english teacher.
She knows that he has been different for the past few weeks. Not just outwardly being restless. But also a bit more “intense”.
When i mentioned he has been struggling with some concepts abt illness and death. I shared with her how we spoke to him abt our patients. How he is struggling with concept tt we will get older n not always with him. How some kids have no parents. And my concern tt we had unintentionally pryed a pandoras box prematurely n henceforth scare n scar him onto a permanent psychopathic path.
N how he has some nightmares… but tt might also be because he also read abt perseus and medusa…

She calmed a circling daniel by getting him to sit on her lap. And said:
Talk to him abt life cycles.
The seed to tree to soil.
The egg to animal to death.
Children have an enomous capacity to understand. N kids grow up faster now.
Then She hugged him, offered him a biscuit from her bag, encouraged us tt she approves tt we dont worry abt whether he is ahead of school work, to trust tt each child has a time.
N tt we have not ruined him. (phew)

When a teacher reads into actions and moods of a 4 year old and truly understands their behaviours. Grows them. Not just grades.
Meeting them i feel i have grown too.

My dear son. U are so blessed to have met so many wonderful teachers in yr young years.

We always knew daniel loves this school.
We love it too.

May 24, 2017 0

he speaks

D: am i turning 75 yet?
Me (distracted) not so soon. Why?
D: i will be so old. What if i cant walk? Then i cant find u. I think i will be so sad.

Me.
Taking a deep long breath.
Time stops, my son.
Time stops when u talk like this.

May 11, 2017 0

when you were almost 4

You dont know it yet, but the next time yr eyes open, you are four.

To us, most days, you are our first born. We dont remember now really, when u first walked. Tho u neither turned nor crawled. We know yr first word was duck. we dont know when or where u picked up words or letters but i always rem your first taste of english soil. N dried leaves. Literally.
I remember loving winter walks. Until the mmt i discovered yr socks fell off n i started crying n counting yr toes before i realise if its frostbitten it might drop off as i count them n then i didnt know what to do.

we always rem what made (and makes) you laugh. U eating flowers as a tottering 1 yr old. love walking ard flowers so carefully as a 2 yr old. Love plucking them when u turned 3. Almost 4, u now pluck them relentlessly n feed them to yr little brother.

Yet now that you are four. (Almost), Increasingly, as u run off shouting in yr imaginary races, yr dad n i do this instinctive catch-the-eye promise.

You, our first born, are born free. And it is a big world to be exactly that. We try to remember that. Dreams, little boys and laughter, need space. Stars in the dark skies.

We celebrate you. We celebrate Your womderful normalness. yr days. If 4 chpater yrs was a prelude. It will be Filled with roudy laughters. quiet sadness. Loud tears. Mistakes. defeats. Integrity. Misunderstoods and misunderstanding. Spilled milk. Pain. Hope. Missing toys. Faith.
And always. Love.

We cant fix many things. Except maybe disjointed transformers toys. But not Yr disappointements. Nor fight yr fights. Nor live up to expectations. (i wil always rem yr teacher asking me when u turned 3. Why does dan say “life is not fair but its ok” when yr friend fell down) and this is a hard world. U asked when i would die. Just like the patients i see. N i said i didnt know. And you said “that is a terrible answer. Mama u promise you will be there every morning ok?” And you started crying as u promised u will buy me medicine.

My heart died a bit tt night as it also grew so much from yr not -little -at -all understanding of life, love and loss.

You are older now. You cried as you fret over about how chickens will walk since u discovered that people eat chicken legs. You rationalised that the venus fly trap needs food so u patiently squat for flies n ants who are “not animals cos there is no blood!” U try to make sense of a mad mad world while lying on grassy grass. (Why do u call grass grassy? Because nothing else is grassier than grass mama)

Come morning, as u jump off your bed into ours again, you remain a noisy reminder, what a gift this just-another-thusday is. And we are so so glad you are here. Because. Mama knows. Deep down. I can never work hard enough nor do enough or be good enough to deserve this bit of 94cm almost 15kg.

Sleep well. Dream lots. Hold tight.
Our little almost 4 year old.

December 7, 2016 0

tears that were real

Sadness is. A page that doesnt turn.
No matter how hard we wish it.. want it. Try.
It doesn’t. like tar on cotton. like guilt on skin.

Sadness. The pages passed seem different. But we cant tell really. Because this page. This long page of this chapter. Or maybe this is it. Maybe there is simply. No more.
Paralysis implies we cant move.
Yet sadness, this time, Is like
Darkness to the blind.

He blinked. squeeze eyes tight. Howl.
We. forced the lids apart with our hands. We coax cajole command.
Yet. We see his little courage falter as he grip, so tightly, his forgetten reward of a brave transformer.
Half afraid to open because he fear the pain. Half because he no longer trust the eyes to give him sight without discomfort. We cry out. Him in frustration. Me. Weeping at a lack of any reasonable response.

Sadness. As we held him.
As we go through test after test.
Surely our mind knows. Everyone has such a page. Even now there are heavier pages from longer stories.
We dont have right to complain in the grand scheme of medical problem.
But this. Is never abt competition on a scale of life ranked morbidity and mortality.
This scratching of his cornea.
Even years of it.
She says it must have been painful. N i think of All the useless advice when we brushed it off. Lightly. For years.
The dye that showed the scratches. as though a trapped angry cat skidded across his eyes.
Someone slashed my wicked lazy careless heart to the sound of his sobbing.
This almost comical insane cause which manifested as easy brushed off cries. Truly. I failed him. For a yr. Or two. Or since birth. Or Too long.
Really. I did turn my ears. My eyes. Away. Where was the instinct? Surely no cleaner concrete proof. I had none.

We write to purge really.
And in days, pages to come. Maybe this is nothing.
Maybe it is not. I cant tell anymore.
This is the start of the reading of this page. This well deserved sadness of my failing.

I know now. Once again.
His mercies are new every morning.
Even if it is the same to me.
Yet He turns. He turns. Quietly. Thanklessly. Patiently.
Kindly. He writes.
He gives the bleak, a written promise from his spoken word.
Who to trust when i see clearly, it is not me. Never was.

I stared hours since the eye tests.
the page is the same. The sound of the children’s tired breathing. This ill fitting uncomfortable tightness in my heart. Constricts as i stare.

This Sadness is.
A page that doesn’t turn.

绝版吧
没正据我们也活着过吗?

没了占据我们依然不缺
绝綜吧
这世界
一亿记忆

我们依然

November 12, 2015 0