polychromatic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
polychromatic) wrote2019-09-07 07:20 am
polychromatic) wrote2019-09-07 07:20 am
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Well. It's been a tough month.
The days after Bubu's passing seemed manageable. I remember feeling a bit ashamed that I wasn't more tearful at 4am when I received the call from my mom, that I felt mostly numb when we were at the hospital 20 minutes later and she looked like she was still sleeping. Four hours later I was at work, a bit emotional when I had to tell my coworkers what had happened, but overall still very functional. The more people I told, the more smooth and collected I felt about it. Bubu had lived a long life - 98 years to be exact - and that she was still with us after being admitted to the hospital a year ago already felt like a small miracle. Besides, I would say to people, I've had concerns about her quality of life for awhile, and with aspiration pneumonia we had known that the chances of her pulling through were slim. She's not suffering anymore, and in some ways there is a measure of relief that she is at peace.
Still, I was on the receiving end of many hugs and received many verbal condolences from my sympathetic coworkers. Family can be complicated, but losing a grandparent is never easy. I reassured them that I was fine, that it was really my mom I worried about because she has spent the better part of two decades caring for elderly parents, and now she was at a loss for what to do with her time. To those of Asian descent in my office, I confided that it didn't affect my daily life in the same way because my mother had made the very conscious decision to release me, somewhat, from my filial piety duties; she reasoned that my job was stressful enough and that she didn't want me spending what spare time I had always at the care home. If they needed help from me, they would ask, but there was no expectation that I should participate in my grandma's feeding schedule (twice daily) otherwise. I think in the back of her mind, she also worries that as an only child, the reality is that caring for my parents as they become elderly will fall entirely to me.
I made it through my remaining days at work with no issues - keeping busy gave me little time to sit and stew in my grief. I went with my family to the funeral home to help organize the funeral service. I volunteered to put together a short slideshow to music and pored over the many photo albums Bubu had kept, coveting these little snapshots of her life. I ran a few funeral-related errands to help ease the burden from my mother. I surrendered my apartment to my cousin and his wife because he was complaining about back pain and sleepless nights on the pullout couch. Truthfully, had I remembered that I couldn't take refuge at my friend's home during this period (thereby bringing death into her household), I may have been less forthcoming with that gesture. My mom thanked me over and over, and all I could say was that I was doing this for her, because I love her. My cousin I still have very complicated and painful emotions towards.
Since I had plans for a weekday getaway to Victoria with my friend and old colleague, the decision was made that I might as well bring Kira to my parents' with me. I dropped her off at my parents' home in the afternoon and started a deep clean of my apartment, to make it presentable for my "visitors". When I received a phonecall at 10pm that night that there was a bouquet in the house with lilies - a bouquet I had walked right by and failed to register - I was a sobbing mess on my way to pick up my cat, hoping that my petty feelings towards my cousin hadn't led to renal failure for Kira. With great difficulty due to my rusty day-one skills and Kira's decidedly negative feelings about being restrained, I placed an IV catheter, drew blood, and left her at the clinic hooked up to IV fluids. I was a mess. The upcoming funeral, the possibility that my cat could have kidney damage, staying in a household of six and not having my own space to retreat to led to me feeling physically and emotionally exhausted. That Bubu's church was heaping added stress by insisting on sending 25 of their congregation when we had told them the chapel only seated 40 was not helping.
For the entire week, I had wondered how I would carry myself at Bubu's funeral. Thus far, I had shed a few tears but nothing beyond that. Maybe because I had been accepting for so long that her passing would be an eventuality, I would be less emotional. It certainly felt that way now. How would that look, a granddaughter not crying at her own grandmother's funeral?
I needn't have worried. I stepped into the chapel with my mother, saw Bubu lying - tiny and frail - in the casket, and proceeded to burst into tears. Seeing her there made it feel more real, more final. I loved my grandma and I had lost her, and I would always, always feel that I could have done better by her.
At work the next day, I walked in to find my cat covered in her own dried blood - she had managed to disconnect her IV line and it had been a little while before the night nurse had noticed. She was fine and voiced her protest about still being in a kennel, but I still gathered her up in my arms and sobbed into my bewildered cat, telling the ward nurse we call "Mama" that I was fine, really I was, it's just been an emotional few days. When I got to my desk and two of my bosses asked how I was doing, I proceed to sob facedown, proclaiming that I was fine, honest, I just needed a few moments. I joked that maybe next week I would be a normal person again.
It's been two weeks since, and I do feel a bit more like a normal person again. My getaway to Victoria with Christie, Kira continuing to seem healthy and happy, and having my apartment back has helped immensely. But there are moments when I still feel Bubu's loss keenly. Certainly differently than how my mom or my uncle or her long-time caretaker feels, but it is grief and remorse and mourning.
I love you, Bubu.
The days after Bubu's passing seemed manageable. I remember feeling a bit ashamed that I wasn't more tearful at 4am when I received the call from my mom, that I felt mostly numb when we were at the hospital 20 minutes later and she looked like she was still sleeping. Four hours later I was at work, a bit emotional when I had to tell my coworkers what had happened, but overall still very functional. The more people I told, the more smooth and collected I felt about it. Bubu had lived a long life - 98 years to be exact - and that she was still with us after being admitted to the hospital a year ago already felt like a small miracle. Besides, I would say to people, I've had concerns about her quality of life for awhile, and with aspiration pneumonia we had known that the chances of her pulling through were slim. She's not suffering anymore, and in some ways there is a measure of relief that she is at peace.
Still, I was on the receiving end of many hugs and received many verbal condolences from my sympathetic coworkers. Family can be complicated, but losing a grandparent is never easy. I reassured them that I was fine, that it was really my mom I worried about because she has spent the better part of two decades caring for elderly parents, and now she was at a loss for what to do with her time. To those of Asian descent in my office, I confided that it didn't affect my daily life in the same way because my mother had made the very conscious decision to release me, somewhat, from my filial piety duties; she reasoned that my job was stressful enough and that she didn't want me spending what spare time I had always at the care home. If they needed help from me, they would ask, but there was no expectation that I should participate in my grandma's feeding schedule (twice daily) otherwise. I think in the back of her mind, she also worries that as an only child, the reality is that caring for my parents as they become elderly will fall entirely to me.
I made it through my remaining days at work with no issues - keeping busy gave me little time to sit and stew in my grief. I went with my family to the funeral home to help organize the funeral service. I volunteered to put together a short slideshow to music and pored over the many photo albums Bubu had kept, coveting these little snapshots of her life. I ran a few funeral-related errands to help ease the burden from my mother. I surrendered my apartment to my cousin and his wife because he was complaining about back pain and sleepless nights on the pullout couch. Truthfully, had I remembered that I couldn't take refuge at my friend's home during this period (thereby bringing death into her household), I may have been less forthcoming with that gesture. My mom thanked me over and over, and all I could say was that I was doing this for her, because I love her. My cousin I still have very complicated and painful emotions towards.
Since I had plans for a weekday getaway to Victoria with my friend and old colleague, the decision was made that I might as well bring Kira to my parents' with me. I dropped her off at my parents' home in the afternoon and started a deep clean of my apartment, to make it presentable for my "visitors". When I received a phonecall at 10pm that night that there was a bouquet in the house with lilies - a bouquet I had walked right by and failed to register - I was a sobbing mess on my way to pick up my cat, hoping that my petty feelings towards my cousin hadn't led to renal failure for Kira. With great difficulty due to my rusty day-one skills and Kira's decidedly negative feelings about being restrained, I placed an IV catheter, drew blood, and left her at the clinic hooked up to IV fluids. I was a mess. The upcoming funeral, the possibility that my cat could have kidney damage, staying in a household of six and not having my own space to retreat to led to me feeling physically and emotionally exhausted. That Bubu's church was heaping added stress by insisting on sending 25 of their congregation when we had told them the chapel only seated 40 was not helping.
For the entire week, I had wondered how I would carry myself at Bubu's funeral. Thus far, I had shed a few tears but nothing beyond that. Maybe because I had been accepting for so long that her passing would be an eventuality, I would be less emotional. It certainly felt that way now. How would that look, a granddaughter not crying at her own grandmother's funeral?
I needn't have worried. I stepped into the chapel with my mother, saw Bubu lying - tiny and frail - in the casket, and proceeded to burst into tears. Seeing her there made it feel more real, more final. I loved my grandma and I had lost her, and I would always, always feel that I could have done better by her.
At work the next day, I walked in to find my cat covered in her own dried blood - she had managed to disconnect her IV line and it had been a little while before the night nurse had noticed. She was fine and voiced her protest about still being in a kennel, but I still gathered her up in my arms and sobbed into my bewildered cat, telling the ward nurse we call "Mama" that I was fine, really I was, it's just been an emotional few days. When I got to my desk and two of my bosses asked how I was doing, I proceed to sob facedown, proclaiming that I was fine, honest, I just needed a few moments. I joked that maybe next week I would be a normal person again.
It's been two weeks since, and I do feel a bit more like a normal person again. My getaway to Victoria with Christie, Kira continuing to seem healthy and happy, and having my apartment back has helped immensely. But there are moments when I still feel Bubu's loss keenly. Certainly differently than how my mom or my uncle or her long-time caretaker feels, but it is grief and remorse and mourning.
I love you, Bubu.