Maria Pham Thi Kim Lan
04/09/1962 - 20/08/2012
One year has passed since I last held your hand.
"Goodnight Mum, sleep forever more" were the last words that I could manage to voice without breaking down. I was scared. I could not say a thing to you while you were in bed. Couldn't manage even an "I love you" as you were fighting for life. I was scared. Scared that when I start to say something, I won't be able to finish- because it'll be too painful to bear.
One year has passed since I saw your loving face.
You looked and always will look beautiful to me. The last time Quoc saw your face, he kept saying "Mum, wake up!" If only it was that easy. If I were given one more day with you, all I would do is look at you. Bore your face into my brain and endlessly tell you I love you. I love you and I don't ever wanna let you go. I would tell God to take me instead. I still want my mum around with that happy and cheerful smile forever.
Going back one year ago, I remember everything very clearly.
On Thursday I got a call from Dad while I was at work, saying you were at the hospital for a check up, waiting in ER. Then I got home and around 10.30pm I got another call from dad telling me you were finally admitted and that she's in a very serious state. At that time I thought to myself- it can't be that bad right? I was still talking to her that morning. Dad called again at 12am telling me that I should get my aunt from next door to mind my brothers and Bac The and I should go to the hospital straight away. My heart sank to the ground like a bullet. I didn't know how I managed to keep my composure to drive there but I remember Bac The kept saying to me- relax and dont stress, just drive carefully.
When I reached St Vincent's Hospital I was in a daze. Disorientated and confused, I didn't know why mum suddenly became seriously ill. So I asked for you at the desk and they took me to the end of the hall. Curtains were half drawn, so as I was walking down I didn't see you. All I saw at the end of the corridor were about a dozen "non-asian" people, mumbling to each other. At first I thought, that's not where mum is- but I was wrong. They were all doctors and nurses, in their ordinary clothes as they were called in off-duty, talking to each other about your condition. And as I came past the curtains- there I saw you on the bed- with heavy machinery around you, your chest pumping up and down as oxygen was pumped into your body. All the while I saw dad standing beside you and also another person. That person is none other than a priest- Cha Quang, who dad called to do the last ointment of the sick.
I just wanted to collapse.
Nurses came to me, leading me to a chair. Doctors came to me, asking me questions and have me ask THEM questions. I remember vividly one sentence a doctor said to me: "She will most likely not make it through the night."
At that moment I just couldn't understand. I understood nothing, I couldn't comprehend why one second she was healthy then all of a sudden she was struggling for life.
But another doctor approached me and said he will do a procedure that will have mum's heart and lungs all run by machines, and see if there could be a chance that she might recover from whatever is attacking her heart. That moment I saw a glimpse of hope.
Friday came and I did not go to work. I stayed at the ICU waiting to here news of my mum. The procedure was successful- but it could mean she will have an amputated leg, as a big tube has to go through one of her big veins in her thigh, and it might stop the blood flow to the leg. But I thought to myself- if this is a price for her or us to pay for her to stay alive then it should be done.
Friday was a difficult day. Sometimes dad, Bac The and I would stay in the visitors room, all silent, tears running down our face. It is a slim chance of survival, the doctors told us that we have to think the worst in this kind of scenario. It was dreadful. I finally was able to go into the ICU to see you. Shock after shock, there were at least 10 machines and 100 different tubes running around you. Your face was so pale and you body looked stiff. It was so hard to see you in this state.
Then came Saturday. In the morning I went in and saw that you looked a lot better. They cleaned you up- even plaited your hair! You look so beautiful with you hair plaited. You would always wake me up early to braid your hair on my days of work/uni. The nurses were even feeding you milkshake! I thought that this will be a miracle!
The morning and afternoon rolled on and then the bad news came crashing in. Dad and I were ushered into a small office room in the ICU and were told that you were no longer responsive. They decided to lift you off the morphine and any sort of medication that had you in an induced coma. They want you to wake up yourself, feel the pain and at least respond to anything that's going on. I was praying that you would at least move your hand or have some sort of gag reflex, but you didn't. I cried so hard at night. I fell to the ground sobbing and sobbing while my relatives all around me tried to console me. I was so hurt- my heart couldn't bear the pain, I couldn't cope.
On Sunday the doctors decided to move you upstairs to do a CT scan on the brain to see if it is still functioning. They are fearing the worse that the brain is dead - and if your heart is functioning without a brain, then you are pretty much not living. Sunday was the worst day for me. I couldn't control my emotions, I couldn't hold anything in. At that time I kept praying and praying that your brain is okay but at the same time questioning and resenting God for having mum go to this state. Dad and I went to mass at St Francis next to Melbourne Central. I cried all through the mass. I could not utter one word of prayer aloud, because I would choke and that made me cry. I was in so much pain not knowing what was going to happen. It was like waiting on a thin line, you don't know which way it will go.
So on Sunday night dad and I went back into the little office room and was told the inevitable. I died a little inside. The doctors even told us a date and time they need to turn off the machinery. But it was too soon! I still want you alive, I still wanted you to keep breathing, keep your heart beating! I wanted you to at least open your eyes, open your ears and register what I wanted to say, which was "I miss you, I want you in my life, don't leave me!"
But there was nothing I could do. Nothing dad can do. Nothing the doctors can do.
We couldn't hold it off even for another day.
At that time, I knew I had to accept everything. I had to deal with it. Deal with what was part of life.
So then comes Monday the 20th of August 2012. 7pm. The scheduled day and time. The end.
One year has passed and it hurts just the same. It is so painful to struggle through the norms of a working woman. To stand strong and be a happy lady. But I have managed. It is now near the end of the day. I still wanted to hold onto your rigid hand, still want to give you that last kiss on the cheek, still want to play around with your long fine hair.
I remember the night before the funeral, you came to me in two ways. You appeared in my dream and you also appeared through the TV in my room in the early morning. You told me in my dream that at your funeral, I will meet a couple of people that I haven't met in a long time. I should speak to them kindly. And that night my aunt woke me up to tell me the light on the TV is flashing. My TV light is always red when it's off and green when it's on. But it was flashing red and orange. I was scared at first but now whenever I go back and remember that night, I find peace, knowing you're still with me. At the funeral, you were right. I did meet this couple that I haven't met in 14 years. They were your age, but none the less they knew you well and came and spoke to me during the mass. I met them again at a wedding I attended a couple of months later, sitting on the same table as me. I don't know what that really means, but I do know, that even though I have no idea when I will be seeing them again, let it be another 14 years or so, but it won't be the last time.
I can't say the last year hasn't been tough. I've been through tough times but with people who are close to me I am able to stand on my two feet and keep moving. That way I can learn to adjust and live with the struggles of life.
I want to say Happy Birthday to Martin Pham (RIP). It would have been his 29th birthday today. Another life taken too soon. I feel sorry that I couldn't personally say happy birthday to him last year and now I can't make up for it. I will definitely visit you tomorrow.
I hope you both are well in the presence of God. Mum, please continue looking over us.
Love you always,
Your daughter Anna ♥
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