Love of a mother

While I was recuperating from radiotherapy, my mother came to stay with me for a few months. Because she has memory problems, she could not remember that I was suffering from cancer. My brother and sister told her, but it didn’t register. Every now and then, my brother and sister and I would talk about my illness, such as taking my traditional Chinese medicine or going for follow-ups, etc. On these occasions, my mother would be reminded of my illness and then remember that she must thank the gods for me. Most Chinese people in Hong Kong have no particular religion, except worshipping their ancestors. My mother is this way.

One day, she asked us to buy a cooked chicken, fruits and Chinese rice wine, in order for her to thank the gods for having mercy on me. I bought a whole chicken, as is the traditional Chinese custom when you want to worship or show your gratitude to the gods.

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. We got the table ready, with the dim sum, fruits, teas and wines all properly arranged, just as Chinese people do when they make offerings to the gods. We even got some incense sticks burning.

My mother kowtowed to the gods for me. While on her knees, she softly mumbled her prayers, asking our ancestors to continue to bestow mercy on me. It had been a long while since I had seen my mother kneeling down praying to the gods. Nowadays, we are her “representatives” to go sweep the graves during the Ching Ming Festival. She is somewhat wobbly on her feet.

We were to go to my older brother’s home for dinner that evening. After appeasing the gods, the next thing to do was to cut the chicken. We wanted to share it with him. Western people use a knife or kitchen scissors to cut, but we use a chopper. As a child, I saw my mother chop up a whole chicken on a chopping board many times. I am aware that my mother is growing older and frailer, but I didn’t realize how weakened she has become.

I have vivid memories of my mother chopping up an entire chicken and then putting the pieces back together again in the shape of a whole chicken. She now struggled with the chopper and did not have the strength to cut the chicken into halves. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, I took out my scissors, and then Mom used it to cut the chicken into pieces. I offered to help, but she said that I wouldn’t know how to do it. She forgot that I am a grown woman. My heart ached to see that my mother could no longer do things that she was good at. I was not cognizant of the full picture of what my mother has lost to aging. The gulf between the images from back when I was small and the image I saw at that moment made me mourn my mother’s loss.

All these years that my mother has slowly been growing old, we have gradually been doing more and more things for her. My mother no longer takes care of us. We take care of her. She is used to not doing anything in particular and keeps calling herself “lazy.” But she actively took charge when she wanted to please the gods for her daughter.

This will probably be the last thing that my mother will do for me.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.