Love does indeed spring eternal

Askmelah's note: in this article, Dr. Lee has recaptured some of the intimate final moments of her mother's passing and the unfailing love of ex-PM Lee Kuan Yew for her. Lee Kuan Yew not only will be remembered as a great statesman but also a great lover and a great father.

'For reasons of sentiment, I would like part of my ashes to be mixed up with Mama's, and both her ashes and mine put side by side in the columbarium. We were joined in life and I would like our ashes to be joined after this life.'

Source: The Sunday Times  October 2, 2011

Emotional ties don't come to an end with the passing away of a loved one

My friend Balaji Sadasivan passed away on Sept 27 last year. In the obituaries section of The Straits Times last Tuesday, exactly one year after his death, there was a sonnet by Balaji himself: 'But even in gloom, one truth is fundamental, from time immemorial, love springs eternal.'

A week after Balaji died, on Oct 2, my mother passed away peacefully at home. 'Love springs eternal' - but what comfort is that to the one who has departed and can no longer reciprocate our love?

This thought slipped randomly in and out of my mind as I was exercising last week. Then my Blackberry buzzed. I read the incoming e-mail. It was from my father - brief, concise, a mere statement of fact, yet what was unsaid but obvious was his love and concern for us, his children.

I suddenly realised that love does spring eternal. Papa, my brothers Hsien Loong and Hsien Yang, and my sisters-in-law Ho Ching and Suet Fern, and I are still bound by our love for Mama and will continue to be for many more years.

For the first few weeks after her devastating stroke on May 12, 2008, my family and the doctors met often to discuss how best to minimise her suffering and perhaps enable her to recover to some extent.

The physiotherapists, occupational therapists and speech therapists all did their best, but Mama did not improve. The May 12 stroke was more extensive, and involved more brain regions controlling movement than her first stroke on Oct 25, 2003.

But Papa remembered how well she had recovered from that first stroke, which had occurred while my parents were visiting London. By the end of that year, we were celebrating Mama's 83rd birthday on Dec 21 in a private room at Goodwood Hotel in Singapore.

Now, in October 2008, Papa knew that if Mama survived she would never be able to walk independently. But he felt that so long as she knew she was an important part of his life, she would still find life worth living.

He told her: 'We have been together for most of our lives. You cannot leave me alone now. I will make your life worth living in spite of your physical handicap.'

She replied: 'That is a big promise.'

Papa said: 'Have I ever let you down?'

Mama tried her best to cooperate with the therapists. But it seemed a useless struggle. Even swallowing a teaspoon of semi-solid food was a huge effort. Then more bleeds occurred and her condition deteriorated. We, her family, decided that no further active treatment should be sought. We arranged to bring her home and nurse her there.

Before we brought her home for the final time, Papa arranged for her to stop at the Istana, to see her favourite spots in the grounds. We wheeled her to where she had planted sweet-smelling flowers such as the Sukudangan and the Chempaka. Then we wheeled her to the swimming pool, where she had swum daily.

We showed her the colourful little 'windmills' she had arranged around the pool. She also saw the colourful wetsuits that Papa had arranged to be made for her to keep her warm in the water.

He and I had been convinced that she had to exercise to remain fit. So come rain or shine, she would don a wetsuit and swim. Even when travelling, she would swim in the hotel pool.

On one trip, Mama said to Papa: 'Today is a public holiday in Singapore. Can I take a break from swimming.'

Papa replied: 'No, have a swim. You will feel better after that.'

As a neurologist, I knew that after the first bleed in 2003, a second was likely. But I did not want to burden Papa or Mama with this knowledge.

Still, unknown to me, Papa had sensed that she could easily rebleed. He told us later that they had both discussed death. They had concluded that the one who died first would be the lucky one. The one remaining would suffer loneliness and grief.

Mama deteriorated further after she returned home. Finally, she reached a stage when she could not even speak and seemed unaware of her surroundings. But she was always aware of Papa's presence.

When Papa travelled, she would stay awake at night waiting for his phone call. When I began travelling with him, he usually would tell her on the phone: 'Bye dear, I am passing the phone to Ling.' Those were the times when I could hear her actively trying to vocalise.

When Mama passed away, I was at her bedside, watching her fade as her respiration became more shallow and feeble until it finally stopped. I did not try cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It would have been futile to have done so and cruel.

I called to ask my family physician to sign the death certificate, then returned to my room in a daze. Papa waited until the people from the Singapore Casket Company arrived. He showed them the jacket he wished Mama to wear and asked them to do their best to make her look attractive.

The wake lasted for three days. Hsien Loong and Hsien Yang, together with their wives, took turns to stand by the coffin and greet well-wishers.

I was tired and rested at home, only attending the wake on the first evening to greet my friends and colleagues. I hoped that by resting I would recover by the day of the funeral.

Most of the time, my mind was blank. I thought I had my emotions under control. It was only at the funeral, when it was my turn to deliver the eulogy, that the finality of Mama's passing hit me. I managed to control my tears but my voice was strained with emotion.

Three days after the cremation, the urn containing my mother's ashes was delivered to our home. We all stood and bowed as the urn was brought into the dining room.

A few days later, I noticed that Papa had moved from his usual place at the dining table so as to face a wall, on which were placed photographs of Mama and himself in their old age. He tried various arrangements of the photos for a week before he was satisfied.

He also moved back to the bedroom he had shared with Mama for decades before her final illness. At the foot of his bed were another three photographs of Mama and himself.

The health of men often deteriorates after they lose their wives. The security officers and I watched Papa getting more frail every day. His facial features were grim, perhaps to mask his sadness and grief. I took one day at a time and persuaded him not to undertake any arduous trips to America or Europe. China and Japan were near enough and manageable. I was pleased to get him out of the house.

By July this year, Papa's health had stabilised and even begun to improve gradually. I reminded myself of the analogy I used for him - titanium. Titanium is light but strong. It can bend a little, but it will not snap unless it is under overwhelming force.

Physically, we all eventually succumb. Papa is also mortal. But he is psychologically stronger than most people. Life has to carry on, and he will keep going so long as he can contribute to Singapore.

As I was halfway through writing this article, I went out of my room for a drink of water and saw a note from Papa addressed to all three of his children. It read:

'For reasons of sentiment, I would like part of my ashes to be mixed up with Mama's, and both her ashes and mine put side by side in the columbarium. We were joined in life and I would like our ashes to be joined after this life.'

To what end our priorities?

Source: The Sunday Times  Aug 28,2011

Noteable quote: "Was her (Tao Li) failure to qualify for thw World Championship final such a major disaster? Who would have ebeen harmed because Tao Li swam 0.24 sec slower in her 50m and 1.24 sec in the 100m?.... No other person will suffer because of this failure."

read the full article here.

Remembering the childhood years

Askmelah's Note: 

The most controversial segment in this article appears to be when her parents were advising Dr Lee to take the President's scholarship. The late Mrs Lee said: "Take the prestige. Don't take the money,so you won't be bonded." while Mr Lee said: "No, take the money. It makes no difference whether you are bonded or not." Deep inside me I would have thought that both of them would advise, "take the prestige, but don't take the money, we can afford it, the money will be moe beneficial for the poor."

 

Do more for the less fortunate

Source: The Sunday Times, 17 Jul 2011

"Small successes like this make being a doctor a privilege - not the pay, not the status"

"But considering how little we do to help people like the three patients I have described, as well as their families, I cannot help feeling that we have perhaps become too bewitched by riches, glamour, prestige, status - red dust - to do enough for the least fortunate among us."

Sympathy knows no borders

Source: The Sunday Times, Jun 19, 2011

Sympathy knows no borders

Foreign maids are no less deserving of help and understanding

By Lee Wei Ling

Sympathy knows no borders

Our Indonesian maid Siti has worked for my family for more than three years. She is a small woman, no taller than 1.42m, and slender. She understands English but does not speak it fluently. So I practise my Bahasa Indonesia with her.

From the moment she came to our house, she impressed us with her diligence.

She is awake and working by 5am. She puts away the crockery that had been washed and left to dry after dinner the previous day. Before dawn has arrived, she would have swept the area around our house.

She would clean and tidy our rooms whenever we are out. She would vacuum all our carpeted areas every day. She does her work conscientiously without trying to impress us. We were happy with her but I noticed that she often looked sad.

One day, I asked her about her family and her life in Java. She said her home was in a town called Banyuwangi, near Surabaya, where her father planted padi on a rented field. He also planted vegetables, and reared chickens and sheep. Yet they were so poor they were able to eat meat no more than three or four times a year. Their main source of protein was tempeh, a traditional soya product originally from Indonesia.

She told me that her elder daughter aged 18 had graduated from school and could work as a junior pharmacist. But she hoped to go to university to study pharmacology and was waiting for her entrance examination results just then.

Siti’s son was in eighth grade and doing well. He also hoped to get into university.

Life has been unkind to Siti. After graduating from 12th grade, she got a job in a tuna factory, packing tuna. There she met her future husband, a fisherman from a kampung two hours away from Banyuwangi by car.

Ten years after they married, her husband said he was bored with packing tuna and asked his wife for $1,000 to pay an agent to find him a job overseas. He went to Malaysia.

Siti phoned him several times but he did not answer her calls or write to her. A year after he left, he returned to Banyuwangi. By then, Siti was working in Singapore.

A month after he returned, he brought another woman to his daughter’s school, introduced the stranger to his daughter, and told her this was her mother. The daughter cried and refused to greet or talk to the woman, and telephoned her mother to inform her of what happened. Siti was heartbroken.

Now she was alone in providing for her children. She continued to work in Singapore to earn money. Meanwhile, her husband, who had not yet divorced her, began a new family in her village.

As she related all this to me, her eyes brimmed with tears, but she blinked them back. I told her that if she were properly divorced she could remarry, but she dismissed the idea. Her children are now the centre of her world.

When she first joined our household, my mother was still alive. Together with another maid and a nurse, Siti helped to wash, turn and feed my mother, who was bed-ridden. It was tiring work. Siti never complained.

I took a liking to her and gave her dresses, blouses, and T-shirts that her daughter could wear at university. I also gave her vouchers that I had for a department store.

My daily routine is variable and I have no definite meal times. In the case of our previous maid, I did not want to inconvenience her, so I would ask for hard-boiled eggs with the yolks removed for my meal. A few weeks after Siti arrived at our household, without my asking, she began cooking proper meals for me and leaving them in the fridge for me to warm up when I was hungry.

When I was ill and resting in my room, and at most appearing once a day to get a bit of food and drink, she would notice it and alert my mother’s nurse so that somebody would check to see I was not seriously ill.

We had another maid, a Myanmar lawyer aged 29, who spoke better English than Siti did. One day, Siti told me how that maid had made disparaging remarks about her.

Siti had gone for cooking lessons from my paternal aunt, an excellent cook. When Siti tried to show the Myanmar maid how to cook Peranakan food, she felt insulted and belittled.

Initially, she appeared calm as she related to me what had happened. But soon her emotions got the better of her and she was trembling and crying.

I had noticed myself that the Myanmar maid was haughty in her interactions with Siti. I comforted Siti and told her that if one maid had to go, we would keep her. Eventually, she calmed down.

We later returned the Myanmar maid to the maid agency and got a 29-year-old Indonesian in her stead. This new maid is younger than Siti, so treats Siti as her elder sister. So now, all is fine on the domestic front.

I write this simple and perhaps common story to remind readers that foreign maids have often suffered either emotionally and/or physically. That they are not Singaporeans does not mean they do not deserve our sympathy and our help.

The recent suicide of a 26-year-old Indonesian maid who had failed her English literacy test thrice is a tragedy. Perhaps the exam should go back to the old form that Siti had taken. There were pictures in addition to the questions in English. Both of our Indonesian maids and I felt very sorry for that preventable death.