The Angry Typist

I had an off-site work meeting at the end of September and had planned to swing by to visit since I was within a few hours of the general area. However, it was not meant to be.

I haven’t seen Daniel since he’s had his stroke. It was difficult to believe that he was only four years my senior but is now condemned to use a walker for the rest of his days. This will be the first time in his life that Māmā was not there to see to his every need.

DW looked frail but still manipulative. The preacher asked for the attendees to say something about Māmā and silence fell under the small white tent. DW said, “Julie, don’t you want to say something?” I rolled my eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and shook my head. Silence returned briefly. DW attempted to prompt me again, “Julie, don’t you want to say something?” I again silently shook my head. Then she said a few words praising Māmā as a daughter, a sister, and a mother then ended with a third prompt for me to speak which I declined again shaking my head for I knew the drama that was about to commence.

In walking back to the cars, I asked the funeral director whether the coffin was already sealed and if I could perhaps see Māmā one last time. He stopped walking and said in a very low voice, “your mom looked like she had died a while before she was found.” I stopped mid-stride.

He continued, “she looked like she fell and had some bruises. I tried my best to make her look presentable but …” he trailed off. “To be honest I didn’t want your aunt to see her, but she insisted. So, I would rather you remember her the way she was and not how she is in the coffin.”

Stunned, I asked, “so when did she actually passed away?”

“I suspect that she was probably passed for at least 24-hours before her body was found” he said respectfully.

It came to light later that neither DW or Daniel had noticed that Māmā had not left her room all day Monday, August 25^th. And it wasn’t until a handyman went to complete some maintenance in her private bathroom on the morning of Tuesday, August 26^th that her body was finally discovered, laying on the floor.

Māmā had chosen not to be apart of my day-to-day life since Bàba passed. Māmā had chosen not to be apart of her only grandchildren’s day-to-day life after the baby – toddler stages. Māmā had the misconception that purely based on our shared biology that we were magically ‘close.’

I was the only person in Māmā’s life to remember her on her birthday, Mother’s Day, Christmas, and Chinese New Year but it was no match for DW’s daily whisperings, conditioning, brainwashing. And from the scattered conversations with Māmā I understood that the disposition of her estate would be as dreadful as I had always anticipated if DW outlived her.