Mom was leaving. I told her, “Don’t go, I’d rather die than living with dad alone”. But she’s on a mission to save grandma, who was in fact, dying and incurable.
A spirit’s death is worse than someone died in a physical form. You deal with a walking dead, a way that is more terrible than a true death. You never see a person living like dying at the same time: he exists with little contact with his family even they live under the same roof; he eats expired food when there are fresh ones and he could afford better food; he blocks himself, talks to nobody. He is my dad. There is no more dignity for people who experienced severe poverty, for whom hygiene is luxury. To endure poverty is constantly feeling ashamed and small. My father has long lost his dignity, not to mention the adults in his family are abusive and neglecting.
I heard mom’s on the phone. “Why couldn’t I see my mom? She is my mom and she is dying. How could you not see that happening? If you don’t know anything about the policy and don’t even have number to call your boss to solve my problem, how come that you haven’t lost your job?”, She nearly howls, on the edge of bursting into furious tears. Eventually, she went home, with a detour and deportation in her own country, in the place that she spent her childhood.
Mom, don’t go. Dad and I will drift away.
“You come with me then?”
I stayed silent.
I didn’t tell her that I am not ready for Nana’s death.