The Fragile Truth: Mortality is Fatal

We are mere mortals.

This statement struck me hard two Fridays ago when the hub called me in the middle of a workshop I was co-training with 10 other colleagues (It was a pilot run and all trainers were involved).

The hub never calls me on the mobile unless it’s an emergency or there’s something important we need to devote immediate attention to. So when I saw his number flashing, I didn’t hesitate to pick up the call and left the classroom.

“It’s very bad. Worst case scenario 6 to 12 monthly only.”

My heart leapt out and I froze. I was so stunned, my mouth went dry as I struggled to comprehend the severity of his words. When I finally found my voice, it was trembling: “6 to 12 months? So fast? Are you sure?”

What was a routine medical appointment in December for the FIL has turned out to the harbinger of horrible news. There was a 3cm growth on his liver and it seemed to be getting bigger. The doctor scheduled for a few more checks and confirmed that FIL’s condition was critical and something had to be done instantly. Liver Cancer.

There were 3 suggestions – operational, radiation and chemotherapy. Each had its advantages and disadvantages but a decision had to be made quickly.

At his age of 72, an operation to remove the affected part was less advisable and results of FIL’s blood test were against his favour. After several intense family discussions carried out in hush-hush tones (involving mainly the MIL, BILs and the hub) and the specialist’s advice, radio therapy remained the only feasible option.

Coincidentally, his treatment is scheduled on 5 February – the same day we intend to bless our new home.

The news unnerved me. I do get along with the FIL although I sometimes get a little irritated when he starts grumbling about the kids’ “unruly” behaviour and comparing my girls with their cousins. That aside, the FIL doesn’t bother me much. I’ve been staying with the hub’s folks for almost 6 years now, and I’m accustomed to FIL’s quirky habits. Plus he’s a great help with the kids – the FIL fetches Xian from kindergarten every day and Wen’s stuck to him like glue whenever I’m not around. (He outwardly grumbles about her reliance and attachment to him, but inwardly he’s very fond of my toddler). And the hub is FIL’s favourite son.

The FIL’s weekly obsession is 4D and TOTO – he places a few dollars aside to indulge in the Singaporean Dream of striking it rich. He gets inspiration from vehicle numbers, serial numbers from toys and whatever items that has numbers on them. Sometimes he plays Mah-jong with MIL’s siblings during the weekends. He doesn’t usually win but when he does, all his 6 grandkids will receive a token treat ranging from 50 cents to 2 dollars each – which is usually the entire sum of his winnings.

The entire family’s in a sombre mood. No-one openly talks about his condition and we’re all calmly going through the normal routines. Perhaps the truth hasn’t sunk in yet and we’re in denial. I know it’s hard for the hub as he’s closest to the FIL and the thought that we’ve possibly less than a year to spend with him is torturous. I remember vividly that when the hub broke the news to me 2 weeks back I couldn’t hold back my tears. I’m only the DIL, related by marriage, a legal piece of paper, and I’m emotionally affected by the news.

While waiting for the bus en route to work the other day, I chanced upon a poster at the bus stop. I stared at the message, whipped out my phone to snap a picture of it as a reminder.

After the hub’s call that fateful Friday, I’d telephoned my folks to relay the bad news. I placed myself in the hub’s shoe and imagined that my dad or mum was the one who’d only 6 to 12 months left on this world. It’s utterly devastating. It’s an inevitable fate for all living beings. Questions hit me, fast and furious: Are we prepared to die? To leave this world and everything we’ve slaved over the past 60, 70, 80 or 90 years? When the time comes, can we bravely stare Death in the face, let go of all emotional attachments and fade into the unknown realm?

I will know my answers one day. By then, unfortunately, it would be much too late to share.

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night
by Dylan Thomas (1914 - 1953)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.