My aunt once said that it is selfish to not let a dying person go.
Last night, my Grandma was admitted to the hospital again.
So I laid in bed all night while the demons invaded my imagination and stabbed daggers into my eyes. Ever since the last time, my fears come easy. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my grandparents can’t stop aging as I grow older. One is getting weak, the other is getting senile.
It is always assumed that once a patient gets admitted into the ICU, there’s only a sliver of a chance that the patient leaves the Unit alive. That’s why, when she was admitted the other time, my strong familial wall broke down, and everyone cried. I did so on the bus, while on the phone with my aunt, and everyone on the bus was watching and eavesdropping like I was doing a one-man show. My aunt was beside herself with grief and self blame, and all I could do was give her weak words of encouragement and reassurance – words that couldn’t even convince me. My Grandma had given my aunt instructions on her would-be funeral. There was even a time when she was refused visitors for fear of infectious complications. I think it sounds more like cruelty.
A few days in the ICU, and she was discharged to the C class ward – safe and sound. Was it her strong determination or a benevolent act of God? On good days, I joked that it was those books of Lao Fu Zi I bought for her and my promise of bringing her to a good Dim Sum restaurant that kept her optimistic.
This time round, things seemed less fearful. When I visited my Grandma this morning, she was sitting upright in bed and joking about my mahjong session last night. But the last thing to do is to make light of the fragility of life. I had once lost an aunt in less than a week – she was healthy one day, and fighting for her life the next. My Grandma may have escaped once.
Will God be selfish the next time?
My aunt once said that it is selfish to not let a dying person go. Well shoot me, for I shall remain stubbornly selfish on this one.