Walking Mum Home

Last night two years ago was one of the hardest nights of my life.

It was the last night I spent with Mum before she passed away the following afternoon, at 3:33pm.

About a week earlier, we learned that she had metastatic carcinoma — Stage 4 cancer. Doctors could not identify the primary source without beginning aggressive investigations and treatment, procedures that might have further weakened her already frail body.

Mum chose palliative care instead of surgery or chemotherapy. She wanted to spend whatever time she had left with her children.

On March 2, 2024, she was discharged after three days in the hospital, where doctors had treated her following several episodes of vomiting and severe dehydration that led to her being rushed to the emergency ward.

During those 72 hours, we learned about her cancer and the narrow choices ahead. Once she decided on palliative care, we began preparing the house — rearranging her room and making the space comfortable and accessible for family and friends who might come to see her.

We gave her room a makeover. We hung floral curtains to make the space feel peaceful and serene. We repositioned her bed and placed a chair beside it so family and friends could sit with her.

A small table held her palliative medications — morphine, painkillers, water bottles, an oximeter, a blood pressure machine, and other medical supplies. A blue pail sat nearby as her vomiting had become frequent. She could hardly eat, and what little she managed often ended up in the pail.

We also ordered new furniture to replace the shabby, worn-out pieces in the living room. That space would become the waiting room for visitors who came to see her. Mum needed her rest, and we wanted guests to have somewhere to sit and wait.

In my mind, I expected her palliative journey to take months, perhaps even years. I prayed for a turn of events — that the cancer might somehow disappear and that she would have more time. But as the days passed, she grew weaker.

On the last night with her, she became restless and kept trying to get up. We adjusted her sleeping positions, hoping something might help her rest, but nothing seemed to work. Her voice began to fade.

Sometime around three in the morning, she could no longer speak or articulate what she needed.

I brought a small whiteboard and asked her to point to possible requests or spell out words with the alphabet we had written on it. But she was unable to do so.

As morning dawned, nothing improved. Her breathing grew heavier. While my brother sat beside her, weeping and keeping her company — with Christian choruses playing softly in the background — I was trying to reach a doctor who could come and see her.

The challenge of the palliative journey is that you are accompanying someone through the final stretch of their life on earth. It is a process of slowly releasing them — of accepting that treatment will taper off as the body begins to fail.

When the palliative care team I had been calling finally arrived, they assessed her condition and told us that Mum likely had anywhere from a few hours to a few days left. Her breathing had become severely labored, and her heart rate had slowed significantly. The supervising nurse administered a shot of Maxolon to reduce the vomiting.

They left us their number before departing.

We continued to watch over Mum and called my middle brother, who had just landed in Kuala Lumpur after a flight — he works with an airline. Her sisters began arriving at the house.

It was clear Mum was in her final moments, but she held on until my brother came home. And after a few minutes, with her children and sisters gathered around her, she took her final breath and went home to the Lord.

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Mum lived with a deep desire that others would come to know Jesus as their personal Lord and Saviour. She was the one who raised us to know and love Him, and it was her greatest joy to see her children devote their lives to serving Him.

If you are reading this, I hope you might take a moment to ponder and grow curious about who Jesus is, and perhaps consider giving your life to Him. That would have been her prayer — and it remains ours. Thank you.