BlogPhotography Painting Exhibitions Projects Victor Chin Portfolio

Swee’s memory of our mother

December 9th, 2009


My mother passed away almost three years ago. My mother was diagnosed with congestive heart condition in late 1999.  Seven years later, on 31st October 2006, she was admitted into University Hospital to have a heart by-pass surgery.


My mother never regained consciousness after her surgery.  Sadly, 40 days later on 9th December 2006 at 7.00pm, she passed away at the age of 80 still in the Intensive Care Unit.  I did not get to hold my Mum’s hand or stroke her face one last time as she passed away before I got there.


I remember vividly the day when my brother rang to tell me that my mother was critically ill.  My husband and I were our way to do our weekly groceries shopping.  It was 12.30pm in Auckland where we live and over in Kuala Lumpur it was 7.30am in the morning.  My instincts told me that it was not good news.

I had no empathy about death until I lost my dear mother.  My heart was like a vase smashed by a hammer. Baffled and bereft, I somehow muddled through in the days after her death. Her death taught me that life is fleeting and family counts. Conjuring her voice, her infectious laughter and our frequent long distance calls have become a way for me to keep her close, to gather together the bits and pieces of her that reside within me.


Born in 1926, my mother’s life spanned the Great Depression, World War II, the repressed ‘50s, the stormy ‘60s, disco, Y2K, 9/11, mobile phones, the digital revolution, emails and beyond.
I love the twinkle in Mum’s eyes whenever she talked about Seenum, my brother’s son.  Being a traditionalist, having grandson to carry on the Chin’s family name was her ultimate desire in her life.  My nephew fulfilled my Mum’s joy and pride.

Now when I go back to the house where Mum lived, I can almost see my mother’s face peering out the lounge window as my husband and I arrive even before we get to the door bell. She’s been gone nearly three years and her presence still permeates through out the house, her bedroom, the kitchen, the garden, the verandah, everywhere.
My mother left me with lots of famous sayings and lots of funny stories. This is how I get through the loss of my mother — by telling stories of her exploits, by laughing at her infamous mispronunciations, by remembering her strength, by following her Hakka recipes (“harm gai” which is her secret Hakka recipe of soaking a steamed “kampong” chicken in her concoction of home brewed rice wine and granulated salt).

In a letter she wrote for my brother and to read after her death, which we found in her drawer beneath ancient bank statements, I never really thought about death until I lost my mother. But losing someone close to you gives you clarity. It helps you see what matters most; it allows you to appreciate the precious pieces a person leaves behind.
It’s my mother’s voice I hear whenever I am worried, in response to my worries about money or work or weight.


My mother may be gone, but she is never gone from my heart as I replay fond memories of her. My mother and I shared a great mother and daughter relationship and bond.  She had an irrepressible love of a good mother and will be unforgettable.  I don’t ever recall saying out loud “I love you” to my mother.  Words may be missing but we had a deep affection for each other.  Most of the time, even before she opened her mouth to say something, I already had an inclination what my mother is going to tell me. I still miss her very much and I know she is always watching over me, my brother and her immediate family members.

2 Responses to “Swee’s memory of our mother”

  1. Ben & Anna Says:

    For those of you who’s been informed, I have recently been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. The very day I received the news, my heart sunk. However, your mum spoke to me. She just said in hakka, “chit ju, ngi oi siau seem.tong ngiaou piang seong dong lunn dooi mau sit tye tiam.joong liong sit tum yim tum.tieu daw dit” which translated means “nephew, be careful as diabetes can be very difficult to handle, eat + drink bland and have plenty of rest.
    Sometimes, I engage in long conversations with her especially on her understanding of the dharma. She is remarkably well versed in the prajnaparamita. She constantly encourage the 2 of us to maintain the buddhist way of life, something we hope we are doing.
    So,as far as we concerned, she is forever present.

  2. Farida Says:

    Dear Victor,

    I am so touched by what your sister wrote. My Mum passed away in February last year and as this February approaches, I am beginning to relive with even more intensity the hospital visits, the painful last days, the dashed hopes and the things I wished I could have done but didn’t, like holding Mum in my arms as her life ebbed away. I didn’t because I was rooted to the spot at the foot of Mum’s bed, my heart crumbling as the alarm went on and on, as the beeps became fainter and when the horrifying flat line appeared.

    One never gets over the loss of a precious one, especially a mother. The memories come, and sometimes they make me laugh, but oftentimes they make me ache to have Mum by my side again.