Maya constantly kept in contact with me, asking for updates, offering comfort.
Every moment spent with mom was precious. I was hopeful. We will arrange for physiotherapy and speech therapies and everything will be better eventually.
I cooked the first meal for mom. It was porridge. Spoon by spoon, I patiently brought it up to her lips and watched her swallowed painstakingly. "Remember the burnt pot, maman? We were laughing so much. You would have laughed too now..." I thought it was an achievement that mom consumed half a bowl.
I shall have the leftovers. I took a bite and immediately wanted to spit it out.
"Yuck, mom! That was disgusting to eat," and I couldn't bring myself to finish it.
I lifted mom to the toilet and bathed her up. And then, I tucked her into bed as I slept in another bed adjacent to hers. Mom, I love you.
The next day, I woke up startled. Mom was clutching her chest and struggled to breath as if she was being choked by the air she breathed. "Mom! What is wrong?!" as if she could tell me. "Mom!"
I called the ambulance, and we rushed off to the hospital again.