Author Archives: hafong

Unknown's avatar

About hafong

Hello! My name is (Leung) Hafong alias Lily Leung. You always say the last name first….that is the Chinese way. That is my partner lurking behind me. Since this is my blog, I won’t mention his name. But this is a rather cool picture. You see me and yet you don’t…sort of the way I feel about myself most of my life. So this blog is a self-exploration, an archeology dig of some sort. My tools…..words of a thousand or so at a sitting. I will try for that.

Meditation Friday (#NaBloPoMo)

Posted on by
Reply

I’m struggling along this road of life, waking up in the dark of another November morning. I’m not at all steady and confident. I have fears and anxieties. Are they one and the same? It does not matter. You get my drift. I am not leaping with joy. I get up anyways, put on my pink fuzzy housecoat, turn up the furnace and head towards my bathroom. Another day of showing up and doing my best no matter what.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not feeling terrible. I am neither happy nor unhappy. I’m in that grey zone of resting and just observing. This morning I sat with my cuppa in the morning darkness, trying not to think, trying not to feel. I’m trying to cleanse my mind and body, letting go of the debris. It works for my computer. When I got rid of all my sites on my browser except the one I’m working on, it works much better and faster. Multi tasking is not good for us/me. Feeling too much is not good for me.

Slow tapping is good for me. I’m enjoying sitting here with it, my fingers on the keyboard, my feet vibrating on Dr. Ho’s Motionciser. I’m exercising fingers and feet. Not yet ready for more. The sun is out. It is 8℃ out. Maybe I will go and have a cuppa in front of the woodstove and catch some rays and serontonin. If I get cold, I can duck into the greenhouse to warm up.

Thursday (#NaBloPoMo)

Posted on by
Reply

You can tell I’m tired and uninspired by the title of this post. I haven’t really realized what a mess I am and what a mess I’m in till the last few days. I woke up and saw everything after my mother died. These past weeks were busy taking care of the business of her passing. I was surviving on adrenaline.

Now I have to get into the business of my own life. I haven’t thought about that for a long time, that I had a separate life. There was just the 2 of us for the first 6 years of my life. My parents married when they were one month shy of 18. They were still babies in an arranged marriage. My father was still going to school. That was how it was in China then. When I was 2, my father immigrated to Canada. I had no memories of him during those 2 years.

I did not meet him till I was 6 when my mother and I reunited with him in Hong Kong. He stayed for a year. My sister was conceived and born. I have no memories of my father during that time either except that I was reprimanded for not calling this stranger ‘father’. My sister was almost 2 when we joined him in Canada.

My mother did not know English. Being in a small town in Saskatchewan there were little resources in learning for immigrants back in those days. My father was busy in the cafe earning a living for us. My mother had no one to talk to except me. So that is how I became my mother’s confidante. She was a very good story teller. The times she lived through had many stories. Her family had a very interesting history. I heard them all and more besides. I am sure I became part of my mother with all her feelings of hope, happiness but fears and anxieties as well.

Now comes the challenging part for me – to unravel all of that and put them to rest. I need to to do that to find myself and my own life.

Wednesday (#NaBloPoMo)

Posted on by
1

It’s Wednesday, the day after Tuesday, the day after the US election. Donald Trump triumphs again. It’s surprising that so many American women are rejoicing and singing such high praises for him. We humans are such mysteries. I’m starting to get it now. It’s no use trying to figure it out, to understand. The only recourse is to accept that each of us are different. We feel, see, hear and interpret the world through different senses.

It’s been such a grey morning. What I do best feeling grey is drink and drink tea and decaf. It makes me feel better because I’m doing and moving. I’m putting the kettle on and fixing my cuppa. Then I have to go to the bathroom a few times. Any motion is good. I am not stagnant. The sun just came out. Though its rays are weak, I still feel lighter and not so dark.

I’m happy that I am able to tap out some words each day for the National Blog Posting Month (#NaBloPoMo). It helps release thoughts and feelings going round and round in my head. This exercise helps me to find understanding and work out solutions. It’s helping me out the door though I’m a bit shaky and wobbly. I’m feeling very vulnerable. But I’m out there – driving and not getting lost.

We Are All the Same

Posted on by
2

Photo by Leeloo The First on Pexels.com

It is hard to know what to do with myself in the darkness of a November morning. I am at my keyboard tapping out my thoughts for the National Blog Posting Month. I don’t have it in me to write a novel in a month. I’ve tried and failed each time. A few mutterings will suffice. It will help me to breathe in and out. Difficult times and feelings are not strangers to me.

This human experience is not easy. Life is not for the faint of heart. It gives and then it takes away. I wonder how I can survive the loss without my mother. She was always there in her house down the block. We’ve always had her love as she had ours. She was presence. I have to remember that this journey is not unique to just me. We all travel the same road. We all are given this gift of life and suffer the grief of loss. We are all the same though we may experience it in different ways.

My house is not as clean and orderly as my mother’s. I’ve never had her knack. It is full of clutter and dust. I guess I’m drowning in my disorder physically and psychologically. I’m keeping my head just above the water. This writing helps sort and organize the mess in my head. I’ve rescued my pot of broth from the deck. It’s heating up on the stove to make something for lunch. After lunch my father, my brother and I will go to the bank to sign papers. Life goes on, one step at a time.

The Third Week

Posted on by
1

It’s the Monday after the Sunday night 2 weeks after mom has gone. I’m starting the 3rd week without her. It feels unreal. It feels like she’s still here, just a half a block down the street. I still expect the phone to ring. I would pick it up and it would be mom giving me her grocery list. Or I would think, I have to ask mom. Now, sometimes I hesitate to look at her photos, afraid that she wouldn’t be there. When I do look, she is still my same mom.

Today, I went over to vacuum for dad. My brother and niece had taken him out. I was in mom’s house by myself. It still feels light and bright as always. Not too much to vacuum up except a little in the kitchen. Not much dust anywhere except in dad’s room. All the windows and screens looked clean. I wonder if mom’s been back, cleaning and dusting. She was always meticulously clean and tidy even up to her last moments.

I was almost finished when my dad returned. He said that my brother and niece had taken him to Market Mall, brought flowers, coffees and muffins and drove out to lay flowers for mom. He is full of grieve and weeping. What can I say or do? Some words of comfort? He has lived longer than me. I try to console. The reality is, this is something none of us can escape. I tell him mom is still here, looking over him. And we, his children are also suffering and grieving for our mother. It is early. Only 2 weeks ago. Time will ease the sorrow. We are all ok, doing the best we can, looking out for each other.

I’m writing for the National Blog Posting Month. It gives me one goal a day. It keeps me a little sane.

Navigating the Early Days

Posted on by
4

Photo by Binti Malu on Pexels.com

Early November mornings can get me down. It is so dark at 7 am. The sun did not rise till 8:07 Saskatoon time. I’m basking in its glow in the warmth of my sunroom. I’m sitting in front of my keyboard with my second cup of tea. My mother is watching over my right shoulder. Tonight will be 2 weeks since she’s left her earthly body. I’m sure she was greeted by Sheba at the gate, tail wagging and looking for her treat.

I do not yet know how to feel or how to start each day. I feel she’s still in her house with dad. I still see her face in my head. I still want to say “I’m going to mom’s”. I feel the loss of her upon waking in the dark of autumn mornings. I feel ok at night going to bed, knowing I don’t have to worry about her at night. Most nights I can sleep without a sleeping pill though I wake between 3 and 4 am. Now I can make myself stay in bed till 6. It’s better to stay and perhaps to fall back asleep again.

I am fortunate that I have the tools of words. I have always found relief in spilling onto the page. I haven’t found my way back to meditating yet but yesterday I did some qigong movements. Having neglected them so long, I couldn’t remembered them all. Fumbling and flailing works. I was moving. They will come back in time as surely as grief will recede. I ran into 2 of my mother’s friends the other day. We hugged and got misty eyed together. Both are widows of many years. One shared that it took her 3 years after losing her husband to feel ok again.

Though I am no stranger death and grief, it is my first at such a personal level. I’ve lost grandparents and other relatives and friends. I felt the sadness and loss. But it wasn’t the same. I have gotten off relatively easy. With my mother, I was still tied as if by the umbilical cord. I felt what she felt. At different times, like when I am at the kitchen sink, I’ve felt as if I was her. Have you ever had that phenomenon?

Enough words already for today. I have to move on with the day. Shake myself loose with some qigong and try to clear my growing clutter. Later, my sister and I are taking our father out for dim sum. He’s doing ok. We are taking good care of him.

National Blog Posting Month

Posted on by
2

November can be a bleak month but it is also National Blog Posting Month. So I will blog the bleakness away. I missed day 1 yesterday. I was visited by a darkness that drained my energy. I wasn’t paying attention. I was naive and left myself wide open. I’ve made a nice recovery. My atennas are up and functioning. I will not let anyone’s darkness in.

I think of mom in the morning. We watched the sun rise. I made my steelcut oats in the microwave, added a bit of coconut oil, a few haskaps and pecans. It was tasty and filled me with warmth. Then I read a few pages of the murder mystery book from the library. Charlotte Vassell’s The In Crowd is pretty engaging. It takes my mind off things that needed to be offed, at least for a little while.

I have a load of laundry on the go. The breakfast dishes are done. I had a pileup yesterday that took me forever. I like to manual wash. It feels like I’m washing off the grime from yesterday. It feels like cleaning off evil. Now it’s time for lunch. And I have laundry to hang up. Not a novel and not much of a post, but it is something.

Let It All Fall

Posted on by
1

Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com

These are dangerous times for the world and also for me. I have to keep that in mind as I try to live and age fiercely, moving forward one day at a time. Knowing that I am always a little wonky, overthinking and over-feeling and over almost everything, I give myself some slack, some comforting self-talk. I lay back on the buckle up, pull up your socks, keep your panties on. It’s ok to let everything fall.

Humpty Dumpty can fall off the wall. He doesn’t have to get up. He doesn’t have to be put back together. I can let myself fall to pieces and let them lie wherever they land. They are the parts of myself that no longer serve me. Taking a deep breath, I breathe in my whole life’s feelings of fears and uncertainties, feeling them in my whole body. Breathing out, I let each one go. I’ve often wondered where emotions come from, where I feel them, in my head or my heart. Now I know that they live in every cell of my body.

So I live another day. This is the last day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge but hope to return for the National Blog Posting Month in November. Having a daily commitment helps to keep the psychiatrist away.

Living & Aging Fiercely

Posted on by
1

Photo by Yan Krukau on Pexels.com

Day 30 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Having lost my mother 10 days ago has changed the lens through which I view life and the world. Our world feels more broken to me. It’s hard to be optimistic. It’s hard to put on a smile. When I read things about the US election and Donald Trump, I feel like vomiting. And I don’t read alot of that. Still, it adds to my grief.

I don’t want to stay there. I don’t want to feel so dark and hopeless about our world and life. It’s a good reason to write about living and aging and fiercely. I always want to be Wonder Woman but I don’t have much wonder in me now. I’m a bit wobbly on my feet, fuzzy in the head and fear in my heart. I’m no spring chicken any more. Can I survive and thrive through all this? I’m not tough as nails but I probably have a little rust in me.

Oh poor me! I have to get over myself. Many have been in my shoes and many more will follow. We all travel same hard roads and cry the same woes. It does give me comfort knowing that. I will get some sleep now. Tomorrow I will work on being fierce.

Loss and Grief

Posted on by
1

Day 29 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge finds me not inspired. The jukebox in my head is not playing. No one has put in any coins. Perhaps I have to give it a swift kick in the side. Perhaps I am in mourning and silence is what I need. I find myself in a peculiar space. The fear and dread of my mother’s death was greater in my head than in reality.

Her final days were in the home she loved. Her pain came swift and short with all of us around her. The 2 not needed rescuers were respectful and kind as was the 2 policemen and coroner. There was no chaos but peace and respect. Such is the protocol for the fortunate leaving from home. We didn’t have to wait for a month like you have to for family doctor appointment, months for a cardiologist followup or 14 hours like in ER. They all came promptly with one phone call.

I was happy she was not in the hospital. It is not always a safe and caring space. The care is missing in our Healthcare. When you are sick, you don’t want to hear about staff shortages and certainly not about saving resources, especially when you are old. You want to be cared for. This is my grief talking. I know people did what they thought was their best. But I have to ventilate. Healthcare is not made up of just hospitals, clinics, doctors, nurses, technicians, receptions, etc., etc. It is all of us. We all have to care, to be kind. It’s also my mother talking through me. She’s big for kindness.