An Other Obituary
The early part of 2025 was cruel to me. Just a few weeks after losing a friend, around 3.30am on 20th January, my mum, Jainedah binti Khalid, fondly known as Junaidah or June, departed this world. She had turned 73 just the day before. The official cause of her death was hospital-acquired infection, but she had been suffering multiple stages of dementia for years, and that had taken a huge toll on her health and general well-being.
Her final months were onerous and atrocious, both for her and her caregivers. Little by little, she had difficulty understanding her surroundings and reality. Her children took turns to care for her to ensure that she was supervised at all times and to oversee her meals, medication, and daily hygiene. Every time she did not feel well, she was brought to the hospital for a checkup, sometimes being warded for treatment. However, something was amiss during the last three or four months of her life. That was the time when she refused any form of food, be it solid or liquid. She also refused to be fed through tubes. Occasionally, she would ask for droplets of plain water to nourish herself. After witnessing this for a few days during my shifts watching over her, my gut feeling told me that this would be the beginning of the end. I felt that all my sisters saw it the same way, but neither of us had the courage to say it out loud. None of us were ready to say goodbye.
Dementia patients go through many confusing and mentally disturbing moments, but they would believe that whatever they are experiencing is real. In medical terms, it is called delirium. Often, this can result in uncontrolled shouting by the patient, which in turn would create conflict with the people around them. My mum was not spared from this. An outsider would feel shocked or scared by her sudden bursts of anger. A family member or caregiver, especially those who had lived with her long enough to know her condition, would feel overwhelmed, burned out, and helpless. In such situations, she couldn't be reasoned with or reassured. Things easily went out of hand, especially when emotions were running high. All one could do was wait for her to calm down so things would get back under control.
I personally would not think that my mum would be proud of me as a son—I am not the typical success story. To date, I am still struggling to find my place in this world. In short, we had many disagreements in our worldviews and on how to live our lives. But beneath all of the differences and disagreements between us, subconsciously we had many things in common. I inherited her senses in how I feel my surroundings, gut instincts, being attuned to supernatural frequencies, and understanding the subtleties in people's words and actions. And both of us are proud to wear our hearts on our sleeves.
Anyhow, a few weeks before her passing, I was on the morning shift to supervise her. She had been going through severe episodes of delirium for a few days at that point, and at times it was uncontrollable. All of a sudden she went quiet, so I went by her bedside to check on her. To my surprise, she was calm and could grasp her surroundings. Then she gave me this disturbing revelation, 'Amad, I'm going to die very soon.' At that time, I couldn't contain my emotions, and my eyes filled with tears. I immediately laid my hands on her shoulders and hugged her tightly. Then, she said with a stuttering voice, 'Don't cry. I will be fine. The angels told me I will go to a better place.' It was a surreal moment of a mother trying to console her crying child for the last time ever. I smiled. My heart had never felt so relieved in many years. Her consolation convinced me to let her go in peace. I straightened up beside her and tried to communicate with her telepathically. It felt like a long time had passed, but in truth, it was only 5 minutes. Not long after, she went back into her delirium state, ignoring my presence and shouting randomly again. It made me realise that there was not much left of her real Self, and she had to battle her inner demons while she was transitioning to a different realm. I was very thankful to have witnessed those few minutes of her real presence.
Since she did not consume any food for weeks, her body became so frail that she had no more energy to get up from her bed or even to talk. A few days before she was admitted to the hospital for the final time, I saw her crying, and I asked her why. She answered, 'I want to meet my (list of dead) brothers and sister. I really miss all my siblings. But why didn't they come to see me? I want to go home.' I felt so helpless because all of her remaining siblings lived far away and also had their own health issues. In fact, no one was still living in her hometown. I told one of my sisters to inform our relatives about Mum's condition, to at least come visit her for the last time.
Days went by, and then she no longer talked and just lay on her bed, responding to us by nodding or shaking her head. None of us could bear to see her in this condition. During the final week of her life, she was mostly sleeping throughout the day and barely responded to our attempts to communicate. On Friday morning, 17th January, my mum looked really weak and did not respond to any external stimulus, so my sister decided to call an ambulance. She was placed in the critical section of the emergency room for hours before she was admitted to the medical ward.
It was a coincidence that one of my cousins was having a wedding in KL the following day; thus, many of our relatives were in town. Knowing that my mum was warded at the hospital, most of them came to visit her after the wedding event. They were all shocked and saddened by her condition. 'What happened?' one of them asked. 'Can dementia really do this?' None of them could grasp the magnitude of suffering a dementia patient has to endure. Her younger sister tried to communicate to my unconscious mum, 'Dah, it's me, Zan. I'm here.' We were all shocked to hear her one-word response, 'Zan!', before falling back to unconsciousness. At least she knew that her siblings were there to see her one last time. Her wish to meet them again came true.
On Sunday, 19th January, she was supposed to celebrate her 73rd birthday, but she was still unconscious on the hospital bed. This was probably my mum's most sombre birthday ever. Nevertheless, many friends and relatives came to visit her at the hospital. They all prayed for her health and hoped for the best. On Monday morning, 20th January, I received the dreaded news, 'Mum is no more.' She had died at Ward 7C, Hospital Canselor Tuanku Muhriz Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. To my astonishment, so many people (mostly my sisters' friends and colleagues) turned up at the mortuary to pay their last respects. Granting her final request, her remains were brought to her hometown in Gopeng, Perak. She was laid to rest at Perkuburan Islam, Kampung Gunung Mesah, Gopeng, right after Zuhr (noon) prayers. She is survived by 5 daughters, 1 son, and 12 grandchildren. May her soul rest in peace and be placed among the faithful. Al-Fatihah.
Epilogue
Four months have passed. My mum delivered me to this world when she was 36 years old. She departed this world 36 years later. I still have no words to describe the pain and the void within. Such loss is irreplaceable, and this grief will last a lifetime. All I can say is, 'Thank you, Mak, for bringing me into this world. I seriously don't deserve to be here. Praise God almighty for letting me witness what your Love truly is.' Until we meet again, Mak!
