Touching Stories to Share II
-
From Today Paper
Voices - Wednesday, November 22, 2006
dying for love
Leong Wee Keat
TWO years ago, my grandfather did what many of us (including me then) would consider to be the "unthinkable".
On April 15, 2004, my grandfather committed suicide — jumping off the eighth storey of the block of flats he was living in. He was 79.
That morning, my uncle, who was living with my grandfather, found nothing amiss. My grandfather had returned from his usual early morning routine — a walk in the park followed by a cup of coffee at the kopitiam. But at about 7.20am, he leapt from the parapet of the corridor.
To this day, I do not know why my grandfather decided to end his life. Prior to that fateful day, things had been looking good.
My grandfather had survived a two-year battle with bladder cancer and was well on the road to recovery.
Although he had had his bladder removed and carried an external "pouch" wherever he went, I never did hear him moan about the inconvenience. Sure, people would stare, he would tell me. But in the next breath, he would shrug things off and say: "Life goes on."
Despite his age, he was mobile and would insist that I did not have to take him home after functions at my parents' place.
You see, my grandfather was a survivor. He survived the Second World War, the death of my grandmother in 1983 and an estrangement with one of his doted-upon sons. But I guess this image of the strong patriarch was deceptive.
Nearly all his eight children, with the exception of my youngest uncle, had their own families and their own affairs to look after.
Some of the grandchildren, including my brother and I — who were looked after by him in our early years — had also grown apart from him. We had lives of our own to lead.
My grandfather's last years coincided with my university years and I never did fulfil — or even attempt to fulfil — my promise to show him how to use the MRT system. I was too caught up in my own life, assuming there was always "the next day" for me to show him around the trains. And the "next day" turned into weeks, then months and finally years.
That I let slip the chance to reach out to him, will forever be a regret.
Looking back, I don't think anyone in my family had any idea of the mental and emotional turmoil my grandfather was grappling with. Nor did the possibility cross our minds that such a strong man might be besieged by loneliness and depression.
Last week, as I worked on the cover feature, "Age and the brittle mind" (Nov 18-19) for Weekend Today, I made up my mind to write this piece — to share my personal experience with elderly depression with readers.
I am most worried that, more and more, suicide may become the elderly person's final cry for help, and that what happened to my family could happen to someone else.
In the nursing homes I visited, I saw some elderly folk who stared blankly into space — as if waiting for their loved ones to appear before them. Then there were those who told me they had shrugged loneliness aside and kept themselves occupied. But while they said they understood that their families were busy trying to make a living, I could see in their eyes that they wished they had more time with — not to mention acceptance from — their children and grandchildren.
With the onset of major illness and the possible loss of mobility, the likelihood of depression hitting an elderly person will increase. Especially if he or she has been left in a harsh environment: Alone at home, perhaps with a foreign maid, or in an old folks' home.
If life is reduced to a bed, clothes, meals and four walls, it is not much better than a prison.
I think the first, and best, line of defence against elderly depression lies with families. While we may strive to achieve more and build our own families, we shouldn't be blind to the possibility that we may be neglecting a loved one. Most of us will make time to spend with children — why can't we make similar sacrifices for the elderly?
They played an integral part in shaping who we are and, different generations notwithstanding, we have many shared memories.
What can you and I do to bring an older loved one back into the family's arms? We can try to get other family members involved, to bridge the gap. We don't have to do it alone. For instance, get our grandparents involved in some common activities.
Growing up, I was a football fanatic and my grandfather and I would watch matches together. I found it painful, even irritating, to have to update him on Liverpool's latest striker. But I think he needed to learn more about me than about my favourite football club.
I certainly did not want the questions or distractions; but what the proud man needed was a listening ear, and for us to appreciate that he still cared about us. I don't know whether I ever did reciprocate with the same concern.
If all this strikes a painfully familiar chord with you, I would suggest you start by finding out your grandparents' names.
I only found out my grandfather's name when he died — and I never told him how much he meant to me. -
great stories....
-
nice.. keep them comin in...
-
up up up
for this thread -
A story from Chicken Soup
_______________________________________________
when i was young, my family has one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well thet polished oak case fastened to the wall on the lower stair landing. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I even remember the number --105. I was too little to reach the phone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. once she lifted me up to speak to my father, who was away on biz. Magic!
Then i discovered that somewhere inside that wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "information please" and there was nothing else she did not know. My mother could ask her for anybody's number;when our clock ran down, information please immediately supplied the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in- the- receiver came one day while my mother was visiting a neigbhour. Amusing myself at the toolbench in the basement, i whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didnt seem to much use crying becos there was no one at home. i walked ard the hse sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The Telephone! Quickly i ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing yo, i unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear. "Information please", i said into the mouth piece just above my head.
A click or two, and a small, clear voice spoke into my ear "Information"
"I hurt my fingerrr...." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough, now that i have an audience.
"isnt your mother at hme?" came the question.
"nobody's home but me," i blubbered
" are u bleeding?"
"no,", i replied. "I hit it with the hammer and it hurts"
"can you open the ice box?" she asked. i said that i could
"the chip off a little pcs of ice and hold it to your finger. That will stop the pain, Be careful when you use the ice pick and dun cry, you will be alright."
After that, i called Information Please for everything. I asked for help on my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was, she helped me with my maths, and she told me that a pet chipmunk-- i had caught him in the park just the day b4-- would eat fruits and nuts.
and there was a time where our pet died. i called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened and then said the usual things that adults would say to soothe a child. I was unconsoled: why was it that birds should sing so beautifullyand bring joy to the familis, only end up as heap of feathers feet up, on the bottom of the cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern for she said quietly "paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somwhow i felt better.
Another day, i was at the phone, "information" said the familar voice.
"how do u spell fix?" i asked.
at that instant, my sister who unholy joy in scaring me, jumped off the stairs at me. i fell off the stool, pulling the receiver out of the box by it roots. We were both terrifed that we had hurt her when i pulled the receiver out.
Mins later, a man came and repair the telephone. He say that the operator say that someting might have happen to this family and send him here.
When i was nine yr old, we move across the country to boston. and i miss my mentor acutely. Information Please belonged to that old wooden box back home.
As i grew in my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never left me. often in monents of doubt and perplexity i would recall the serene sense of security i had when i knew that i could call information pls and get the right ans. I appreciated how very patientm understanding and kind she was to have wasted her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to the college, my plane put down in seattle. i had half and hour between plane connections. I called my sister and spoke for 15 min. then without thinking, i dialed my hometown operator and said "information pls"
Miraculously, i heard again the small clear voice i knew so well "Information"
I hadnt planned this, but i heard myself saying "could you please tell me how to spell the word fix"
There was a long pause, Then came the softly spoken ans "i guess your finger must have healed by now"
I laughed, "so it is really still you. i wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during all that time."
"i wonder if you know how much u meant to me. i have no children and i used to look forward to you calls. Silly isnt it." she said
it didnt seem silly but i never say so. instead i asked if i can call her againw when i visit my sister after the first semester is over.
"please do, just ask for sally"
"good bye sally and if i run into any chipmunks, i will tell them to eat fruits and nuts" It sound strange that information please had a name.
Just 3 months later, i was back at seattle airport. i dialed information please and asked for sally. a different voice ans the phone
"are u a friend?"
"yes, an old friend" i said.
"then i am sorry to tell you that sally had only been working part time with us in the past few years becos she was ill. she died 5 weeks ago" But b4 i could hang up, she said "wait a min, did you said that ur name was Villard?"
"yes"
"well, sally left a msg for you. she wrote it down"
"wat was it?" i asked, almost knowing in advance what it might be.
"here it is, i will read it-- tell him i still say there are other worlds to sing in. he will know what i mean"
I thanked her and hung up, i did know what sally meant.
-------------------------end------------------- -
Thinking of you
Sophie's face faded into the gray winter light of the sitting room. She dozed in the armchair that Joe had bought for her on their fortieth anniversary. The room was warm and quiet. Outside it was snowing lightly.
At a quarter past one the mailman turned the corner onto Allen Street. He was behind on his route, not because of the snow, but because it was Valentine's Day and there was more mail than usual. He passed Sophie's house without looking up. Twenty minutes later he climbed back into his truck and drove off.
Sophie stirred when she heard the mail truck pull away, then took off her glasses and wipe her mouth and eyes with the handkerchief she always carried in her sleeve. She pushed herself up using the arm of the chair for support, straightened slowly and smoothed the lap of her dark green housedress.
Her slippers made a soft, shuffling sound on the bare floor as she walked to the kitchen. She stopped at the sink to wah the two dishes she had left on the counter after lunch. Then she filled a plastic cup halfway with water and took her pills. It was one forty-five.
There was a rocker in the sitting room by the front window. Sophie eased herself into it. In a half-hour the children would be passing by on their way home from school. Sophie waited, rocking and watching the snow.
The boys came first, as always, runnng and calling out things Sophie could not hear. Today they were making snowball as they went, throwing them at one another. One snowball missed and smackd hard into Sophie's window. She jerked backward, and the rocker slipped off the edge of her oval rag rug.
The girl dilly-dallied after the boys, in twos and threes, cupping their mittened hands over their mouths and giggling. Sophie wonder if they were telling each other about the valentines they had received at school. One pretty girl with long brown hair stopped and pointed to her face behind the drapes, suddenly self-consious.
When she looked out again, the boys and girls were gone. It was cold by the window, but she stayed there watching the snow conver the children's footprints
A florist's truck turned onto Allen Street. Sophie followed it with her eyes. It was moving slowly. Twice it stopped and started again. Then the driver pulled up in front of Mrs. Mason's house next door and parked.
Who would be sending Mrs. Mason flowers? Sophie wondered. Her daughter in Wisconsin? Or her brother? No, her brother was very ill. It was probably her daughter. How nice of her.
Flowers made Sophie think of Joe and, for a moment, she let the aching memory fill her. Tomorrow was the fifteenth. Eight months since his death.
The flower mans was knocking at Mrs. Mason's front door. He carried a long white and green box and a clipboard. No one seemed to be answering. Of course! It was Friday - Mrs. Mason quilted at the church on Friday afternoons. the delivery man looked around, then started toward Sophie's house.
Sophie shoved herself out of the rocker and stood close to the drapes. The man knocked. Her hands trembled as she straightened her hair. She reached her front hall on the third knock.
"Yes?" she said, peering around a slightly opened door. "Good afternoon, ma'am," the man said loudly. "Would you take a delivery for your neighbor?"
"Yes," Sophie answered, pulling the door wide open. "Where would you like me to put them?" the man asked politely as he strode in.
"In the kitchen, please. On the table." The man looked big to Sophie. She could hardly see his face between his green cap and full beard. Sophie was glad he left quickly, and she locked the door after him.
The box was as long as the kitchen table. Sophie drew near to it and bent over to read the lettering: "NATALIE'S Flowers for Every Occasion." The rich smell of roses engulfed her. She closed her eyes and took slower breaths, imagining yellow roses. Joe had always chosen yellow. "To my sunshine," he would say, presenting the extravagant bouquet. He would laugh delightedly, kiss her on the forehead, then take her hands in his and sing to her "You Are My Sunshine."
It's was five o'clock when Mrs. Mason knocked at Sophie's front door. Sophie was still at the kitchen table. The flower box was now open though, and she held the roses on her lap, swaying slightly and stroking the delicate yellow petals. Mrs. Mason knocked again, but Sophie did not hear her, and after several minutes the neighbour left.
Sophie rose a little while later, laying the flowers on the kitchen table. Her cheeks were flushed. She dragged a stepstool across the kitchen floor and lifted a white porcelain vase from the top corner cabinet. Using a drinking glass, she filled the vase with water, then tenderly arranged the roses and greens, and carried them into the sitting room.
She was smiling as she reached the middle of the room. She turned slightly and began to dip and twirl in small slow circles. She stepped lightly, gracefully, around the sitting room, into the kitchen, down the hall, back again. She danced till her knees grew weak, and then she dropped into the armchair and slept.
At a quarter past six, Sophie awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on the back door this time. It was Mrs. Mason.
"Hello, Sophie," Mrs. Mason said. "How are you? I knocked at five and was a little worried when you didn't come. Were you napping?" She chattered as she wiped her snowy boots on the welcome mat and stepped inside. "I just hate snow, don't you? The radio says we might have six inches by midnight, but you can never trust them, you know. Do you remember last winter when they predicted four inches, and we hand twenty-one? Twenty-one! And they said we'd have a mild winter this year. Ha! I don't think it's been over zero in weeks. Do you know my oil bill was $263 last month? For my little house!"
Sophie was only half-listening. She had remembered the roses suddenly and was turning hot with shame. The empty flower box was behind her on the kitchen table. What would she say to Mrs. Mason?
"I don't know how much longer I can keep paying the bills. If only Alfred, God bless him, had been as careful with money as your Joseph. Joseph! Oh, good heavens! I almost forgot about the roses."
Sophie's cheeks burned. She began to stammer an apology, stepping aside to reveal the empty box.
"Oh, good," Mrs. Mason interrupted. "You put the roses in water. Then you saw the card. I hope it didn't startle your to see Joseph's handwriting. Joseph had asked me to bring yu the roses the first year, so I could explain for him. He didn't want to alarm you. His 'Rose Trust,' I think he called it. He arranged it with the florist last Apirl. Such a good man, your Joseph..."
But Sophie had stopped listening. Her heart was pounding as she picked up the small white envelope she had missed earlier. It had been lying beside the flower box all this time. With trembling hands, she removed the card.
"To my sunshine," it said. "I love you with all my heart. Try to be happy when you think of me. Love, Joe." -
Meaning of Peace
There once was a king who offered a prize to the artist who would paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried. The king looked at all the pictures. But there were only two he really liked, and he had to choose between them.
One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror for peaceful towering mountains all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with
fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.
The other picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky, from which rain fell and in which lightning played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.
But when the king looked closely, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the rush of angry water, sat the mother bird on her nest - in perfect peace.
Which picture do you think won the prize? The king chose the second picture. Do you know why?
"Because," explained the king, "peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace." -
touching mei?Originally posted by babymac13:Meaning of Peace
There once was a king who offered a prize to the artist who would paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried. The king looked at all the pictures. But there were only two he really liked, and he had to choose between them.
One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror for peaceful towering mountains all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with
fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.
The other picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky, from which rain fell and in which lightning played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.
But when the king looked closely, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the rush of angry water, sat the mother bird on her nest - in perfect peace.
Which picture do you think won the prize? The king chose the second picture. Do you know why?
"Because," explained the king, "peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace." -
Great touching stories...
-
zzzz i didnt bother to read that whole chunk
-
nice stories babymac13.. i like..
-
More stories please! They are really inspirational & touching. Thanks a lot for uploading them!
-
Very meaningful stories. Thanks for sharing.
-
THE POWER OF LOVE
It was a bitterly cold Christmas eve in Korea in 1952. A pregnant young mother, Bak Yoon, hobbled through the snow toward the home of a missionary friend where she knew she could find help. Tears of sorrow froze on her face as she mourned her husband. He had recently been killed in the Korean War, and she had no one else to turn to. A short way down the road from her missionary friend's house was a deep gully spanned by a bridge. As Bak Yoon stumbled forward, birth pains suddenly overcame her. She fell, realizing that she could go no further, and crawled under the end of the bridge. There, alone, under the bridge, her baby boy was born. Bak Yoon had nothing with her except her heavy, padded clothes. One by one she removed all pieces of her clothing and wrapped them around her tiny son, still connected to her body by his umbilical cord. Then feeling exhausted she lay back in the snow beside her baby.
The next morning Miss Watson, long-time missionary, drove across the bridge in her car to take a Christmas basket of food to a needy Korean family. On her way back, as she got near the bridge, the car sputtered and died - out of gasoline. She got out of the car and started across the bridge. Through crunching snow under her feet she heard another sound - a baby's faint cry. She stopped, unbelieving, and heard the cry again. "It's coming from beneath this bridge!"
She crawled under the bridge to investigate and there she found a tiny, bundled baby, warm but hungry, and young Bak Yoon frozen in death. With a knife from her tool box she cut the cord and took the baby home with her. After caring first for the child, she, along with some helpers, brought Bak Yoon's body back to near where she lived and buried her there.She named the baby Soo Park, and adopted him. He was strong and healthy and so grew up among many other orphan children that Miss Watson cared for. But to her, Soo Park was special. She often told him, "Your mother had great love for you, Soo Park," and about how she had proved that love. He never tired of hearing of his beautiful mother.
On Christmas day, his 12th birthday, snow was falling. After the children had helped Soo Park celebrate his birthday, he came and sat beside Miss Watson. "Mother Watson, do you think God made your car run out of gasoline the day you found me?" he asked.
"Perhaps He did," she answered. "If that car hadn't stopped, I would not have found you. But I am so glad it stopped. I love you and am very proud of you, Soo Park." She put her arms around him. He rested his head against her.
"Mother Watson, will you please take me out to my mother's grave? I want to pray there. I want to thank her for my life."
"Yes, but put on your heavy coat. It's very cold."
Beside the grave, Soo Park asked Mother Watson to wait at a little distance. She walked aside and waited. As the astonished missionary watched, the boy began to take off his warm clothing, piece by piece. Surely he won't take off all his clothing! she thought. He'll freeze! But the boy stripped himself of everything, laid it all on his mother's grave, and knelt naked and shivering in the snow. She waited one minute, two minutes. Then she put her gloved hand on his snow covered shoulder. "Come, Soo Park. Your mother in Heaven sees how much you love her. I will help you dress." Then in deep sorrow he cried out to the mother he never knew: "Were you colder than this for me, my mother?" And he wept bitterly because he knew of course, she was. -
Check out all the touching (Story) posts I copied and pasted on my webpage here (all taken from a thread on either HWZ forum or Sg forum) :
http://infinity.usanethosting.com/forum/index.html
Also, check out the book "Voices From the Afterlife" for many touching true stories from those who have already passed on (ie. died liao) :
http://infinity.usanethosting.com/Heart.Of.God/LilyFairchilde/index.htm
My personal favourite is (pg 23 to pg 30) "The Story of Ann". -
crying...
-
Voices // Friday, March 30, 2007 (Today)
Tall, tender, proud, loving, lonely
Grandpa's later years were spent trying to retain the dignity of his youth
MEERA LEE SETHI
I DIDN'T know I'd have so much to say.
Here are a few facts:
My grandfather, Kharaiti Lall Sethi, died on April 2, 2005.
He had long, wobbly ears and a crooked mouth and he was tall, although it had been a while since he stood to his full height.
He had a sandy voice. It could be very loud and also very soft. He wore pairs of soft black Chinese slippers until they fell apart.
He had four sons, eight grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren. The youngest of these he had never met.
He died at 93, 11 days before his 94th birthday.
The last years of my grandfather's life were not the best ones. They consisted of a long series of reluctant losses, both large and small. Losses of dignity and ability and pleasure, losses of sense and senses. The difference between tragedy and routine got harder and harder to see with every new diminishment or defeat. For a long time I struggled to understand what the point of it all was, what meaning there could be in a life lived this way. Once my mother said she thought that perhaps the meaning in my grandfather's life in his final years was not for my grandfather, but for those who loved him, to find.
When I was little, we used to go over to my grandparents' house every Sunday. The tiny garden always smelled like jasmine and there were purple periwinkles growing in the grass. There was a cricket ball I used to roll around on the floor. We used to walk to the corner store to buy ice-cream.
It's a long time back now, but I remember that there was a time before I found my grandfather tiresome, a time before I had forgotten how to talk to him or he had forgotten how to talk to me, when his stories were still exotic and wonderful. I remember loving to listen to him tell old Indian folk tales, sitting on the carpet asking for stories. I don't remember when he stopped telling them, or when I stopped asking.
After my grandmother died when I was 10, he started calling every night to say hello. It might have been then that it started getting harder to be nice to him. We would roll our eyes, my sister and I, when the phone rang. We knew he would always ask the same questions, and we weren't very good at keeping the sighs out of our voices.
I remembered those phone calls years later, when my grandfather had moved in with us and he started looking through the classified ads every afternoon to call people and ask them about jobs. He was in his 80s by that time and you could certainly hear it in his voice, so no one would take him seriously. I used to sit on the landing on the second floor and watch people hang up on him. It was heartbreaking. But when we had lunch together I would ignore him mercilessly.
So many things I would do differently now. I was already old enough to know better, but maybe not old enough to do better.
He used to check the front door a million times to make sure it was locked before he went to bed. He was a hypochondriac. He ate cereal in the middle of the night. He hated spending money, but he loved to press it into your hand on special occasions. He adored babies.
They said he used to be an actor, back in Lahore, when he was a young man. He used to sing. Sometimes he'd do a song or two at family gatherings. He had a strong, quivery voice and he remembered every note. He didn't need a microphone. Later when he was in the nursing home it was that same loud voice that kept everyone awake at night. It's hard when a 90-year-old man won't be quiet.
He made a vow to his guru when he was a young man that he would never waste food, that he would always finish everything on his plate or in his glass. He'd ask for only half of whatever you offered, so that he could be sure he'd be able to eat it. My mother would try to trick him at his own game, sometimes. She'd pour three sips of tea into a mug, cut a paper-thin sliver of cake. He'd ask for half.
My grandfather was a stubborn old man. You couldn't argue with him about anything: Money, religion, his own past. He'd press his point until it was squashed against your logic, and then he'd sigh deeply and say that his brain wasn't working. You were probably right, of course. He had strong opinions about everything. He was incredibly frustrating to live with. And I wish I could have seen that life force in him before it was shaped by the various regrets and bitterness of a long journey.
He wore a sarong while he watched Hindi movies. The deafer he got the louder they got, until one day my mother came home and heard our TV from down the street. We got him headphones. He would slap his thigh when they sang and danced.
He looked very sharp in a suit and tie.
This was contributed by a reader, whose grandfather's death anniversay falls on Monday. -
Only Love Part 1
It's a cold February night. People are bustling through the streets, either pulling up their coat collars or wrapping scarves around their necks, trying to stay warm.
It's so cold today.I'm standing at my window, looking at the people moving like little dots. Standing in a heated room, I'm beginning to pity those people. Why don't they go home? Do they plan on wandering until morning?
"Almost time to go home! My boyfriend must be going crazy." One of the nurses breathe a sign of relief. "Still needs to work overtime on Valentine's Day. It's so unfair!"
"You are fortunate." Another nurse says. "Some people don't have anyone waiting for them."
"You mean Dr. Shu?"
Like Sherlock Holmes, my ears perk up when I hear my name.
"Do you remember how she lost control on this day last year?"
"Of course I do." A nurse shudders. "I've never seen Dr. Shu like that. Crying and yelling, like she was crazy."
They are talking about how I was last year. They are correct. I was out of control, like they said.
"You can't blame Dr. Shu. If my boyfriend died in front of my eyes, I would probably go crazy as well."
"Keep it down. She hasn't left work yet. She might hear you."
The two nurses are too late. I heard the entire conversation through the canvas wall.
"Dr. Shu, what are you doing standing here?"
Just as I was deciding whether or not to reveal myself, another nurse exposed me. I awkwardly step out. The 2 nurses who discussed me start to blush. Their faces became redder than the bow on Valentine's Day chocolates.
"I'm waiting to go home." I pretend that I didn't hear anything.
"Dr. Shu, you must have gotten too involved in your work. It's already past time to go home. See you tomorrow. Happy Valentine's Day!" She waves goodbye.
"Happy Valentine's Day." I wave back and watch the 2 nurses hurry away.
That's fine. I was ready to go home anyway. Even though no lover is waiting
for me, at least there's a lazy cat waiting for me to feed.
After I come home, the first thing I do is feed the cat. I forgot when I first had the cat. Probably since last year's Valentine's Day. At that time, I was like an abandoned cat, with eyes filled with despair. Cats don't cry, I do. That's the only difference.
"Better drink all the milk or I'll skin you." I threatened the cat. Her name is Christine, my least favorite English name. I don't know why I named the cat Christine. Christine meowed once to let me know she heard me, but her eyes are complaining about my severity. Her eyes remind me of someone I used to know, standing in front of me with eyes of rebellions.
An year ago today, I had lunch with my boyfriend and took the opportunity to complain to him.
"Today is Valentine's Day. Why didn't you give me any flowers?"
He raised his eyebrow. "Why should I give you flowers? You are not my anyone."
"Then... you should at least give me a card!" I pouted my lips, hurt by his tone.
"I know, I know. After lunch, I'll send you an e-card."
E-card. That sounds so impersonal, but that's the way he is. "You have to e-mail it to me. I'll be waiting." I excitedly smiled and planned to sneak home after lunch to check e-mail. Even though he wouldn't use any romantic words, I still looked forward to the card.
"I can't stand you women. Why do you make such a big deal out of Valentine's Day??" He grumbled while eating his food. His comment induced me to fight with him again.
"You are not romantic at all!! Don't you watch any Japanese drama?"
"Japanese drama? I only watch Discovery Channel."
"Your life is so boring." I made a face at him. "One recent drama was really good. You should have watched it."
"What's that drama called?" He didn't believe in the love portrayed in TV and movies. He always thought they were lies.
"It's called 'Story of A Century'." I gladly answered.
"What kind of trashy plot did it have?"
"What do you mean trash?? Show some respect!" I was so angry. "That drama was very touching, and the theme song was beautiful as well. It's called 'Only Love', performed by Nana Mouskouri." I wonder if he knew who Nana was.
"Nana, I know her. A Greek singer with really expensive albums."
"Her voice is worth it." Even though I secretly agreed with him, I couldn't bring myself to admit it.
"Whatever." He glanced at his watch. "I'll give you 5 minutes to tell me the plot. After that, I'm leaving."
I tried hard to explain 6 hours worth of story in just 5 minutes. The drama portrayed the love stories of 3 generations of women spanning 100 years, from 1901 to 2000. Each generation was portrayed by the same actress. The story was tear-jerking.
"What's so touching about it?" He asked, after listening to the story.
"Don't you think each generation's story is wonderful? If I have such great screen writing ability, I wouldn't be a doctor anymore. I would become a screenwriter."
"If you become a screenwriter, I bet no one would watch the show. The TV station can go out of business." He quickly interjected.
"I'm going back to work. Hurry and send me the card!" I was so mad that I went home immediately, not even finishing my coffee.
As soon as I walked in my door, I turned on my computer and go online.
Staring at the empty in-box, I began to reminisce about how we met. Maybe no one will believe me, but my boyfriend and I were actually neighbors. Our homes were only 1 wall away. Ever since we were kids, we liked to fight with each other all day long. I still remember when I moved to the country that year. Used to the city life, I couldn't get used to the simple life in the country. After school, I would just go home and do nothing. Whenever that happened, he would always come over to tease me. -
wad happen to gal ?Originally posted by babymac13:There is this old couple with a son and a daughter, their son is grown up and working. Their only daughter is a bright child since young and she is the only child in the house to go into the university. They are so happy when they know that she is able to enter U and provide her with the best although they were poor and it’s heavy burden to support her through U and dote on her the most. But after finishing her final year, her character started to change, she become agitated easily and eccentric, she isolated herself from others. No body knows why but some say may be she studies too hard during her U time until her brain was damaged or some say she is being possessed. After graduating, they hope she will find a job quickly so that she will think too much at home and also hope that she could help the family financially.
But no, she didn’t managed to find a job because her condition was getting bad to worst, she will complain of hearing someone scolding her or seeing shadows. She become very particular about her look, keep saying she is very ugly and it will take her about 2 hours to get ready if she is going out because she will keep combing her over again. Everyday, she will eat, watch TV, eat, sleep. Initially, the old couple is very angry because they think she is very unreasonable and irresponsible, they will keep nagging at her. However, the more they nagged the more frustrated the daughter will be. She started to scold and curse her parents, whatever you can think of, she will say it out. The old couple is at their wits end, they started to bring her to temple to visit the monk, ‘teo tan’, Tibet’s monk etc, you name it, they will bring her there but sadly she don’t seem to improve and its getting worst. They also bring her to see a psychiatrist but situation don’t seem to improve much although she is on medication. She refused to let them follow her to see the doctor although she will take money from them every month claiming that it’s for the consultation because she accused them of betraying her to the doctor by telling them too much of her things. They have use both hard and soft approach on her but she don’t seem to response to it.
Living with her is a very stressful and frightening experience, she will quarrel or shout out loud to you on the slightest dissatisfaction and she will always bang the door suddenly which caused you to jump up regardless it’s daytime or in the middle of the night. She can keep banging the door or throw things around in the night if she think you are not happy with her or without reason, she can don’t sleep because she already slept in the day but not the couple or their son. She call the father ‘dirty old man’ and told him not to mess up with her because he ‘wan bu chi’. The son cant take it anymore and one day have a big fight with her, after that, he move out of the house. The couple was very sad because they didn’t expect the family to breakout in this way at their age, they told their son to be more understanding and ignore her but the son does not want to move back because he told them that that night he move out is the most peaceful night he ever had for these few years. Truly, he said that he always have a very heavy heart whenever it’s time to go home because the atmosphere inside is one of despair, tense and hopelessness, there is no smiling faces or happy moments because everyone do not know when she will blow up again. They know that they cant convince him to go back and went back disappointedly to face the situation on their own. They didn’t tell him that they need his support and he is their only hope and comfort now, no they didn’t said it because they don’t want to force him.
From then onwards, he will avoid going back to the house to visit his parents and meet them somewhere outside. This goes on for another 2 years, by then, their daughter already have been staying in the house doing nothing for 5 years. She really do nothing except eat, watch tv and sleep, they have to clean up for her after eating/drinking, buy breakfast for her no matter how tired or sick are you, wash her clothes, you even have to clear her sanitary pad which she is too last to throw. Some said in the previous life, the couple and daughter must have very deep hatred an she is here in this life to torture them. When things become to difficult to bear, they will just sit inside their room looking at each other and cry. Thing turn to worst when she try to hit her father and she was slightly scratch during the struggle, you don’t believe it, she demand them to give her money to see a doctor!
One day when the son met up with his father, the father told him that he has been coughing and feeling unwell for the past 3 weeks and the doctor recommend him to go for a X-ray. The father want the son to accompany him to x-ray but the son cant make it due to work commitment, so he went alone. After one week, the father called the son, telling him that the doctor said he has cancer in his lung and need further examination. The son cant believe it because his father is not a smoker at all. So he accompanied his father for the detail examination and the result is that it’s end stage lung cancer and he has only about 6 months to live. The father was devastated when the doctor told him that because his face suddenly turn white and blank. From that day onwards, his health decline rapidly and on the second months, he is unable to sit up by himself anymore and need people to carry him to bath, toilet and eating. One day, the mother saw the father sitting on the sofa alone with tears rolling down his cheeks, she didn’t disturb him because she too is crying. He has slog hard for the whole family the entire life and the day before he was told of his sickness, he is still working. You can said that he work till the last day of his life without rest or pleasure. Up to that day, he still worry that without working how is he going to support the family and foot the medical bill. The son told him not to worry and he will take care of everything.
On the third month, the doctor said the cancer has spread and he is left with less than a month to live. He is taken to the hospice where there is professional nurse to take care of his daily needs and medicine to reduce his pain. However, he is very reluctant to go just like that, he once told his son to cut off his lung if necessary to cure him but the son didn’t tell him that the doctor have told the son that if his father fell into coma, the doctor will not do anything to resuscitate him to shorten his pain. Most importantly, he missed his wife, children and grandson. The daughter went to see him but he refuse to look at her or hold her hands because most people thinks that he has cancer because after these few years of mental torture by her has weaken his health and caused cancer to form. However, the mother manages to persuade him to forgive and forget, to leave this world without any regret and hatred so that he will have a good life next time. The nurse told them that his father suddenly request the nurse to wheel him out to the garden one night and he lie there looking up the sky for a long time. The next day the doctor told the son that his father might not able to make it through the next 48 hrs so he stay overnight in the hospice to accompany him. In the middle of the night, his father wake up and with a soft voice remind him to take his mother to hospital for check up for her kidney problem and tell him to take good care of his mother and not to give up on his sister. Till the last moment before he die, he still concern about his wife health and the son discovered that all along, his father never give up hope on his only daughter and wish that she will be recover one day and be the daughter he once dote on dearly. Morning come, his father open his eye again speaking with a soft voice asking for his wife. The son told him that she will be arriving soon and told him to hold on. When the wife finally arrived, the son wake up the father and he open his eyes staring at the wife with tears in his eyes and close his eyes, that is the last time he ever open his eye again although he still breathing. The son sat beside his father and saw his father finally breath out his last breath and pass away in the evening very reluctantly. The son cry uncontrollably, feeling sad for his father slogging for his whole life till the very last day of his life and the feeling of losing his father forever. He felt he has not done enough to lighten his load and share his burden. He know he will feel regret for rest of his life. -
hor...ONly Love?
i think he get hit by car n die -
Only Love Part 2
"Why are you staring off into space??" He loved to pull on my hair. "You're so ugly when you're doing nothing. But you're also not pretty when you smile." In other words, I'm really ugly.
"You're the one who's ugly!" I pull back my hair. "If you think I'm so ugly, why do you visit me??"
"Can't help it. My home is right next to your home." He argued.
"Then I'll move!" The next day, I drew a line in the ground using some white chalk. A line that I forbid him to cross.
That year, we were both in the 5th grade. We couldn't stand each other and hoped the other would move away. But 5 years passed, and neither of us moved. Not only that, we got into the same high school and into the same class.
"You're that infamous couple." All the students and teachers in the school would say whenever they saw us.
"We're not!" I always tried to explain. "We're only neighbors." At that time, I hated my parents for making us live next to him.
"My standard is not that low." He would say. "Who wants her to be a girlfriend?? It's not like I don't have eyes."
"Yes, I know your eyes are on top of your head." I really disliked him. "Better than having eyes on the bottom of my head like you." He implied that I couldn't judge guys. At that time, I had a crush on a senior.
I didn't think that his sarcasm had a hidden meaning. After a while, I found out that the senior student had lots of girlfriends. When I cried about it, he silently passed me a handkerchief and awkwardly held me in his arms.
"I told you he wasn't any good." He roughly comforted me. I cried in his arms the whole night, and began to see him in a different way. Things began to change between us. We still fought all the time, but he started to look at me differently. And I blushed and my heart beat faster when he was near. We both knew: we fell in love with each other.
Even with this knowledge, neither of us said anything. Even though we would
not be able to resist and kissed each other constantly. Even though we cared about each other's every moves. Both of us refused to admit our love.
Time flew by quickly, and it was time to face separation. I chose to study medicine, and he chose physics. Yet we still couldn't separate from each other. Our parents worried that we didn't know anyone in Taipei, so they forced us to live in the same apartment building. Once again, we became neighbors. We still fought, but sometimes we fought into the bedroom. Alright, we became lovers, but we still wouldn't say we loved each other. We didn't even spend Valentine's Day together until he saw me share dinner with a man one Valentine's Day. That night, he waited for me in front of my door and said that he would take me out to dinner on Valentine's Day from then on. I have to say that he was very arrogant. But I nodded and accepted his request. Since then, we spent every Valentine's Day together. After graduation, I became an intern. He started a small computer company with some friends and became a programmer. We were busy with our own lives and had no time for a relationship. Three years later, I became a doctor, and his business began to boom. We separately moved to bigger
apartments and stopped being neighbors. On the surface, we left each other. In reality, we were still together. We spent every Valentine's Day together but each year became more dreary than the next because he never told me he loved me even with all my hints.
Facing the empty in-box, I suddenly grew very angry. He wouldn't say it and wouldn't send me a card. What did he mean? Who did he think I was? I called his cell phone.
"Hello." He picked up the phone.
"I didn't receive the card." I immediately showed my displeasure.
"You didn't receive it?" He seemed really busy. "But I sent it."
He was really busy but I didn't care. "I didn't receive it. Send it again."
"Okay, I'll send you 100 times. Is that good enough??" He said with impatience. His tone further infuriated me. Is that how lovers speak to each other?
"Don't bother sending it to me. And you don't have to pick me up tonight.
I'll eat dinner by myself."
"Don't be childish, ok? I'm really busy."
"I AM childish!" I hung up the phone and tears rolled down my cheeks.
Childish?? Why didn't he consider the situation? We've gone out for so many years and spent countless Valentine's Day together. I never received any flowers nor cards from him. Now, I just want a little e-card. Is that too much to ask for??
I unplugged the phone from the wall and turned off my cell phone. I didn't want to hear his explanations. After I returned to the hospital, I instructed the receptionist not to forward me any phone calls. I wanted to concentrate on work.
Because there were so many emergencies today, I was sweating 1 hour later and forgot about our argument.
"Dr. Shu, please take a look at that patient."
As I was collecting my equipment, the shrill sound of an ambulance sounded outside the ER. When I stepped out the door, the emergency medics hurriedly wheeled in a gurney.
"What happened to him?" I asked the 1st medic. Everyone else were trying to help put the patient on the gurney. He was covered with blood.
"Car accident." The medic replied. "Very serious. He may die."
I nodded and ran to the operating room with them. When I arrived, the nurses told me that the man had already stopped breathing and also his heartbeat also stopped
"Prepare for shock." I calmly instructed the nurses. Saving people is our duty. We can't lose our calm.
But when I saw who laid on the operating table, I lost my calm. That person was my boyfriend! -
Only Love Part 2
"No..." I stood in shock. "NO!!!" I grabbed the paddles and continuously shocked his body. His body bounced up and down from the shocks. The scared nurses went to find another doctor, to tell him that I was crazy.
I didn't know if I was crazy or not. I just wanted to save my lover. Even though we fought all the time. Even though he never showed me his love. I still wanted to save him. He still owed me a card. He couldn't die! I threw away the paddles and began to press on his heart. I pressed with all my strength, hoping it would revive him, but he didn't wake up. He didn't even say "It hurts". He just laid there with his eyes closed, punishing me with his silence.
Dr. Jian angrily pushed me away. By that time, I couldn't see clearly anymore. I cried. I wailed. I bowled until no sounds could come out of my mouth.
"It's too late, Dr. Shu. He's already dead. I'm sorry." Dr. Jian patted me on the shoulder. They knew each other and ate together once. I introduced them.
"He can't die." I shook my head. "He can't die!!" I struggled to run to him.
"Dr. Shu, control yourself!" Dr. Jian slapped me. "I understand what you're going through, but you're a doctor."
Yes, I'm a doctor, but I'm also a regular person. How can Dr. Jian understand how I feel? I've loved him for so many years that it's become a habit. How can I just throw away a habit? Besides, he still owed me a card. "I want him to live! I want him to live!" I ran to him again and tried to knock the life back into his body.
"Take her away!" That day, I lost my control and my professionalism.
And that day happened to be Valentine's Day.
Afterwards, I asked his co-workers why he left work early that day.
They told me that after I hung up the phone, he tried to call me several times but couldn't reach me. Worried, he drove to the hospital to find me and got hit by a large truck on the way.
When I heard this, I froze. My tantrum killed him. Just because of an unmailed card, he died. After that, I lost my privilege to be childish.
Like an abandoned cat, I couldn't even cry anymore. After his death, I couldn't cry anymore, regardless of how touching the plot or how tear-jerking the dialogue. They didn't affect me anymore.
Now, I'm only left with a cat and a seldomly used computer. Stepping over the cat, I turned on the computer. Even though I know no one will send me a mail, I still hoped that someone will remember me on this day.
Meow, meow. I looked at Christine to see what's wrong. She finished her milk. I went into the kitchen to get her more milk then came back to look at the computer screen.
I have.... 100 emails! Who would be bored enough to send me 100 junk mail?
I was just about to delete them all when I received another mail, and this one said: "Because of system error, we could not send these until today.
We apologize for the delay." The sender was my ISP.
I looked at the 1st mail. It showed the send date is last year's Valentine's Day. My heart began to beat fast. Could he have sent these?
With a trembling hand, I opened the mail. The first thing that popped up was a gorgeous red rose set against green leaves. Then a beautiful melody began to play.... "Only Love". I couldn't believe it. The rose was so beautiful and the music was so dreamy. I almost thought I was in a fantasy. Most touching of all were the words underneath the rose, because the words read like a beautiful poem.
"Hwei."
That's my name.
"Knowing you so many years, I've never sent you any flowers. Today I send you a rose."
I received it and it's so beautiful.
"You know we are always fighting. We can never really open our hearts and tell each other how we feel."
Yes, but it's all your fault for being so distant.
"I know I always make you mad by the things I say."
Good that you're admitting it.
"But today I want to say to you: I'm sorry, and I love you."
I waited so many years for those words.
"And I want to tell you a good news. I finally saved enough money."
You already have enough money. Why did you need so much?
"So Hwei, let's get married!! I was afraid to propose to you, because I didn't trust in my ability to give you the good life you deserve. But now I've saved enough money so we don't have to wait anymore."
Who wanted you to wait? I'm already yours.
"Today, I use this card to propose to you. Will you marry me, Hwei? Will you?"
That's the content of the whole card. Like a fool, I kept reading his words and talking to him. It's like I can hear his voice and see him again.
As if it's back to 1 year ago with us constantly fighting.
The song played over and over. Repeating Nana's heartbreaking voice.
Only love can make a memory. Only love can make a moment last. You were there and all the world was young and all it's songs unsung. and I remember you then when love was all, all you were living for,
and how you gave that love to me...."
The lyrics of this song fits our love so closely. When he was alive, my world was so young. Every day, I could find a something different to fight with him about. But after he left, my life is only left with memories and coldness that will never go away.
"Will you marry me?"
When I read these words, my tears unconsciously came, wetting the keyboard.
Will I? If he's in front of me, I will definitely kick him and call him a big fool. If I wasn't willing, I wouldn't have waited until today.
So I moved the cursor over the "Reply" box, and typed the response that I've already prepared for so many years - "I will."
I will - be by his side for the rest of my life. I will - fight with him forever. That is how I answered him, but the only response I got was the repeating song "Only Love."
Nevertheless, I opened every single letter, accepted every singled rose, and typed the same response: "I will."
I replied 100 times, and "Only Love" played 100 times. In this cold Valentine's night, the line that's been broken for 1 year finally got reconnected.
I answered you. What about you? -
The Salty Coffee
He met her at a party. She was so outstanding, many guys chasing after her, while he was so normal, nobody paid attention to him.
At the end of the party, he invited her to have coffee with him, she was surprised but due to being polite, she promised. They sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything, she felt uncomfortable, and she thought to herself, "Please, let me go home..."
Suddenly he asked the waiter, "Would you please give me some salt? I'd like to put it in my coffee." Everybody stared at him, so strange! His face turned red but still, he put the salt in his coffee and drank it. She asked him curiously, "Why you have this hobby?" He replied, "When I was a little boy, I lived near the sea, I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea, just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, think of my hometown, I miss my hometown so much, I miss my parents who are still living there." While saying that tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched. That's his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart. A man who can tell out his homesickness, he must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has responsibility of home... Then she also started to speak, spoke about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family.
That was a really nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their story. They continued to date. She found that actually he was a man who meets all her demands; he had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful. He was such a good person but she almost missed him! Thanks to his salty coffee! Then the story was just like every beautiful love story, the princess married to the prince, and then they were living the happy life... And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, as she knew that's the way he liked it.
After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter which said, "My dearest, please forgive me, forgive my whole life's lie. This was the only lie I said to you---the salty coffee. Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time, actually I wanted some sugar, but I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought that could be the start of our communication! I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I have promised not to lie to you for anything... Now I'm dying, I afraid of nothing so I tell you the truth, I don't like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste... But I have had the salty coffee for my whole life! Since I knew you, I never feel sorry for anything I do for you. Having you with me is my biggest happiness for my whole life. If I can live for the second time, still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even though I have to drink the salty coffee again."
Her tears made the letter totally wet. Someday, someone asked her, "What's the taste of salty coffee?" She replied, "It's sweet." -
awwww T.T
-
Heres a story about a pet and the owner.
Golden Girl - Sierra
Submitted By: Bruce Ross
I'm one of those people who can't pass by a pet store without going in just to see the puppies. A couple of days after Christmas, I was at the mall when I spotted an exuberant Golden Retriever pup beckoning me inside with her wagging tail and soulful brown eyes. There was no resisting this visit—Goldens have been one of my favorite breeds.
I felt an immediate spiritual bond between the pup and me. It was a quiet day and the manager let me play with the puppy in the back room for almost an hour nonstop. When she got tired, she curled into my lap and nuzzled her nose onto my arm. The manager was quick for the sale, saying that he had never seen a better match. I regretfully had to decline.
He responded, "Too bad. It's probably the last puppy in Orange County. All our puppies are gone by Christmas Eve and it's the same for almost all other pet stores. The only reason this one is here is because her shipping information got messed up and she just arrived this morning—too late for Christmas Eve. Even so, I guarantee that she will be gone by tonight."
There was no doubt in my mind that this dog was special—and, we had definitely bonded. But within days, I would be leaving on an around-the-world trip and wouldn't be back for four months. Obviously, I couldn't take a new dog home now. As I left the store, the puppy started crying loudly, and pawing and jumping up at the window. It was so hard to walk away from her. Half an hour later, I could still hear her yelping across the mall. Even though common sense won out—it totally broke my heart. I resolved that when I returned from my trip I would find another pup just like this one.
For months after my return I was on a mission. I visited many kennels and pet stores looking for a dog like the one I had fallen in love with in the pet store that day. Although I liked every pup I met, there was always something missing—the connection I had experienced with that special puppy. As time passed, I had all but given up and thought that perhaps I was being unrealistic in my expectations. The idea of getting a Golden was put on the back burner.
Thanksgiving was approaching when my business partner came in and informed me that his wife had seen an ad for a free Golden to a good home. It was a local family so I figured it wouldn't hurt to look and went by after work.
The young couple had two Goldens; a one-year-old and a three-year-old. They had gotten married earlier that year, moved into a new small home, and now a baby was on the way. They realized that they just didn't have room for two dogs, and one would have to go. They figured it would be easier for someone to take the younger one.
I could hardly meet the dog—it was running all over the place; jumping up on furniture, even grabbing food off the table. Sheepishly, the wife confessed that they had been so busy with the wedding, moving, and making babies that they hadn't had any time to train this dog. I knew that the last thing I wanted was a dog that had every bad habit imaginable and no training. But, I didn't want to be rude so I asked the usual question. "So, where did you get her?"
The wife replied, "We got her at the mall a couple of days after Christmas. We had called all around and it was the only dog we could find."
I gave them an astonished look. Could it be? My heart was pounding as I asked if they had a sales receipt. When they showed it to me, I immediately got tears in my eyes. Then I nodded and said, "She's a pretty special dog. I'll take her."
The bond between Sierra and me returned quickly and within a few weeks I had broken almost all of her bad habits. We became inseparable; we shared life, adventures and companionship until almost her eighteenth birthday. After Sierra left this earth, I have had other dogs that I loved dearly. But there is, and always will be, an exclusive corner of my heart that is occupied by only one dog—a special Golden girl who was fated to be mine.