Rebecca Oh

I captured what I could so I will not forget.

13 July 2015, 1115am, TTSH

First time at the Mortuary.

Sometimes, grief is a lonely feeling.

These experts can do up such events in half a day, when some of us took weeks to plan for an other event. 

never know how many chairs and tables are enough.

old spouse is left to deal with it on his own, and also to call your friends to tell them that his lover of 60 over years had died.

The main activity that went on day and night and through the night -origami

Flowers paired with sad words became wreaths.

One of those important people during the wake. indispensable.

Nights are the toughest. 

obviously there are roads down there.

Sunglasses - essential for no sleep and puff eyes

bags of money

the scary legs in horror movies

18 July 2015, 1115am

i really feel so intrigued by all that is going on, that I knew so little. 

You know how some people think of death as the ultimate end? Like a full stop. Like how the last page looks, “The End”.

.

No. Death is not the ultimate end. Nothing ends there. Only one more free seat in the bus available. One less rice bowl on the dining table. 

Humans are designed to be dependent on one another. We form connections. Connections get catergorised. 

Then we have categories like family, love, friends, enemies, in-laws, colleagues, acquaintances etc. 

So with such categories, we have roles. I can be a daughter, lover, friend, sister, worker, bridesmaid, mother and maid. 

Roles come with responsibilities and expectations. I need to take care of my family. How well am I taking care of them? I need love from my partner, why am I not feeling it? Am I fufiling my duties as a worker?

We weave through our roles, all our life -fighting for certain decisions, values, beliefs, for someone, for someone- just to keep that connection.  

Then we keep all the glories close to our hearts.  

So what happens when you lost what you have fought to keep? 

-

It has been 18 days since my Dad’s mom passed away and no. It does not stop there. The life of a human being does not end even when the heart stops beating.  How i wish it was as simple as delete folder, empty trashbin. Tadah. DONE DEAL. NO. You still need to do a million other unknown steps to clear the folder that is still hiding somewhere in the computer. 

After you die, there’s just a million other things that the living needs to deal with. 

Your money, your house, your old spouse, your clothes, your shoes, your undergarments, your hoarding of unnecessary things, your pillow, your bed, your insurance, your photos, your wallet, your bags, your accessories, your toothbrush, your cosmetics, your smell, your cooking, your incessant nags, your children, your grand children, your great grand children, your maid, your friends, your sibilings, your presence, your memories. What are we going to do with them? What is my Dad going to do with these? 

Some days are just harder to empty the trashbin. 

Definitely having high stress levels last week and the coming weeks. Bah! such irony. 

Will be facilitating this workshop for a children’s home. Drawing up the slides and notes, can’t help but ask myself, how can I run this workshop without trivialising the events that happened to the participants? 

Earth has no sorrow Heaven can’t heal.

it was a difficult day today. 

For the first time, I had a bad start to work.  

The toughest was not about being reprimanded by the VIP, nor to get reprimanded and see my colleague also being reprimanded because of my actions. 

It was conducting a session of a program right after getting chewed by the VIP. 

I had to be in good spirits for the session. It was like eating bitter gourd and grinning at the same time. 

Mid-day, I had a discussion with my colleague about how hopes of recovery were dashed by the same people who were supposed to provide those hopes of recovery. We didn’t agree with what was said and done. It was difficult for us as it is for the client.

Late afternoon, I heard about how one of our young client was admitted into IMH. I saw my colleague teared. I felt my tears welling up, but I didn’t want to let any drop fell in front of my colleague so I pretended to drink water.  I can’t explain why the tears came out. I was just overwhelmed with sadness. The kind of sadness that all mental health workers has to hide, because we know that when you are diagnosed with psychosis, it is going to be a long journey to recovery.  We saw how people lost their jobs, spiral down to their lowest, depend on others for life, succumb to society’s cruel judgements and never lift their heads up again. We saw all of these the moment we heard how the young client is having a staycation in IMH.

It was a difficult truth. A difficult truth for anyone to bear. 

Those tears were difficult tears. The moment we cry upon such news, we have lost the fight to changing mental health stigma. As much as we are fighters for mental health, we are only human. 

How did something so joyful became so awful?

A few days back, I did a home visit with my colleague. 

The mother called to say her daughter is not interacting with anyone in school or at home. Her daughter is not behaving like the rest of her peers. It appears that her daughter may be suffering from social anxiety disorder. She needs help.

Behind the wooden door, my colleague tried to speak with the daughter. I was sitting downstairs while the younger brother told me that he loves to draw dinosaurs and swords. i asked him what he learnt today. I learned division already!  I looked around the house. It was spacious, cluttered and bare at the same time. It felt odd.

One hour later, the mother and my colleague came down, The daughter refused to come out of the room. There was nothing we can do. My colleague gave the mother some tips and guidance on the next steps. I sat there.

and for a good whole 10 seconds of silence, 

I saw anguish. I saw how the brows came together, the heavy breaths, the pain in the eyes.

10 seconds of helplessness, guilt and anger contained in that silence.

it was such a powerful moment that I doubt I can forget. So powerful that I wanted to just hug the mother and tell her, don’t worry, everything will be ok.

And no, I can’t say that. It will be a lie.  Yet, I can’t tell her that her daughter will have to embark on this long journey to recovery. 

She needs support, mother and daughter. 

----

Recently, I found out that her other daughter has eating disorder and her own’s sister has social anxiety disorder.  The good news is that the daughter is willing  to seek help after the home visit. To more good news.

It was just yesterday that I spoke about dying. Or rather, the signs of dying. 

Today, it was Death. 

“The dignity that we seek in dying must be found in the dignity with which we have lived our lives.” - Meghan O’ Rourke

I had a new participant in the friday program this week. 

She does not have any mental illnesses nor having any care-giving stresses. 

She is in her last stage of lung cancer.

Now that is something I’m unfamiliar with. I’m not too sure how I should approach her case or even approach her. My only experience with people who are having a terminal illness, is my grandpa. And what’s left of those memories are vague and faint. Well, maybe watching deaths in movies and tv shows add on to my robust list of experience.

i felt that my title is too morbid yet so apt. Somehow, I feel that I am avoiding this cruel truth. I wonder why. 

This lady, is-

DYING. 

I looked at her like a scientist who found a new insect. I observed her face and listened hard to her voice. I scrutinised her, looking for signs. Signs of death? 

A significant part of what I do at work is to take and handle calls. Particularly calls from individuals who require our services or from other service providers who are curious about what we actually do. Of course, given that I don’t enjoy speaking very much, this is challenging. However, I do have to say that, I have done fairly well to be quite competent in dealing with such calls. *Bring on the challenging clients!* WAHAHA! 

Interestingly, one may see that this is an easy role. Just pick up the calls, answer the questions, make appointments if need be, inform the therapists and that is about all.

And no, i did not choose to see the process in this light. Of course not, and why would I do so?  How can I, when each call is a desperate call for help? Each call comes with its unique set of stories and experiences, and I have to give them their fair share of respect in undergoing those journeys of care-giving or sufferings from their mental health conditions. 

Of course, I have times when i have my own share of compassion fatigue as at times, some calls are very close to the heart. 

Anyway, here’s a sharing on a call I took a few days ago.

A father called to share that his daughter requested for a counsellor ( just to clarify, there are differences between counsellors, psychologists and psychiatrists. Look them up.) Shared about his daughter’s mental health condition, her behaviours, etc - A “standard” type of call for me. Made an appointment, inform therapist, Done deal. 

However, no. Defaulted on three appointments. 

The daughter has difficulty leaving the house. Due to her condition, she started to sleep only at 10am, and stays awake throughout the night. She is “fickle”. She does not want to leave the bed. We can’t do anything for her. Can we fix another appointment again? I will speak to her mother. Maybe she can talk to her. She loves art and dancing. 

She is 17. She has borderline personality disorder. 

Help me. 

What should we do?

Signs of resignation seeping into the conversation.

I made another appointment for her. 

----

Sometimes I have to remind myself, as a service provider for mental health- We cannot give up trying. We cannot tell people who we are serving that there is no more hope left.  We have to show that there IS THE FREEDOM TO MAKE CHOICES, the WILL TO KEEP TRYING and the INSATIABLE AMOUNTS OF HOPE out there waiting for us to bring change. 

There is this little old man that sits along the void deck every Tuesday and Thursday mornings, seemingly waiting for someone to pick him up to go somewhere. He has a walking cane on his right hand, always sitting in the same spot, wearing also the same clothes everyday, having the same gait each time -Always smiling with his left side of his face.

It took me a while to interact with him. I started with a smile, weeks later, a smile and nod. Months later, a loud "MORNING!" shout while I ran to work. I am naturally blind or mute in the morning and for me to go such lengths to greet someone in the morning, it took a chunk of effort on my part. 

It became a habit, to see LOM on alternate mornings. 

For the last few weeks, I noticed LOM was not at his spot. Nor was he at his spot on any day for the last few weeks. I started thinking what happened to him. I started thinking every morning.

Did he get a stroke again? Did he fell? Was he admitted in a hospital? Did something happen at home? So many questions!! 

I know I will not be able to find an answer to these questions, and that irked me. It irked me because I wondered if I could have done anything to ensure he is able to sit at his spot in the mornings. I wondered if I could have spoke to him, and gave him some of my time. i wondered if I could have in the least find out, what he was waiting for every Tuesday and Thursday mornings. 

Could I have done more? 

I find it amusing when I see variations of my name, 

Rebacca (too much chewbacca?)

Rebeca ( Doesn't it look odd, the way the letters are strung together?)

Rebbeca ( Pronounced as Rare-bee-kaa) 

Of course, 

I get calls like, 

Hello, May I speak to Rachel please? 

The thing about working in a charity, particularly those ones that are supported by religious groups, is that it challenges your values as a person. 

There is this workshop that we are organising and we are charging our clients for it. So I asked if there are any concessions for clients who are not able to afford it. So, yes, there are concessions for some eligible clients. 

However, the VIP went on to add, " 2 dollars is nothing really." 

It's those moments that I had to stop what I was writing and rewind what the VIP just said. 

I honestly, detest such statements. 

It is a statement filled with ignorance or even apathy.  It is such an uninspiring statement to what we are doing or trying to do. 

If my organisation works for the needy, who are we to determine the value of their 2 dollars?