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I'm glad, relieved, thankful all at the same time that my popo is better now.
Two days ago she was ferried to our house because she simply couldn't walk anymore. But what was scary, wasn't that, but more of the fact that she was so depressed of her un-mobility.
She's a fiercely independent women, my popo. 83 and still going strong, she refuses to let her grandchildren wash the dishes and force feeds us oranges and savoury Hakka dishes, admonishing us with a stern scolding if we defer.
Not being able to walk, or not being able to "go to NTUC and buy groceries" in her words, was like dealing her the death sentence. It pained her physically and emotionally everytime she tried to get up from the chair. When we pushed her around in our makeshift wheelchair, she had this resigned, and unbearably sad expression on her face - almost indiscernible amidst her wrinkles.
"You're going to send me to an old folks' home," she kept on lamenting. "All the old people who cannot walk are put in the old folks' home."
It was horrible to see her like that. To see her so sad.
But thank God, after a good night's rest, and no housework to do (she lives by herself in a quaint old HDB flat), she could walk. This morning I awoke to her loud chattering. She was evidentally happy, her voice bursted with a resounding gratefulness that she could walk again. She walks now, slowly but steadily, and she nags at me now because it's late and I'm not asleep.
One day I'm going to write about my grandmothers. I owe them that much, to create something that I'll forever remember them by and to let the whole world know that my grandmothers were such wonderful people.
In other news, I'm amazed at how life overseas can change someone into someone totally unrecognizable! Gah! Heart goes pitter patter again.
Two days ago she was ferried to our house because she simply couldn't walk anymore. But what was scary, wasn't that, but more of the fact that she was so depressed of her un-mobility.
She's a fiercely independent women, my popo. 83 and still going strong, she refuses to let her grandchildren wash the dishes and force feeds us oranges and savoury Hakka dishes, admonishing us with a stern scolding if we defer.
Not being able to walk, or not being able to "go to NTUC and buy groceries" in her words, was like dealing her the death sentence. It pained her physically and emotionally everytime she tried to get up from the chair. When we pushed her around in our makeshift wheelchair, she had this resigned, and unbearably sad expression on her face - almost indiscernible amidst her wrinkles.
"You're going to send me to an old folks' home," she kept on lamenting. "All the old people who cannot walk are put in the old folks' home."
It was horrible to see her like that. To see her so sad.
But thank God, after a good night's rest, and no housework to do (she lives by herself in a quaint old HDB flat), she could walk. This morning I awoke to her loud chattering. She was evidentally happy, her voice bursted with a resounding gratefulness that she could walk again. She walks now, slowly but steadily, and she nags at me now because it's late and I'm not asleep.
One day I'm going to write about my grandmothers. I owe them that much, to create something that I'll forever remember them by and to let the whole world know that my grandmothers were such wonderful people.
In other news, I'm amazed at how life overseas can change someone into someone totally unrecognizable! Gah! Heart goes pitter patter again.
