Tribute to my mum. (by FC)

My 83 year old mother Lee Ewe Choo passed away peacefully at 11.25pm on 12 March 2008.

That night began with my elder sister's arrival from London at 10pm. I briefed her on Mum's situation and we planned to visit her in the morning, not wanting to disturb her rest.

The hospital rang at around 11.10pm to advise that her condition was grave and that we should come without delay. Penang General Hospital is a large hospital and my adrenalin-charged sister outran me the 400 meters and up one level to my mother's ward just to find we were too late. My sister, herself a nurse, was most upset at not seeing her before she passed away.

Three years earlier Mum had mentioned to me in passing that after her death no one would know that she had even existed because she had only been the quiet housewife living a life centered around her family and with all her children are scattered over 3 other continents.

How wrong she was.

I could not have planned it better than to have launched this magazine and it's Web version in the month of her departure and am now able to raise her on the pedestal she so deserved for thousands to see. This remarkable and absolutely beautiful woman (both in appearance and in the heart) had achieved much more than she ever realised.

She had been well and truly the one great influence in my life as well as being an invaluable moral and spiritual guide.

The sudden turn in her health and her admission to hospital at the beginning of March had brought me back to Penang after 33 years. Her beautiful hair now shorn to a crew cut, her eyes closed and the sound of her struggling with her breathing was a far cry from the person waving goodbye at Sydney airport just 10 months earlier, happy to be returning to her home in Penang. I was told she had asked for me before her hospitalisation. When I announced myself, she opened her eyes to look for a few seconds and gripped my hand – a most unforgettable moment.

It was indeed a moving experience to see her apartment for the first time and to spend three most enriching days there in solitude.

Mum and Dad had lived there alone till they moved into an old folks home in May last year – not wanting to leave Penang to be with us in Sydney.

They had only the simplest things in the cosy two bedroom apartment. The wall to the third bedroom had been demolished to enlarge the lounge.

It was such a wonderful feeling to be able to get a taste of how they lived. The compact, firm 3 piece leather lounge suite in a very unusual shade of blue coordinated nicely with the simplicity of the general feel of the place. She had an artistic streak which was never developed but which she had bestowed on me. Her good sense of colours and balance were on subtle display here.

A layer of dust had covered everything. I was so happy to be able to mop and dust the whole apartment. I simply had not been doing enough for them! I felt it such a privilege to have this chance now to do something – no matter how small – that I could later tell her I had done.

Her three small woks were hanging by her kitchen window. There was still gas in the gas bottle. Cutlery and crockery neatly stored. Chinese steel stacking food carriers stood in the corner of the worktop. They used to have catered food from a restaurant on the ground floor 5 days a week.

The fridge was of course empty but still running. The small washing machine had a torn lint filter I recognised my Dad's handiwork in the clothesline he had put up for her. A 5x7 photo of my wife and I posing with them twenty something years ago, prominently placed under the glass top of my Dad's desk, really moved me.

I was surprised to see her old paddle driven SInger sewing machine. As a child I used to sit on the large paddle rocking up and down. A few pairs of her shoes were lined up by the doorway. I looked through her dresses still neatly hanging in her large wardrobe. These were all her recent dresses. She had long given up wearing her beautiful sarong kebaya's and cheongsum's. She looked absolutely stunning in those body-hugging dresses.

She had always lived a very simple life. As a teenager during the War, she hid for years in a rubber plantation during the Japanese occupation, and as a young wife with a young daughter went through a spell of absolute poverty chopping and selling firewood to eke out a living as my Dad had become jobless and penniless after the war. Dad's University opportunity had been blown away with the first bombs that fell on Georgetown, Penang. Years later he successfully finished an external course to qualify as a Chartered Secretary and rose to become the highest ranking local manager of a large British company.

Until the time I left home at 18 we had maids. She always treated them, from the old Amah to a young servant girl, as members of the family, eating together and working together with them. Mum was never domineering, always leading by example. She was constantly doing something, sharing the workload with the maids. There was plenty to do in the household especially with 6 young children running around (the seventh came much later). The young servant girl was even sent to school. After leaving her employment, for years, these maids would periodically visit and spend weeks and months with us as close family friends.

She was always warm and kind, preferring the company of strugglers and very quick to suss out fakes. She was very protective of her children and sacrificed much for us. She was a great comforter and the wisdom of her words sank deep in my being.

One of my younger brothers once commented that she was the original women's liberator. She knew her mind and could be very stubborn indeed. This trait stayed with her till the end. Even in her frail state, no matter how hard we tried to keep her with us in Sydney she simply wanted to be back in Penang even if it meant spending her last days alone.

She had been admitted to hospital with a heart attack compounded with pneumonia but the doctor said she was fighting and making good progress against the pneumonia. However, her body had been much weakened. We could hear her struggling with her breathing.

I stroked her head and her soft short hair and reassured her that she had done a great job bringing us up. That her job was now done and that she should retire and take her well deserved rest.

The day before her passing away, she already looked at peace and I could see she was relaxed and no longer struggling. I stroked her head and held her hand again reassuring her that we are all well and that she had accomplished much. Her grip was no longer there but her mouth moved ever so sweetly and although no sound could be heard, I could see that she was once saying some comforting words to me. As far as her children were concerned she never would think of herself.

She never told us what to do, instead only offering advice and encouragement in whatever we wanted to do, and always the great comforter.

She always made sure she presented herself well. She was a natural beauty and did not spend much or much time doing herself up. Fifteen minutes after her passing away, I saw her still looking elegant and peaceful in the white hospital overall.

Kissed her goodbye on her soft cheek which still had a trace of warmth and was in the air 19 hours later on my way back to Sydney. I did not want to stay for her funeral as I had already said my sincerest very private farewell to this great, previously unknown, lady.

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