Your body becomes as helpless as it once used to be (having to be carried and fed and bathed and have your bottom wiped), but your mind's been through almost 90 years worth of life and it doesn't seem quite fair that somewhere along the road, your body decides to stop listening and give up.
Popo's up in heaven now. Three years of suffering finally at an end. You can tell by her face that she was gentle and kind and lovely. She wore sarongs, had cute blue eyebrows, snored like a marching band, always made the effort to talk to me with little bits of English, and looked like she was smiling even when she wasn't.
My last memory of her was when we (the family sans brother) were visiting her in the nursing home in Malaysia, and my brother called and talked to her, and she asked about his girlfriend, and told him to marry soon, and said that even though she can't walk anymore, she would crawl the distance it would take to be at his wedding.
I'm sure Popo's happy now. Pain-free and smiling her cute little smile. We'll see her one day in heaven.
The family's leaving this afternoon for Malaysia to attend the funeral. I can't because I have to go back to school. I guess this means that I'll bawl a little bit less at the airport, since they won't be there. Or maybe a little more, because.