Dedicated To My Mom: Although She Lives Happily Ever After...
July 8,2011.
The tubes were everywhere, linking to her body. I heard her panting with a bullish determination to dwell in eternity. The heart-rate monitor showed that there would be no chance of survival. Soon, the machine would do the breathing for her. Prior to that, a priest had made a sign of a cross on her forehead with an anointing oil in his finger. She had a great admiration towards the tenets of Catholic church. Therefore, my family invited Romo Sudrijanta, a close friend of her, to administer a last rite before she was relieved from suffering.
Her high-blood pressure, which for months mildly annoyed her, had developed into a massive stroke. She laid still with a big tube in her mouth. The assurance that she would soon be in heaven was comforting but the thought that I would be separating from her was horrifying.
I wish you had known her. Many had just respected her from afar. I am blessed with a priceless priviledge to be her daughter. If you know who she is, you will understand why tornadoes and hurricanes are named after women.
Ade Rostina Sitompul is simply powerful. She is bold. Strong. Courageous. Very.
Her voice is tender but her words are thunderous. Rarely she talked with religious jargons but my tightest grip on the topic of spirituality was when I reflected upon her life. Millions believe that Jesus can be found at the church in those gregorian hymns or upbeat christian contemporary music. Her life showed me that yes, that’s true, people could meet Him in a building with a cross on its wall but her thoughts and experiences revealed that many times Jesus is surprisingly encountered in the slums, among the poor and the oppressed. Many believers want to preach the gospel. She went much further:She lived up to it.
For many, the spirit of my mother is immortal. She will forever inspire thousands of those whose lives are touched by her loving hands. However, though she had gone for good I often sense that her presence in my life is still real. Each and every pieces of her stays in my heart:Her thoughts, the smell of the roasted chicken she cooked for me, her weird idea, her thought-provoking remarks, her anger, her distubing comments, her lovely encouraging words. Everything.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Almost 3 years ago, she crossed the finish line.
The hallway of the high-care unit where she was tended was filled by almost one hundred people. Surrounded by her loved ones on her deathbed, her soul walked gracefully along a clear gold floor in a city which fence is made by pearl and the wall is adorned with every imaginable and unthinkable precious stones.
God is a promise-keeper. He said that the reward He would give to a faithful follower is being with Him in a place where there is neither pain nor mourning.
Thus, I know that she lives happily ever after.
But still I inhaled in sadness.
I sobbed.
And I continued weeping.
May 20, 2014.
7.17 pm
Still struggle with the unquenchable longing for her.
A poem for my mom:
http://kaituklua.blogs.sapo.tl/2560.html
Terima kasih ya buat puisinya yang sangat bagus buat ibu saya.
The tubes were everywhere, linking to her body. I heard her panting with a bullish determination to dwell in eternity. The heart-rate monitor showed that there would be no chance of survival. Soon, the machine would do the breathing for her. Prior to that, a priest had made a sign of a cross on her forehead with an anointing oil in his finger. She had a great admiration towards the tenets of Catholic church. Therefore, my family invited Romo Sudrijanta, a close friend of her, to administer a last rite before she was relieved from suffering.
Her high-blood pressure, which for months mildly annoyed her, had developed into a massive stroke. She laid still with a big tube in her mouth. The assurance that she would soon be in heaven was comforting but the thought that I would be separating from her was horrifying.
I wish you had known her. Many had just respected her from afar. I am blessed with a priceless priviledge to be her daughter. If you know who she is, you will understand why tornadoes and hurricanes are named after women.
Ade Rostina Sitompul is simply powerful. She is bold. Strong. Courageous. Very.
Her voice is tender but her words are thunderous. Rarely she talked with religious jargons but my tightest grip on the topic of spirituality was when I reflected upon her life. Millions believe that Jesus can be found at the church in those gregorian hymns or upbeat christian contemporary music. Her life showed me that yes, that’s true, people could meet Him in a building with a cross on its wall but her thoughts and experiences revealed that many times Jesus is surprisingly encountered in the slums, among the poor and the oppressed. Many believers want to preach the gospel. She went much further:She lived up to it.
For many, the spirit of my mother is immortal. She will forever inspire thousands of those whose lives are touched by her loving hands. However, though she had gone for good I often sense that her presence in my life is still real. Each and every pieces of her stays in my heart:Her thoughts, the smell of the roasted chicken she cooked for me, her weird idea, her thought-provoking remarks, her anger, her distubing comments, her lovely encouraging words. Everything.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Almost 3 years ago, she crossed the finish line.
The hallway of the high-care unit where she was tended was filled by almost one hundred people. Surrounded by her loved ones on her deathbed, her soul walked gracefully along a clear gold floor in a city which fence is made by pearl and the wall is adorned with every imaginable and unthinkable precious stones.
God is a promise-keeper. He said that the reward He would give to a faithful follower is being with Him in a place where there is neither pain nor mourning.
Thus, I know that she lives happily ever after.
But still I inhaled in sadness.
I sobbed.
And I continued weeping.
May 20, 2014.
7.17 pm
Still struggle with the unquenchable longing for her.
A poem for my mom:
http://kaituklua.blogs.sapo.tl/2560.html
Terima kasih ya buat puisinya yang sangat bagus buat ibu saya.