A Journey Through Love and Loss: Embracing My Mother’s Final Days
The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the oxygen machine and the faint rustle of my mother’s shallow breaths. Her once-vibrant eyes, which sparkled with laughter and wisdom, now rest half-open, gazing somewhere beyond the walls of our home. Cancer has carved a relentless path through her body, and now her kidneys and liver are faltering, signalling the approach of an inevitable end. We’ve chosen palliative care, a decision rooted in love, to keep her comfortable in these final days. But nothing prepares you for the heart-wrenching sight of someone you love slipping away—no food, no response, just the weight of her pain and the silence that grows heavier each day.
My mother was a force of life, a woman who filled our home with warmth, her voice a melody of stories and advice. She was the one who taught me to find joy in small moments—a shared cup of chai, the scent of her, the comfort of her hand on mine. Now, as I sit by her bedside, holding that same hand, frail and cool to the touch, I struggle to reconcile the woman she was with the fragile figure before me. The cancer, which began years ago not known by us, has spread its tendrils, sapping her strength and dimming her light. Her kidneys and liver, once resilient, are failing, and the doctors say there’s little time left. Each day, I watch her slip further into a world I cannot reach, and the pain of that distance cuts deeper than I ever imagined.
Palliative care has become our sanctuary, a way to honour her dignity and ease her suffering. Puja and I with our gentle hands and kind words, adjust her pillows, administer pain relief, and check her vitals with a tenderness that feels like an extension of our love. Yet, even this cannot shield us from the raw truth: she no longer eats, her body too weak to sustain itself. She doesn’t respond to my voice, though I talk to her endlessly, hoping some part of her hears the stories of our life together—the Diwali celebrations, the late-night chats, the times she carried me through my own storms. The silence is deafening, a reminder that the woman who was my anchor is drifting away.
In this grief, I find solace in the teachings of Nichiren Buddhism, which speak to the impermanence of life and the eternal nature of our essence. Nichiren Daishonin taught that life and death are two sides of the same coin, inseparable and intertwined. “Therefore, I should first of all learn about death, and then about other things,” he wrote (WND-2, 759). This perspective urges me to face my mother’s mortality head-on, not as a defeat but as a natural part of her journey. Nichiren’s teachings emphasize that by chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, we tap into the Mystic Law, a force that transcends life and death, allowing us to find joy even in suffering. “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is like the roar of a lion. What sickness can therefore be an obstacle?” (WND-1, 412). I chant for her, not to cling to false hope, but to envelop her in the strength of this practice, believing that her spirit is merging with the eternal Buddhahood of the universe, as Nichiren described.
These teachings remind me that her pain, though unbearable to witness, is transient. Her body may be failing, but her life force, her Buddhahood, is indestructible. Nichiren encourages us to see death not as an end but as a continuation, a state where one’s essence persists, adorned with “health, wealth, intellect, favorable circumstances, and good fortune” in future existences (WND-1). As I hold her hand, I imagine her spirit, vast and luminous, preparing to embark on a new chapter, free from the shackles of her physical form.
I also draw strength from the teachings of Shukrana Guruji, whose spiritual guidance has been a beacon in my life. Guruji’s teaching that the universe is within God, and we are the ultimate truth, a divine spark connected to the cosmos. This truth comforts me as I face my mother’s decline. It feels like a metaphor for her journey—a threshold she is approaching, leading to a realm of infinite light and peace. His teachings about Shiva, the transformative force, remind me that death is not destruction but a return to the divine source, a merging with the vast ocean of existence.
Guruji’s emphasis on gratitude—shukrana—guides me to cherish every moment we shared, even as I grieve. I am grateful for her love, her laughter, her sacrifices. I am grateful for the chance to sit by her side now, to stroke her hair and whisper words of love, even if she cannot reply. This gratitude, rooted in Guruji’s teachings, transforms my pain into a sacred act of presence, a way to honor her life as she transitions.
Watching her in palliative care, I am confronted with the Buddhist truth of suffering, one of the four noble truths. Suffering is inherent to life, yet Buddhism teaches that it can be transcended through compassion and mindfulness. I embody this compassion, and holding space for her pain without letting it consume me.
Yet, the human heart aches. The sight of her gaunt face, the stillness of her once-lively hands, the absence of her voice—these are wounds no philosophy can fully heal. I think of the Thai Buddhist patients in palliative care who, through their faith, found acceptance of death as part of Aniccata, or impermanence. Like them, I am learning to embrace this truth, to see her suffering as a fleeting moment in the vast cycle of existence. But acceptance does not erase the longing to hear her laugh one more time, to feel her arms around me.
As I navigate this loss, I am reminded of a Buddhist teaching: “To deny death and cling to life is wrong, but equally wrong is to deny life and seek death.”
My mother lived fully, loving fiercely, and now I must let her go with the same love. Nichiren’s vision of a life of value—creating something that benefits others—echoes in my heart. Her legacy lives in me, in the lessons she taught, the love she gave, and the strength she modeled. Guruji’s teachings remind me that she is returning to the divine, her soul a spark of the eternal truth, crossing that sacred door into light.
I sit by her side, chanting softly, my voice mingling with the rhythm of her breaths. The pain is raw, the loss profound, but within it lies a quiet grace. She is teaching me, even now, about love, resilience, and the courage to let go. As her body fades, her spirit shines, eternal and unbound, carrying the wisdom of Nichiren and the divine light of Guruji’s truths into the next journey. And I, left behind, will carry her love forward, forever grateful, forever changed.
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