Rubénerd!

My mum and I in 2006 at Changi Airport in Singapore

Since she moved on my blog here has been dedicated to my late beautiful, cheeky, warm, funny, brave mum Debra.

After an epic battle with cancer that lasted since my sister and I was little kids and through three international moves, Debra suddenly left us in her sleep recently. Her funeral was a beautiful service in Sydney a few weeks later with close friends and family played to the sounds of Santana's Sam Pa Ti, Bob Dylan's Forever Young, Bob Marley's Stir It Up, Sabah Habas Mustapha's Warm Rain Falls, The Beatles' Let it Be and of course Spirit in the Sky.

She was an amazing person with a ridiculous sense of humour that I can proudly claim was the primary influence for my own. We'd watch Bertie Wooster and Fawlty Towers episodes for hours on weekends (a cow creamer!). In the oncology ward where we considered the nurses and Dr Tan family she'd refer to her chemotherapy drip as champagne and loudly insist on seeing the wine menu. She introduced me to Michael Franks (now my favourite singer/songwriter) and his Search for the Perfect Shampoo. I'd dance into her bedroom singing Dean Martin's How Do Ya' Like Your Eggs in the Morning? to her at breakfast and she'd throw books. I'd poke fun at her short stature and she'd mock me for being a nerd who was too scared to ask that cute Korean girl out that she had already pre-approved. Most of the time when she didn't have enough strength to get out of bed I'd bring a pair of laptops in and I'd do my work while she lectured on why the dress the latest celebrity was wearing was awful or how corrupt the cosmetics industry is.

Officially the most epic photo of all friggen time!

Behind the tough, silly exterior though was a person in almost constant pain and anguish. Routine aspects of most of our lives were insurmountable chores for her that only got more difficult and painful as the years went on. She was a master at hiding it from the outside world, but the consequence was she'd rarely want to leave the house for the effort to put her self described "mask" on was nearly always just too much.

She confided in my sister and I shortly before she left us that we were the reason she continued to fight, because she wanted us to be old enough to have memories of her. It's only now I realise how incredible (and lump-in-the-throat inducing) that was. I'm also becoming aware now as I get older that she won't be around for so many milestones in my sister's and my lives (graduations, work, weddings, kids) but we do have memories we would not trade for anything.

One of her favourite songs of all time was Thunderclap Newman's Something in the Air, particularly the beginning of the final verse when the coda finishes and the melody seems to soar; she told me she loved it because it sounded like a bird was taking off without worries. While I selfishly wish she was back here with me, I also know she was living in excruciating pain for years and her passing finally allowed her to take off and leave the agony behind. Even if she was taken away from me far too soon, she's no longer in pain.

Unfortunately I didn't seem to inherit her class or her incredible musical, comedic, artistic or literary skills (thank you Rainer!), but given this website is one of my own primary outlets for my mind I can't think of anything more fitting than to dedicate this to Debra Schade, even if all it amounts to are sporadic thoughts about software and the universe that she'd laugh and mock me for for if she read! We had a great relationship :-).

I love you Mumster, I miss you so much it hurts. Thank you for giving me life but even more for your friendship. Forgive me for this next part.

#import Display.h;
int main( int argc, const char *argv[] ) {
    printf( "Lots of love, Ruben" );
    return 0;
}

Don't worry, this is not a post about how Our Beloved Yahoo might be being bought by the Evil Empire, I'm at the stage when even I think it's been done to death already.

It's been over a month since my beautiful, artistic, cheeky hippy mummy died in her sleep after fighting cancer for over 12 years, and the feelings are still very raw and hard to live with. What I can appreciate though is the overwhelming support from all kinds of people around the world from close friends and family I've known since I was a child to my fellow Twitterinos and Rubenerd Show listeners who I've never met in person but who make every day that much more fun and enjoyable. The faculty at my university have been extremely supportive and understanding as have my Rubenerd Labs clients. To use the technical sociological terms, all you guy rock!

My poor sister has had somewhat of a different experience. Without going into too many details, most of her polytechnic teachers have been cold and completely devoid of empathy. Some of her so called friends, to put it politely, have repeatedly backstabbed her when she's been too upset to fulfill obligations, answer calls or meet up. I can't fathom what they could possibly be feeling or how they can justify such retched treatment.

In any event, as we continue to rebuild our lives I know I speak for all the Schade Trio (catchy name is it not?) when I say thank you to all the fabulous people who have helped us, and screw all of you who have chosen to be arses. Using technical sociological terms again you see :-).

NOTE: I frantically typed up this post only a few hours after the dreadful event, so please give due consideration.

so as you can imagine it's not exactly one of my more well thought out or weblog posts.

FOR DEBRA ANNE SCHADE. MY MUMMY.

I’m spewing whatever comes to mind first, sorry if this doesn’t make much sense. I'm als typing this not writing because computers have been my life and they're my comfort zone.

This evening my beautiful mummy, a person who never hurt anyone and who was the centre of my life died. My dad walked in this evening to find her lying in bed cold and not moving. Because the chemo makes her so weak she spend most of her life lying in bed so when I saw her last lying there last I thought I should let her sleep. I missed my last chance to say goodbye.

She has chemotherapy for over 12 years in 3 different countries and she always said that all she wanted was just to be normal even if just for a week. She was a brilliant artist, painter and she couldn’t do any of it. She was either in pain or asleep. i was 8 when she got sick so I have almost no memories of her at all when she was well. None.

Where do I go from here I don’t know. I’m an atheist, I don't believe in God or Heaven and I know I’ll never see her again. What I can say though is that no matter what happens shes out of pain now and I really hope that there is a chance she can see me now. I’m only 21, she’ll never see my graduate from university, marry (yeah as if anyone would want a dork like me) and she’ll never get any of the things I promised her.

I feel awful, all I can think about is what I’m going to miss out on, I can’t think about her. I am such a self absorbed arsehole, why am I worried about me? My beautiful mum is dead and the only thing I can do is look to the future and all I’ll miss. I’m a terrible terrible person.

I can’t think what else to say. All I can think of is that she was the most warm, beautiful, funny, artistic, caring, compassionate, determined, and nice person and I feel so privelidged to have had her as a mum. She was too good for me. I’m sorry it’s very cliche but thats exactly how I feel.

I tried to go to every hospital appointment she had in oncology in Brisbane, Singapore and Kuala Lumpur and some of the best memories I have are playing Yiftico with her. She beats me every time of course.

Now all I can think about are questions, I can’t live in this house anymore where are we going to go, how will I live without her because I’m such a fucking mummys boy, who will I confide in, why am I so self absorbed and all I can think about is what is going to happen to me, my sister.

My grandparents outlived my mum. There’s something wrong with that, its a terrible thing to say but I cant reconcile this. She was only 52, there are people living beyond 100 all the time, but because of our fallibility (yeah great intelligent design) she was chosen out of everyone to be infected with this shit. It couldn't even wait till my sister and I were adults. Thats a terrible thing to say, i hate myself.

She was only telling me a few weeks ago that she wanted Spirit in the Sky played at her funeral. I imagined a time in the future when we were all old and grey and she had been cured and she had painted and played music and did all the things she said she’d do when she got better. Going back to Scotland

The chemotherapy she had to live with for all this time was getting worse and the side effects were not bordering extreme, they had surpassed it completely. She could barely lift her arms, her throat no no I’m not going to remember her like that. No more. She’s not in pain anymore.

The last conversation my dad, sister and I had as a family was downstairs where we were discussing moving the christmas tree upstairs to her room so she could celebrate. She always said that she couldn't do anything a mum could do but the one thing she could do was be a supporter and someone I could talk to for anything.

I know she can’t read this, spirits and faerie tales and heaven and so forth, but if there is the smallest chance that somehow she can see me right now I want you to know I love you and I am so thankful for all you have ever done for me. You didn’t have one brain cell left, and you weren’t a bad mummy, a bad mummy is someone who doesn’t care about her children, mistreats them or abuses them. You were always there for me, you did everything I ever wanted you to to, and whether you knew or not, you were the best possible mummy I could have ever had and I love you. I love you so much. And I know you loved me too and did everything you could for me. I just wish I was saying this too you decades from now after we had been together for longer. I love you mummy.

She was even more than a mummy though. I lost my best friend.

I appreciate all the help you guys have given me over the years. The police and doctors have arrived and I can barely see the screen through my tears so I’ll just be submitting now. My mum believed, so for her I will say God Bless You Mummy, I hope you have finally found happiness at least more than you ever had in this life. I love you.