CHAPTER 81

2026-08-05

These past six weeks of being with Lun have given us extra time together. Though physically exhausting, they have also been a matter of providence and a blessing - something I treasure deeply.

Lun has now been in and around the hospital for nearly six weeks. Although his progress has been limited, there has been one positive outcome: the psychiatric team at the hospital has come to understand both Lun himself and the tremendous challenges faced by everyone caring for him - the hospital staff, the group home staff, and myself. Until they see clear signs of improvement, they will not discharge him prematurely.

They are still trying to fine-tune every aspect of his treatment: the choice of medications, how they work together, the dosages, the timing of adjustments, and when each medication should be administered. At the same time, his kidney stones remain unresolved, and new blisters have developed on the soles of both feet. These medical issues have not yet been ruled out as contributing factors. Coupled with Lun's inability to communicate verbally, diagnosing the underlying causes has inevitably become more difficult and time-consuming.

From Monday to Friday, the attending psychiatrist sees Lun every morning and therefore has a clear understanding of his condition. Yesterday, following the advice of an experienced friend, I mentioned the possibility of consulting a specialist. The doctor told me that he had been thinking along the same lines, and I sincerely hope such a consultation can be arranged.

During the twenty years that Lun has lived in his group home, we used to bring him home almost every weekend for an overnight stay. During longer holidays, our family of four often travelled to scenic destinations throughout British Columbia. After my liver transplant, however, my physical strength declined, and our family outings gradually became less frequent. Following the COVID-19 pandemic, they came to a complete stop.

After my wife's sudden passing, I had to admit that I no longer had either the confidence or the physical ability to take Lun out on my own, especially after experiencing both a traumatic brain injury and acute depression. My greatest fear is that he might suddenly run into traffic. I am no longer confident that I could stop him in time—or even catch up with him. If I were to fall and injure myself, I would not only fail to protect Lun but would also become a burden to my younger son.

Now that my younger son is an adult, I have decided not to burden him, but to let him pursue his own life.

These past six weeks together have given us precious extra time with one another. Although they have been tiring, they have also been a gift of fate and a blessing that I deeply cherish. During this time, I have reflected on the hardships and joys of the past, with no shortage of moments of helplessness. I have also observed Lun's changes and growth, which have often been fascinating. At the same time, I have reflected on my own responses and the lessons I have learned. Altogether, they have filled my heart with a mixture of emotions.

Of course, I long for Lun to recover soon and no longer suffer. Yet when I look back on nearly forty years of his life, I have come to accept that the disabilities he was born with are profound. There is no point in rushing or causing myself unnecessary distress. Ultimately, the quality of his life depends on those who care for him and on the resources available to support him.

We brought Lun into this world, raised him, and have witnessed how society cares for citizens with physical and developmental disabilities. We ourselves have become beneficiaries of that support and are deeply grateful for it. Canada has protected and cared for me, my family, and future generations. The only way I know to give back is through careful observation, deeper understanding, and sharing what I have learned, contributing in whatever small way I can.