Mother Forgot Everything — Amitabha Buddha Remembered Her
True Account
Mother Forgot Everything — Amitabha Buddha Remembered Her
Namo Amitabha Buddha. My surname is Mak, and I am a teacher from Malaysia. I would like to share with you the story of my mother's rebirth in the Pure Land. Mother passed away on the evening of 5 February 2023—the night of the Lantern Festival—at the age of seventy-eight.
Mother grew up in poverty and toiled for her family all her life. She had no affinity with Buddhism, and no habit of reciting the Buddha's name. She lived with dementia for about fifteen years, progressing gradually from mild to severe. Fortunately my husband is a medical specialist, and under his care throughout those years her condition remained relatively stable; she was still able to manage most of her daily needs. But the loss of memory and cognition could not be avoided—in her final years, she no longer recognized people, and could no longer speak clearly.
I was fortunate to have come into contact with the Dharma from a young age; but it was only when Mother fell ill that I had the affinity to hear Master Jingben's talks on reciting the Buddha's name online, and so came to know Pure Land Buddhism. I thought to myself: perhaps this phrase, "Namo Amitabha Buddha," could help Mother.
I once suggested playing a recitation player at home, so that Mother could hear the Buddha's name often. But Mother was living with my elder brother and sister, who felt slightly uneasy about it, so it was not played. Still, I did not give up. In the final months of Mother's life, my daughter and I took turns leading her in reciting the Buddha's name: we would recite once, and Mother would follow with one recitation—"Namo Amitabha Buddha." At the same time, my second elder sister, who lives in Singapore, and I recited the Buddha's name without interruption, dedicating the merit to Mother.
Throughout those months when Mother was seriously ill, I prayed earnestly and constantly to the Buddha and Bodhisattvas: if her time had not yet come, may she recover; but if her lifespan in this world was at its end, then I prayed that Amitabha Buddha would receive her into the Western Pure Land, freeing her from the suffering of birth and death in this cycle of rebirth.
On 15 January 2023, two weeks before Mother passed away, I had a dream. In the dream, a voice told me very clearly: "Your mother has two weeks left before she leaves. You should prepare yourself." The moment the words ended, I woke up. In my heart I understood that this was a compassionate message from the Buddha and Bodhisattvas. I did not mention it to my elder brother and sister; I only said to my husband, in passing, that Mother might be leaving before long.
And indeed, two weeks later, on 5 February 2023—the day of the Lantern Festival—Mother truly passed away. My brother and sisters are all very filial; together with me, they gathered around Mother and recited the Buddha's name for her without pause. About five hours later, we looked at Mother's face again—the marks of illness had gradually given way to a look of peace, the corners of her mouth slightly lifted, wearing a smile.
After Mother's cremation, I recited "Namo Amitabha Buddha" several thousand times a day and read the Pure Land sutras, keeping this up for a hundred days. At other times I would also play recordings of Amitabha's name at home, along with talks explaining the Land of Bliss. Mother's memorial tablet was placed at my brother's house, where he likewise kept the Buddha's name playing twenty-four hours a day.
On the second day after Mother's cremation, the only potted plant in our house suddenly burst into bloom—not gradually, but covered in flowers overnight. I took a photograph on my phone at once, and the family members present were all delighted, and astonished as well. I thought to myself: perhaps Amitabha Buddha really had come to receive Mother—"when the lotus opens, one sees the Buddha," as the Pure Land teachings describe the moment of rebirth. But to be honest, I still felt a little uneasy in my heart, and hoped that Mother might show more auspicious signs, so as to confirm that she had "safely" arrived in the Western Pure Land.
The room where Mother used to sleep was left just as it was. While she was alive, we had hired a caregiver to look after her, and so a CCTV camera had been installed in the room. On the night of the seventh day, we all kept watch before the CCTV screen. At around midnight, a light appeared on the screen, drifting in from the western side of the room—a very strong light. Yet at that time the room was completely dark, with all the lights turned off.
The day after the seventh day, I went back to school as usual. During the break, I was alone in the counselling room when a close colleague passed by and came in to offer her condolences. We had hardly spoken a few words when she suddenly began to weep, and then said to me: "Ms Mak, your mother is here. She is right in front of you—a ball of light in many colours. She wants me to pass on a message to you: tell you and your brother and sisters not to grieve—the children have all done very well." My colleague said the light was gentle and joyful. I must add this: my colleague had never had such an experience before, and is certainly not a spirit medium; she herself did not know why she was seeing these things.
On the night of the fourteenth day after Mother's passing, she finally came to me in a dream. In the dream I asked her anxiously, "Ma, aren't you afraid that karmic creditors might come and trouble you?" Mother smiled and answered me lightly, "Not at all, not at all—I have two ‘bodyguards' beside me!" I think the "bodyguards" Mother spoke of must have been Avalokitesvara (Guanyin) Bodhisattva and Mahasthamaprapta (Dashizhi) Bodhisattva. In the plainest words, she was telling me: someone is watching over her, and she is not afraid at all.
My brother and sisters also began to have experiences of their own. One day, as my brother was heading home from work and had just sat down in his car, he immediately smelt wave after wave of an unusual fragrance—the scent of some kind of flower, very strong, lasting several minutes before it faded away. A few days later, something even more inconceivable happened: at my home in Malaysia and at my second sister's home in Singapore, on the very same day and less than an hour apart, we both woke in the early morning to a most unusual fragrance drifting through the room. It was certainly not perfume, nor any ordinary air freshener—it was a scent neither of us had ever encountered, one we could not name; we could only say that it was exquisite, and utterly pure.
On the third day after the twenty-first day, Mother came into my dream once more. This time, she had come to bid me farewell. In the dream she was in a vast, boundless space, like the images of the universe that we see. Mother was no longer old in appearance; she had taken on a form of great majesty and great youth: the robes she wore and the ornaments on her head were unlike any garments of this world, and she was adorned with strings of jewels and precious ornaments beyond the power of brush or word to describe—like the magnificent robes of royalty in ancient courts, yet far more splendid than those.
What moved me most was this: Mother stood upon a lotus, upon a lotus dais, with a Bodhisattva standing on either side of her and many Bodhisattvas behind. She was smiling, waving to me, her palms joined together. That joy is beyond words. Then, together with the Bodhisattvas, she departed towards the West.
Some months later, on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, when we make offerings to our ancestors, I offered incense to Mother, hoping in my heart that once she had returned there, she would remember to send me word that she was well. Two weeks later, I did indeed dream of Mother again. This time her form had become very tall and large, while I appeared very small. She came towards me and said with a smile, "Girl, I am going back there now." Before I could respond, Mother stepped onto a very, very large lotus flower and rose into the air, soaring away.
Looking back, Mother had lived with dementia for many years, and by the end her awareness had grown dim; for her to recite the Buddha's name on her own was all but impossible. And yet, such a mother as this—simply by listening as we led her, recitation after recitation—was embraced by the compassion of Amitabha Buddha. So much that is inconceivable; so much that moves the heart. The only thing I can say is this: the great and compassionate Amitabha Buddha forsakes no one—if only we recite his name, Amitabha will receive us, carry us beyond birth and death, and bring us together to the Land of Bliss.
I have set down this account of what moved me so deeply and presented it to the Pure Land Dharma center, and I have also related it in person to Master Jingben. I hope that through this affinity, I may share with everyone the compassion of Amitabha Buddha and the excellence of reciting his name.
Thank you all for reading this sharing.
Namo Amitabha Buddha
With palms joined, Ms Mak
A Note from Master Jingben
Ms Mak's mother lived with dementia for many years. She could not recognize people, could not speak clearly, and at the end could hardly recite the Buddha's name on her own. If we go by the other paths of practice, which depend on one's own effort, what hope would there be for such a being? Yet her children led her, recitation after recitation—and that one recitation of "Namo Amitabha Buddha" spoken after them was heard by Amitabha, who embraced her and never forsook her. Rebirth in the Land of Bliss has never depended on whether our minds are clear, or whether our practice is unbroken; it asks only whether this Name has been spoken. The mother who had dementia forgot everything, yet Amitabha Buddha did not forget her—indeed, ten kalpas ago, her rebirth was already held within Amitabha's vow.
The various auspicious signs in this account are wonderful to hear; but let us understand that our peace of mind rests upon Amitabha Buddha's vow: "If they are not reborn, I shall not attain perfect enlightenment." Auspicious signs are the lingering grace of the Buddha's compassion—those who see them rejoice, those who hear of them grow in faith, and all of this we gladly praise. Yet even with no signs at all, the rebirth of one who recites the Buddha's name is as certain as the sun rising in the east. Consider the mother's words in the dream, that she had two "bodyguards" beside her—the sutras tell us that Avalokitesvara and Mahasthamaprapta, the two great Bodhisattvas, constantly accompany and protect those who recite the Buddha's name; they are our "excellent friends." Whether we know it or not, whether we see it or not, the two great ones are always at our side. In the plainest of words, the mother spoke the truest of things.
To the lotus friends who read this sharing, and who have elderly loved ones living with dementia at home: do not lose heart. You recite one line, and lead them in one line; if they cannot recite, then recite for them to hear. This Name, entering the ear, becomes an affinity—and Amitabha, our compassionate father, will never fail them. Namo Amitabha Buddha.
This article was finalized in August 2026.
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