Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

How are you? Today's the day we call "Mother's Day". Remember our last Mother's Day together? I honestly can't, sorry. It has been a long time since you've been gone, I've forgotten quite a lot of things about you, about us. But I sure can remember a lot of other things. 

I remember the small details, like how you walk. How you laugh with your eyes squinted, mouth wide open, not even caring to cover it with your hand. I remember your hair, how you curled it, how you looked at yourself in the mirror before going out. I remember how you powdered your nose first, then your whole face (btw, I copy that now). I remember the feel of your skin when we hug, the smell of your favorite "night gown". 

I can also remember your last month here on earth, how we spent your last remaining days together. Remember the time when our electricity was cut off? You were sweating then, it was hot. I fanned you for 1 hour till you fell asleep. 

Remember the night whens your legs were so swollen? Your feet were hurting, your back was sore from sitting down all day because you can't walk already. They said you had "water" all over your legs, that's why they were swollen. So the doctors advised us to massage your legs daily. After massaging, we wrap your legs tightly with bandages. It's to prevent further swelling, they said. We bought a cool massaging oil, and took turns massaging you. I had my fair share of that. 

I remember the time I stayed home for you. I was massaging you then, and we were talking about I-can't-remember-what. When you requested me to stay home on a Friday, and not go to school. I didn't hesitate. I stayed  home. We spent the whole Friday together. And the whole weekend. Little did I know, it was our last. It was a great weekend, though. We cooked up a cool homemade vegetarian pizza, and your favorite sinigang sa miso soup. We had fun.

On Sunday night, you had a heart attack, and we rushed you to the hospital. I've never seen Dad drive that fast. Horn honking, panicked eyes, heart racing, and all that. Just like in a movie, I should say. But you? You were calm, calm as you could be. You even told Dad to slow down a bit. (Haha) 

We reached the hospital, I was the only one among my sisters who was there with you. Dad asked them to stay home, maybe because there was school the next day. You were placed in the ER. You can't breathe properly, so you were asking the doctors to put you to sleep. They didn't at first. They placed something in your nostrils, but you took it off, saying it doesn't work. You still can't breathe. 

They put you to sleep then. Placed a tube in your mouth down to your lungs, a "Respirator" they called it, it's to help you breathe. I see you sleeping, with that tube in your mouth, your chest moving up and down, and a breathing sound from the machine. I get out of that room, and cry. 

A nurse calls for me, saying you were looking for me. I stand by your side, and you look at me with teary eyes. You reach for the tube in your mouth, attempting to pull it out. I hold your hand and tell you, Don't, it's to help you breathe. You do this twice, and I take your hand away twice as well. Then you just closed your eyes, tears fell. I figured it must have hurt.

I held your hand then, and I felt your hand hold mine even tighter. I leaned towards you, and whispered, "It's going to be okay, Ma, it's going to be okay." I told you things like, after this, we will all go home and be together. That after you get a dialysis, you were going to get better. That after you feel better, we'll all go home, because I knew how much you hated the hospital. 

I tried holding all my tears back, and tried to settle my shaky voice. But I think you knew how hard that was for me. Telling you these things, when everything inside your body was clearly falling apart.

At that night, while you lay there, holding my hand, I realized how much I was afraid of losing you. How I wasn't ready to let you go. How I prayed that everything would be back to how it was before. That we could somehow play badminton together again, run and swim wherever we please. Go to church, pray and read the Bible together. I imagined life without you, and realized I couldn't stop myself from crying. So I leave you for a while, and cry outside. 

I somehow believed you were going to get better, and we'd get to go home soon. But the next morning, God took you home, to HIS home. I stood beside your hospital bed that morning, with Dad and my sisters. You looked alive, and just lying there, sleeping. The most peaceful sleep you've had since you got sick, I should say. I even imagined that you'd suddenly wake up, and tell us you were just kidding.

Anyway, you probably know all this already. This letter is somehow for me, to help ME remember YOU. There are times I fear I'll forget you, that I'll have nothing to tell my kids someday about their grandmother. Writing to you, and thinking about you, helps me remember you, and US, how we were before. 

I'm not proud of who I became after you left us. There were times before that I even blamed my mistakes on your absence. That I wouldn't have done what I've done if you were there with me. But I know better now.

I really did miss you a lot today. I was even envious of the other kids who had someone to greet "Happy Mother's Day!" to. But you know what? The Lord works in amazing ways. He provided a couple of moms in church for us to treat as our own. 

The Lord has also made me realize through the story of Ruth, that I could someday have a mother-in-law whom I could love and take care of as my own mom. (So please give me a nice Naomi as a mother-in-law, Lord. :p )

I'll be with you someday, Ma. But before that day comes, I will walk with our Lord in this earth, and press on towards our goal which is our Lord Jesus Christ. And may I never go astray again from the path He has laid out before me.

Happy Mother's Day, Ma!

******

P.S. 

This painting's for you. Remember how you said you wanted me to paint your face? And I'd always decline, with the statement, "Wait till I'm good enough, Ma, I'm not that good yet to paint you." Guess what? I'm still not. I practiced sketching you a couple of times, tho, but anyway, here you are. 

I'm sure we held hands like this before. Someday, I'd get to hold someone like this as well. That's something I look forward to very, very much. But of course, that won't be till later. 

MUCH, MUCH later.