I love you's. Kisses on the cheek. Hugs.
I did all of those, once in my life, to my mom. She has been gone for 10 years now. Thinking back, I remember how those hugs made my day. It may not have been often, but each hug sent wamth and love and joy. I was a mommy's girl, sticking to her like a shadow doing house chores and all. She was the best home cook, and by that I say, yes, Masterchef material. My love for food and cooking stemmed from seeing her prepare meals and tasting her dishes. I would always help her out in the kitchen, slicing this, stirring that. The very first dish I made all by myself, with minimal supervision, was sinigang back in fourth grade. She was really proud of me, especially when those who tasted it showered me with compliments. (I wish I had stuck to my passion for cooking. It's been non-existent for a while now, but I know it's just hidden somewhere in me, waiting for fresh wood and fire.)
She had always been altruistic, always thinking about others' well-being before herself. It might have been her best trait, among other really great ones, but it also became her biggest enemy. She never had the time for herself, didn't give much attention when she felt pain. The biggest regret I'll ever have was making her feel worthless during one momentous day in both of our lives. I won't go into detail since I'm still in denial until now. All I can say is that I became the most selfish daughter in the world that day, and I hated myself for that. She didn't deserve it. She most certainly did not. She got really upset. There were tears, lots of it. We weren't in speaking terms for days. It was awkward and sad, and I felt so, so bad. She then forgave me, but I know she never really got over it. I won't too, ever.
Weeks after my grade school graduation, she got sick. She spent days at the hospital. I never spent the night there, but I visited daily. One night, I promised to cook and bring her mushroom soup on my next visit. She insisted me not to bother, but I said I would do it anyway. When I got home, I constructed a text message telling my aunt to tell my mom that I love her. I had second thoughts and never sent it. Another one of my regrets. I was awoken the next day by my father, who had literally gone mad, banging our doors like crazy. He kept shouting that my mom was about to die. I thought, "What the hell?" I knew he said that just so we'll get our butts off our beds and start preparing for the day. The 'dying' part just passed by my ear. I instantly went to the kitchen to make her soup, as promised. My dad and youngest brother went to fetch my lola, so I was left to commute to the hospital alone. I was in high spirits because I wanted my mom to taste the soup already. When I opened the door to her room, I almost fainted. Doctors and nurses flocked by her bedside. Then, I saw her. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, lifeless. She was restless and whimpering. I did not know what was happening. I guessed the doctors were trying to calm her, or take her pain away, or make her go still. I was clueless. My aunt shoved me and my sister away from the room and told us to go to the chapel and pray. There we went, and sat and prayed.
I remember talking to Him in earnest. I was calm as a sleeping baby. I did not ask Him to make my mom feel better. I did not ask Him to let her live longer. What I did ask from Him was to take my mom's pain away. And if it was His plan to do so by taking her from us completely, so be it. I asked for strength and courage, not only for myself, but for my whole family. It was mature of me to act that way, but it was driven by faith. My sister and I went down after emotionally preparing for whatever will happen next. The first thing I saw was my brother, outside the room, sitting on the floor, head on his knees, weeping. And then, I knew. My mom went.
I'm not really the emotional type and I rarely ever cry, but everyone should agree that my mom's passing was an exception for that. But I did not shed a tear. It didn't mean I did not love her or didn't care. I did, with all my heart. It seems that my angels were present during the entire time of mourning. I knew that it was her time and I trusted God on that. Crying won't bring her back. I believed He took her from us for a reason. To make us stronger, to help us stand on our own and be independent. It took time but we were able to cope. Although I know in my heart that things would have been way better if mom was still with us. She was the angel of the family, the peacemaker, everyone's confidante. Sometimes I wonder how I'd've taken the journey to my 'twenties'-hood if she were beside me during the ride. I'm proud of what I've accomplished so far, all thanks to her guidance and my titas (her sisters) who acted as my adoptive parents. I had no regrets since that painful one from 10 years ago. I learned from my mistake (and am continuously learning from the ones I still make) and continue to live believing that when one door closes, another opens. A door that leads to a garden of new opportunities and better possibilities.
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