Like A Thief In The Night
Grief struck me one fateful summer day of April, the day when my mom died suddenly... unexpectedly. Her death sentence: Acute Coronary Syndrome.
I was having lunch at my office in Makati when my brother called to tell me Mom's in the ER. She had difficulty breathing earlier in the morning, but he assured me, she's already stable. An hour later, my brother called again, this time in panicky tone, and told that Mom's now being revived. Then the line was cut. And throughout the next 30 minutes, I tried calling him fervently to demand for a clearer answer. But he didn't answer. My mind and heart were both racing with unspeakable thoughts and qualms. It never dawned on me that it's that bad. I thought it was just a regular check up. After what seemed an eternity, my aunt called, rather nonchalantly hinting that the battle was lost, and told me to come home in Batangas as my Mom's already gone. For that brief moment, I thought I lost my capacity to breathe.
I packed whatever I could pull out of my closet and immediately went home. It was the longest, most agonizing journey. When I first saw her, lying lifeless in the morgue, I never had such a glaring desire to force myself into waking up my subconscious in hopes to break free from one tier of my dream to the next... as if I'm in the Inception. It's as surreal as it gets. I never experienced such bewilderment, anxiety, self-reproach and depression all squeezed in just a day. Nothing prepared me for this. My life, as I expect it or dream of it, will never be the same.
This post was the hardest to write. For more than a month now, every time I attempt to finish it, I always end up sobbing, reminiscing the days when my mom was here and alive. But I know I need to do this. I need to let it all out. Regrets come along when you lose the chance to make it right the first time… when there is still time. Pain which roots from regret is probably the most unbearable. I regret not spending more time with Mom. I regret not fully owning up to the person she taught me to be - considerate, generous, selfless. I regret not taking chances to risk it all to afford better life for her. I regret not seeking her counsel at times when I could use her maternal wisdom because I’m too scared she may not be able to handle it. What was I thinking? How could I be so foolish to assume she’s not strong enough to take it. I robbed her of her right to become the mother she ought to be. If only I could turn back time. If only I could ask God for one more day to be with her, to tell her how I really feel. To tell her how happy I am to have a mom like her – so accepting and selfless. To tell her I’m sorry for everything. To hug her. To kiss her. To comfort her.
I thought, as time passes by, it will be easier to deal with it. But it isn't. I’m not sure when and how will I ever let go. There’s always a thin line between being better because that’s how she would have wanted it and being worse so I could be with her soon.
Everything didn’t make sense. I was lost in translation. I tried to reason with and against Death. How can it be so cruel? I asked... why? Why didn't she get the same chance of getting through it alive, as did the rest of my relatives who had been in the same ordeal? Why didn't I even get a chance to talk to her and hear her final words. Words that I could have kept lingering in my thoughts to keep her presence alive.
Death gave me a new perspective about life. It does not wait for you until you get your act together to make up for your shortcomings with your loved ones. It is not n'sync with your own sense of time. It showed me the greater scheme of things. Death reminded me that all I really got is NOW.