I miss mommy…
We often could easily tell a person who just lost a loved one that it is but natural to grieve and mourn or that it really is true that it could only be at the time of death that we feel our loved one’s worth.
Now, as I tell myself that I am allowed to grieve and mourn, I can’t remember the feeling of it being easy. There really is a world of difference between empathizing with a person who lost a loved one and being in that very situation.
Just last night, while in the midst of reeling from a combination of indigestion and headache, I, once again, shed tears, the amount of which, according to my best friend, is an addition to buckets and buckets I’ve shed from the time mommy got bedridden to the time she died that are more than enough to last me a lifetime and more.
But please do tell what else could I do? My cousin Grace said it right that no amount of consoling words would ever sound positive or would ever be enough to make you feel better most especially if you know what you did and didn’t do that mostly contributed to the suffering of the person who loved you very, very much.
And now I know it would really take a while before I stop shedding tears over missing mommy…
It’s been almost two weeks and I am still trying to get used to the stillness of the mornings every time I force myself out of bed for work. Mommy’s last few weeks before our final rush to the hospital where she eventually succumbed to diabetic coma were spent with us hearing her usual cries/moans of either pain, hunger or loneliness. Now it is replaced by silence which is, every now and then, disturbed by the chirping of our restless pair of lovebirds. Oddly, how I long to hear those moans! Maybe because the time I spent with her every time she cries was never enough… No… It really wasn’t enough.
Sadly I always seemed to not have enough time for mommy. Every morning, as dad and I left mommy to the care of the househelp because we’re off for very long and extended hours of work, we never really came to realize that with each and every single hour that the househelp spent beside her was the developing image that the househelp appeared to be more and more like her kin, and dad and I lesser and lesser like her family.
Such was the scenario I couldn’t come to admit and accept that I lashed at our househelp Belen during the eve of mommy’s demise. I distinctly recall that very day. Having spent a restless night at mommy’s bedside, I told Belen, upon waking up at 6am, that I would just go home to sleep a bit and that after an hour or so, dad would arrive to replace her shift in looking after mom. I never thought that it would be the last morning that I would go home with mom alive.
As expected, I overslept. And so did dad as he had been restless the entire night due to the leg cramps he always experiences as a complication of his diabetes. I woke up at 10am to the smell of daddy’s cooking. I remember exactly us having a sumptuous breakfast without us knowing that Belen had already been sending frantic text messages for the past 30 minutes to inform us that mommy was in a state of extreme convulsion.
To make the long story short, dad and I rushed to the hospital and encountered mommy in a calm state but with Belen in what seemed like her usual frantic and exaggerated (overacting) lack of composure so much so that it drove me to the edge. Her tone sounded like she was blaming us for not coming on time as promised.
Though I understood her position that had it not been for mommy eventually calming down, we might not have seen her alive, I couldn’t help but feel that my shortcomings and inadequacy as mommy’s only daughter was being rubbed on further.
The truth really does hurt, I know, especially upon recalling the numerous times that I shunned mom’s presence, at times coming to the extent of driving her away for my own selfish reasons. This was considering the given fact that my work and other activities already took most of my time with her.
What also wasn’t enough were the times I spent with mommy on the phone when she could still speak or at the very least, when she could still walk over to where the phone was in our house to answer my impatient call. And during the time when she could not walk anymore, how I longed to persistently ask daddy to transfer the phone line to the master’s bedroom or to at least put up an extension so instead of just talking to caregiver, I could ask the latter to bring the phone’s earpiece nearest to mommy’s ear and have her hear that I was thinking of her and concerned about her even if in return, I wouldn’t get any distinguishable verbal response (during her bedridden days, I would call the house everyday to ask the caregiver if mommy had already eaten and if everything was fine at home; during these days also, mommy was already having a hard time speaking clearly). No I never pursued the idea. I never pestered daddy with that suggestion we’ve once optimistically discussed. I just didn’t. And now I feel the regret draining me.
Up until now I often tell people that I hold the principle “Regret is life’s greatest failure” so I always try, as much possible, to be a no holds-back person in everything that I say and do. Ironically, I was as well a no holds-back person when it came to not regretting that I was neglecting my mommy’s needs and pushing aside her concerns intended for me.
Now I’m so much longing to hear once again her sweet radio announcer-voice saying these things:
“Anak kumain ka na ba?” (Have you eaten?)
“Precious? Umiiyak ka?” (Precious? Are your crying?)
“Ano’ng oras ang uwi mo?” (What time will you be at home? ß being repeated 3xs before I leave the house and once on phone)
And later tonight upon reaching my bedroom at our desolate house, as I’m waiting for dad to arrive, I will be letting the tears flow again out of longing for somebody who, despite spending her last few months bedridden and almost unable to speak clearly, would still somehow painstakingly manage to express her concern if only to dry my tears and calm my frayed nerves with her unselfish and enduring love…
