It was the day of my interview for the admission of the Special Science Class curriculum in high school. It was summer, and soon would be the beginning of another challenging journey of school life. As I was heading to the principal’s door, I was really shaking, my hands were cold, the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t stop and there was a deafening silence around me and I could only hear my heart beat. My sister wished me luck. Most of the questions being asked that day were now forgotten, but one, “describe your mother”. The only answer that came out of my mouth was, “She’s small and kind”, and nothing else. How silly I was not to say anything more! If I could write them all, my pen’s ink wouldn’t be enough.
I had a little brother who died at the age of three because of his cardiovascular disease. When he was still alive, my mother always loved him. There was no time that she would leave him. She always told us that he was the kindest child, the most thoughtful, or the best term for it, the perfect one. We all understood her, because every member in our family, even I, was dysfunctional. My mother and little brother had a little world of their own. They focused themselves on each other. My brother was more dependent and attached to my mother and he was her life. Sometimes, I wondered if she even loved us because after my brother’s death, she was always furious and she talked too much when it comes to household chores. I couldn’t blame her because we were lazy and often made up some excuses to avoid those chores. She never stopped dealing with our clothes and dishes, dust and floor, everything. She even said that she was only our house maid, and didn’t feel that she was our mother. Of course, we hated to hear that.
Despite of our negative traits, we were trying our best to help her out in our messed up little home. But I thought she wasn’t satisfied and we were wondering what she wanted. One day she told us that she was already tired and couldn’t take it anymore. She even said stupid things like she wanted to go with Bruce, our dead little brother. She always cried, and thought that no one was helping her and cared for her except Bruce. Her uncontrolled temper led to high blood pressure and she was having maintenance. There were nights when she vomited and felt nauseous. Most of the time, she complained her head ached because of her migraine. But father was always there and he wouldn’t leave her alone.
December 2006. One year and nine months after my brother’s death. Christmas was just around the corner, and we were all excited about the presents that we were going to have for this awaited day. We started shopping with mother, and everyone was happy and contented. But these feelings were all replaced by grief, loss, and melancholy.
December 14, 2006. One a.m. She collapsed in their bedroom and everyone at the apartment (my relatives) was awakened by the thump on the wooden floor. They rushed her to the hospital. My father, together with my uncles and aunts, who carried her out, were all filled with terror. Everyone who was left at the apartment was all silent in disbelief. I wore a blank face because I didn’t witness the scene. I was the last one who woke up and everything was only been told. When I heard about it, this time I was really hoping that my mother could overcome this. And pray was the only best thing to do. Without any news yet, my grandmother ordered us to go back to sleep, assuring us that everything’s gonna be fine.
I was really happy to visit her in the morning. She was in a ward and my father and eldest brother were there. Her eyes were closed. I wondered if she was okay. I didn’t dare to ask either of them because I was afraid I might hear another heartbreaking, gloomy word. I waited for her to wake up, but she didn’t. She was just kicking and stretching her arms like an uncomfortable big baby. I got home for a while to bring a pair of pajamas for her. I found myself sobbing so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath, hoping that my mother could make it. I was sitting at the bench with my arms wrapped around my aunt’s waist. She was convincing me that she was going to be alright and modern medicine could heal her. With the words of my aunt and a little hope, I went back to the hospital. That afternoon, the doctors explained that she had a stroke and her hemorrhage was caused by an erupted vein in her brain, and they transferred her in Intensive Care Unit. This time, I knew that something was wrong.
Then, the most terrifying thing happened. Nurses told us that she couldn’t make it. And as I entered the room, my mother was still, and the respirator was the only thing that helped her breathe. Her brain shut down. We believed that she could hear what we were saying to her. We were all crying and we gave her so many kisses for the last time. Nurses took off her tubes. No signs of life. We couldn’t accept the fact of this sudden loss.
Months after we lost our mother, I always cried to sleep. I couldn’t help thinking about her. I was in full regret for not telling her “I love you so much, Ma”, when she was still alive. I was a junior when that happened. Losing one was already a tragic but loosing another after we just coped up with the first one was really devastating. We didn’t know how to live the coming days without a mother. We tried our best to become strong. I really hated being pitied by others who knew about it. I was envious seeing other girls walking with their moms holding hands, shopping and laughing together, while we had the company of my dad to buy our feminine stuffs.
I was really happy to have our father with his full support and love no matter what predicaments we face in our way. I was really amazed by the way he handles everything. He really did everything he could. I wonder how will be our life now if both of them are here. Maybe there is a non- stop laughing during dinners. Maybe the noises always begin in our home. Maybe we are always the last one to turn off the lights every night. Maybe we are the happiest family in the world. I want to shout out that my mother was the best, the super mom in the world. And I am really proud of her, and was lucky to be her daughter.
Consider their ages my brother will turn ten in September and mother will be fifty one. It’s already five years and we are able to accept the loss. When I remember those happy times with them, I couldn’t stop my tears. Maybe the pain of my father and siblings was already gone but my heart is still mending. I’m sure both of them are very happy now that they are in peace. And I know that they are guarding us every single day.
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