If my mother's still here with us, she would've been 53 years young (heh) today. But she isn't, and she'll remain 40 forever. People always said she was still so young. For the eight-year-old me, 40 was a bit old. But looking at my younger siblings, and how young they (actually, all of us) were, perhaps they're right. Of course they are.
Thirteen years, oh my. I can still recall the day I last saw her breathing: she was sleeping peacefully, albeit a bit noisily. There wouldn't be anything wrong with it, except that she wouldn't wake up. Long story short, she was brought to the hospital and after a few days, my father talked to us, one at a time. Looking back now, I wonder what he told the younger ones. What could he possibly say to a three- and one-year-old?
I always think about how our lives would've been different if she were still here. I
know it would be different. For starters, I would probably still be living in our house. (I now live in my grandma's house, as with my older sister.)
She would quite possibly cry when she learns about my winning first place in a quiz bee, or when I graduated high school with honors, or when I got accepted in the country's top university, as she had when I won first place in a spelling bee waaaaaay back. Which is a bit embarrassing actually, especially because she was there, watching.
What would she say when she learns I withdrew from the university? Would she say the same words my father told me? I probably won't even have the chance to entertain the thought of withdrawing. What would she say about my transferring to a college I didn't even like, taking up a course I couldn't care less about? Would she roll her eyes? Scold me? And what would she do, when she learns I didn't graduate on time? And how about when I did graduate, finally?
All these questions, and a whole lot more remains and will always be unanswered.
I feel weird sometimes how when I feel bad about my life and myself, I think about how she can make things different from the way they are. You know, that mothers fix things and makes things better for their children. It's childish and selfish thinking, but totally normal, if you'd ask me. And when good things happen, I would also think of what she would have to say about it.
Thank God for pictures, I can always be reminded of how she looked like. I can't remember much about her, though. How she moves, how she talks, how her touch feels, her habits and mannerisms, if any. Most especially, her voice. That's the saddest part of losing someone, I guess--forgetting.
This is pretty much a messy post, forgive me. I'm just throwing thought after thought without any care about cohesion and all that. I'll just end this with something I wrote for and about her, and mothers in general. B, here it is yet again hahaha--
Do not forget the face of your mother, for she was the one who bore you, all nine months of your pre-natal development.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for she is the one who first held you, with the love you will never get from anyone else, not even a lover.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for each time you get yourself hurt, wounded, and weakened, her pain is ten times more than yours.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for whatever you do or become, rest assured that she will love you no matter what other people say.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for she trusts and believes in you more than anyone else, yourself included.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for when the world turns its back on you, not only will she remain by your side, she will move mountains just so you can experience the world again.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for every time your heart breaks, deep inside she dies.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for even if you give up on yourself, never will she think of giving up on you.
Do not forget the face of your mother, for she will never, ever forget you.
I love you Mama. I will always miss you and think about you. Happy birthday! :)
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