When my mom passed away, my heart broke and a part of my soul also died with her. This was the this was the first Mother’s Day without my mom. In the past years, my sisters and I would wrack our brains to come up with a “good” present for our mom. We would come up with then reject ideas: money (she’ll just give it away), A nice purse (she has tons of them), a gift card (she has tons of stuff!). We usually end up getting her something impersonal, but felt she needed. A DVD player, Filipino movies etc. This year there was no discussion, no decision to be made. We only had one gift we could get. Flowers for her grave site.
I felt detached from everything this Mother’s Day. My sister and I didn’t even arrange to meet up. I feel that was an unconscious decision for both of us. I know on my part, I was trying to not fall into pieces. When my boys and I went to take flowers to the cemetery, it felt surreal to me. Her name has not been engraved on the headstone yet which made it feel unreal.
I still have moments when I hope that she was only on one of her church group trips. She would go with her Handmaids of the Lord group to different states. During her services, her friends shared that my mother would laugh the loudest in their group. My mom who asked repeatedly how to use “the Facebook” had posted tons of photos from those trips.
I miss her so terribly each day. Little things would remind me of what she did for us. We never had an empty sugar bowl when she was around. She knew what my favorite meals were and she made them so we can eat together. I regret that the last time she made lunch, I had gone somewhere and wasn’t able to get home on time. She called and left me a message saying she already ate coz she got hungry waiting for me.
The boys and I will miss her hot bowl of chicken mami (Filipino chicken noodle soup). That she lovingly prepares for us as a welcome home after we have gone on vacations. She would call to find out how much longer it will take for us to get home so the soup would be nice and hot when we get there.
I did not appreciate many of the things she had done for me. Caring for me after the stroke, worrying about me going up and down the stairs (she always turns on the stairwell light no matter what time of the day it was). One night, I was having a truly bad stomach ache. It was only her and Scotty home with me. I was hurting so much I was screaming. I was not getting relief from any medicines, so she turned to her time tested cure: prayer. She rubbed blessed oil on my back and tummy while saying a prayer. When she walked away to go back to her room, I called her back “mommy” and she came rushing back.
I was not a model daughter. Our relaionship was fraught with disagreements and arguements. I have hurt her feelings many, many times. I have made her cry, many times. I hope she forgives me. I hope that I made her proud.
I regret that I didn’t hug her more, I regret that I didn’t sit with her at our front porch bench when she hung out there in the mornings. I regret making her sad.