IF I WERE TO LIVE MY LIFE AGAIN

I have watched so many beauty pageants in which contestants have been asked, “If you were to live your life again, would you be the same or would you change things?” If I were under this circumstance, what could have been my response?

I am no beauty queen. Never did I imagine myself being one.

As I began to review the past, it is then that I realized the word “regret.” I could have collected thoughts of happiness though. But if one is perturbed by snags, the heart is wounded no matter how encouraging people are. “Things of the past should be forgotten. It is time to move on.”

As I dig into the depth of my loneliness, I felt the grief of looking into my mother’s lifeless body, dressed in all white. I looked at her; never blinked, imagined that she was just sleeping soundly. But as they carry the casket, as I hear weeping from the crowd, the truth dawned on me.

I shall never see my mother again. Never.

I visited her in the hospital Saturday night. She was so insistent that she has to go home, that she’s fine. I tucked myself on her side as we recounted stories of her grandchildren. She tried concealing her sadness, but I could feel that she already had a premonition of her death. I cleaned her ears, her arms, changed her clothes, combed her hair, put powder at her back, then kissed her before I left.

I knew that I will still be seeing her the next visit. I was wrong. She died the next day.

My heart bled badly when I saw her body being carried to the crematorium. I was trying to wake myself from a nightmare, from a dream. But it was reality. A painful reality.

If only I had known that she would be gone that early, I should have given her all the happiness. She wanted to visit Singapore soon as she retires. She turned 60 six months after she died. She was denied of the material wealth. Her entire life was all for her children and grandchildren. Those were her treasures.

My mom never missed any of my graduation days, from Preparatory to Ph.D. She was the proudest of all when I received my diplomas or my awards. She was also the first to rescue me in moments of desolation. In triumphs and pains, she was my shelter.

REGRETS. Yes, if I were to live my life again, I would give the world to my mom. She should have enjoyed life. I should have laughed with her more or cried with her the most.

I envy families with their moms still alive. But more than the envy is disdain. My heart cries for mothers who shed tears on their not-so-good brood. I was not perfect either. I was also guilty of inflicting pain to the woman who carried me in her womb for nine months, loved me, took care of me. But much as I wanted to show her I’ve changed, she’s gone forever.

Why is it that we only realize the value of someone when he/she is gone? We ignore, we play deaf, we care not. Why can’t we come to our senses that life’s end is not ours to decide. Sooner or later, death will snatch them from us.

Why can’t we appreciate them while they are still alive? Why can’t we show them the same love they’re showing us while they can still feel it, see it? Do our parents really need to sacrifice for us to come to a realization that they’ve done much and yet we did so little?

I saw how helpless, how difficult it was for my siblings and my father not having “Nanay” at home. Tatay would lock himself alone in the house, in darkness; hoping that Nanay would “talk” to him.

I lost a limb. My mom was my source of strength. She was my shelter.

With mom gone, I now became their SHELTER. Thus, I need to be strong. I learned this from my mother.

Plants may wither. Years would pass. But the pain of losing someone you really love remains as painful as it is. Tears still roll. I still call my mother during those times that I was almost giving up. My heart still grieves.

If I could only live my life again….