I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes, and realized that in a few days it will be Mother’s Day. My mom would have been 92.
I lost her when she was 79. And to this day I still long for her. I still cry when she crosses my mind. It isn’t that I have not let go. I have. I find immense comfort knowing that my mom now rests in the serenity and bliss of the Afterlife.
But one soul’s longing for another is something else; it is a loss that is truly difficult to recover from. I am sharing with you excerpts from an article I wrote 13 years ago, for whatever wisdom you may find in it…
Coming Full Circle
When Mom insisted on coming home with me from Cebu, she was totally emaciated, barely able to walk or function. Obviously, she could no longer live alone.
I immediately put her back on mega-vitamins, antioxidants and trace minerals, and swore to nourish her back to health.
A couple of weeks later, I discovered, as I washed her clothes, spots on her underwear. This she probably didn’t notice due to her failing sight. Mom was 79 years old. I brought her to Makati Medical Center for a pap smear test. She also had intermittent fever, suffered from severe weight loss, and complete resistance breakdown. Her blood pressure kept going down, too.
Her doctor had her immediately confined for more tests. Then the horrifying result: cancer of the cervix. My whole world collapsed. Where did this come from?
Polarities
My relationship with my mom was not as ideal as we both might have wanted. She was Scorpio (the sign of crisis, transformation, death and rebirth) with Rising Leo, Moon in Taurus and Venus in Virgo.
I am Taurus with Rising Aquarius, Moon in Pisces, and Jupiter in Scorpio. The fixed and mutable polarities and squares in our Sun signs are very trying aspects, extremely difficult to resolve.
My mother was smothering, overprotective and overbearing—traits that my Aquarius Rising vehemently rebelled against, and my Taurean need for self-reliance and my Piscean Moon’s craving for privacy didn’t relish. I was too much of a free spirit for a Scorpio mother to contain…
I studied and mastered astrology not because I wanted to be an astrologer, but because I wanted to probe the Scorpio’s psyche—if only to understand Mom.
For some families, caring for a sick parent immediately translates to the costs rather than the quality. Instead of looking at it as a chance to give something valuable back to a parent at a most crucial time, the sanctity of familial bonds is swept aside.
Unfortunately, the same was true with some members of my family.
Realizing this, my mom chose to stay with me. I literally lived in her room every day as I watched her shrink to skin and bones…
Every chance I got, I “basked” in the familiar and comforting sensations that I felt growing up, before rebellion claimed me, her eldest daughter.
“Ma, I love you, I love you Ma,” I would tell her over and over again. She’d look at me with melancholic gray eyes and whisper, “I know you do.”
Mom’s gift
I realized early enough that it was her gift to me that she was dying one piece at a time and not all at once, because it helped ease me into the process of acceptance and grief while she was still around. Knowing the end was near allowed me to work out any remaining rage we had festering between us.
I got some bonus time to make peace with my regal, formidable and difficult mother who actually was my primary link to my destiny. And I was astonished by the journey that brought my mother and me to that place…
Each time I gave Mom a warm sponge bath, memories would filter through my mind, of my sickly childhood when she’d cradle me in her arms, humming lullabies to give me rest and sleep in lieu of hers—for nights on end. Tears would well up as I realized that I was feeling the same pain and anxiety she must have felt every time any one of us got sick many, many years ago…
The blessing was that I was actually spending time with her again. We talked a lot—more than we had ever talked in the past. I rediscovered my mother…
I saw my mother again as this woman who did her best to raise us, who went through a lot of sacrifices to do this, mostly unrecognized by her children. I saw the grandmother who held my children at their birth, stuffed a P100 bill in my hand when times were tough, and comforted me through my personal crises.
One particular Monday, she started moaning in pain. I was furious, raging mad at cancer. I wanted her to fight it, even forcing her to sit up. In agony she muttered, “Never mind, I’ll be gone in two days…” She knew but I refused to accept it. I was in denial. No, please, dear God, no.
Pain continued to ravage her body the next day, Tuesday. I could no longer tell if I was furious at cancer, or at myself for feeling so helpless, or at her for not fighting enough.
Seeing how exhausted I was that night, she insisted that I go up to rest. She asked Ching, a family friend, to sleep with her instead. As I turned her on her side, I whispered, “I love you, Ma.” She replied, “I love you, too.”
On Wednesday, the wall clock in her room stopped, the seconds hand stalled at three. I replaced the battery; it wouldn’t start. I broke the seal of another battery and replaced the first. It still wouldn’t run. My heart was pounding.
I remembered having a spare clock exactly like that one on her wall. I pulled it out of my drawer and was shocked to find the seconds hand also pointed at three. Frightening coincidence!
With hands shaking, I immediately placed the first new battery. Again, it didn’t work. My tears were gushing. The next battery didn’t help either. By then I was beside myself. I took yet another clock to her room. Time, I was determined, must run; it can’t stop. It must not stop.
At this moment, a wall painting that depicted galloping wild horses fell, and no matter how I tried to hang it back, it kept falling.
Reviewing her past
The whole of Wednesday was a struggle between the two of us. She refused to eat because it made her throw up. I forced her to get her medicines into her body.
That night as I laid her down, she said, “Yakapin mo ako, Baby.” (“Hold me in your arms, Baby.”) And as I did, she said, “Huwag ka nang magalit sa akin… ayoko na ng gamot” (“Please don’t get mad at me… I don’t want to take those medicines anymore”).
I cried as I replied, “Ma, I’m not mad at you—I’m just angry at your sickness.” I couldn’t say cancer; I had kept this from her. “I just want you to get well. How can I get mad at you, Ma? I love you so much, you know that now.”
Friday, she couldn’t talk or move anymore, except that every now and then she’d raise her left hand as if she was reaching out for something or someone. I was broken. No doctor would want to visit. No hospital would take her in. I had a priest come in for her last rites…
Oh God, what do you want me to do now? Please, please, don’t make her suffer. Make it easy, dear Lord. Please, I beg you. She has suffered enough. Enough, Lord, please, enough.
Then I heard Him distinctly say in a flash, “Peace, my child, let her go…”
In a trembling voice I started whispering to my mother’s ear: “Mama, please understand that while it hurts me so much I have to let you go. You need to rest, Ma. You’ve been so tired too long and it’s time you rest from all these. I want so much for you to be happy, Ma. Please do not wait for your two sons anymore. It does not matter. One day, we shall all be together again. You know that.
“Don’t worry about us. We will be fine. We will manage. I want to thank you so much for all the love you have showered us, for all the care you have unselfishly given, all your sacrifices for our well-being, and for your understanding especially during those moments we could not understand you…”
I continued whispering in her right ear, “Don’t let my pain get in the way of your happiness. You know what, Ma? There’s this incredibly beautiful, huge, bright, glorious white Light. Look for it, Ma, look for it. Look for that beautiful white Light… and gaze at it. You will prepare to step into that Light, Ma. And you will allow that glorious Light to embrace you. Within, you will instantly feel love, incredible peace and joy. No more pain, Ma, no more pain.”
Lifted burden
After saying these, my mother suddenly felt so lightweight, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her chest. According to my sister, Mom then closed her eyes. As she peacefully took her last breath, I nudged her, “Go, Ma… walk into the Light. Good-bye, and know that I love you so much.”
My mother was reborn into the Eternal Life, on the day and hour of our Lord: Friday, at 3 p.m., as Father Time had preset. That night, as I sat crying in my room, I realized what full circle actually meant…
I have walked quite a number of dying clients into the Light, but I believe this was the best I have done, and I thank God it was for my mother.
I have honored the woman who gave me life and brought me to where I am now—and I am grateful for that opportunity. I am proud to be my mother’s daughter in this lifetime. When I was borne by her into this world, my soul wisely made a tough but an exemplary choice for my growth.
I know Mom is free and happier where she is—a place with no pain or grief. And if only for that, I must let go of my sadness.
I urge you all: Please don’t ever miss the chance to ditch old baggage and restore the love you once knew and deeply felt. Learning to love our mothers must come before we learn to know and love ourselves.