A Mother ’til the end

MANILA, Philippines — The journey to motherhood is almost always a beautiful thing, like visions of blossoming flowers as one awaits the arrival of her little one. But such wasn’t entirely the case for me. Mine was stressful, painful and traumatic. I was unhappy, for the most part. 

Truth. Sad truth.

While life was growing inside of me, I was losing two people I loved so dearly, the two people in my life who I thought would always be there for me, to join me in this journey. I lost my grandmother the month I learned about my pregnancy. And on my last trimester, I was slowly losing my mother after she was diagnosed with cancer. It was tough, to say the least. I couldn’t make sense of things — the timing, the purpose, everything. I didn’t want to lose my mom. I knew I would need her more than ever as I was about to become a mother myself.

My mom and I shared a deep connection. It wasn’t entirely the mushy/sweet type. Our relationship was nourishing and healing. It was almost like finding a place to rest your head after an anxiety attack. She was my comfort, our universe. And I was her strength, her “guardian angel,” she would always tell me. It was a special bond. But I never thought this connection would see its end at a time when my life was supposed to enjoy new beginnings.

On the day of my delivery, my mom and I were both in the hospital, only different hospitals, admitted for different reasons. I gave birth. She was trying to stay alive. She did, but only for a couple of months, post-cancer diagnosis.  

It was a difficult time — from labor to postpartum. I felt deprived of the pure, sweet emotions a new mom could ever share with her newborn (and husband). Instead, I had mixed emotions. I was ecstatic to finally meet our daughter, but I was also heartbroken for my mother (and dad). I knew how much they wanted to be with me, to see our baby, and to just be happy for the family. But fate had other plans — and God knows how much I wanted to change every detail of it. If only.

It was hard to accept the fact that your mother is dying — nothing could ever prepare you for that. It was torture seeing the light of your light flickering, losing her spark because cancer was just too brutal. It doesn’t only attack the healthy cells of one’s body, but by the time it advances, it, too, starts killing every ounce of optimism that keeps one alive. It was hard to see our mother — ever so full of life — suffer. The pain that goes with the disease and its treatments were just too much for her and for us. It manifested physically and emotionally, even affecting her faith at one point. We prayed for healing, for a miracle. It never came.

We exhausted all efforts, resources, and got the best doctors to save her — the very person who had sacrificed her life for us — but we were on the losing end. The cancer that hit her was so aggressive that it never gave us a fair fight. Still, the family fought the fight with her — never leaving her side, taking turns in the hospital, attending to her needs, making sure everything would be all right. But we could only do so much to make her feel better, to keep her alive. We just couldn’t wrap our heads around that fact — that we couldn’t save her. Reality sucks. And it felt like a joke at some point. 

And all these were unfolding as I was nursing a newborn. I felt hopeless and helpless. I wanted to give both my mom and baby my 100-percent love, care and attention.I wanted to be there for the both of them, to take care of them — at the same time, full time. But it just wasn’t fully feasible, as my baby was still heavily dependent on me. She needed me more than my mom needed me. But I wanted to be more for my mother, because I knew that I could lose her anytime, or even sooner. And for a person who’s used to dropping everything for her mom, this gave me varying levels of guilt and depression.  

But selfless as always, my mom would tell me to prioritize my baby over her; that it was okay. I was not entirely okay with it, to be honest. But I had to be okay. I had to remain strong for my baby; besides, all these were incomparable to what my mom was going through. She didn’t give up. She was determined to win her fight against cancer. She fought not for herself, but for us — her family, her children. 

Until she lost the battle. Unfair and unimaginable. But, as they say, “bad things happen to good people.”

I miss my mom. We miss her. She was the best mother one could ever have. She was a giver, a kind soul. She was the type of person who values her family and friends more than anything else. She was selfless. She was full of love and life.

And I only have her memories to cherish now. I only have her ways as a mother to replicate — to be patient, brave, forgiving and loving at all times. And I should remain grateful for all that, including the fact that at least my mom was still able to witness my daughter’s life until she was four months old. I was still lucky that God gave me that opportunity, to see my mom happy as she looked forward to spending moments with her new apo. She took as many pictures as she could to document the little milestones of her grandchild, even carrying her one time, even when we discouraged her because she just had an operation. She seized every moment as though knowing that her time was fleeting.

And I will love my daughter the same way our mother loved us —unconditionally, until the very end. I am the mother I am now because of the mother I had; even on her deathbed, her life still revolved around us. Her last words to our father: To take care of us, their children.That until her last breath, she never stopped being our mom.