Just Like Her

TW: death, animal abuse, grief, mental health conditions

Just Like Her

As I frantically paced the stairs up to her room, my heart skipped a few beats, my face blacked with terror. My mom had been in the hospital for the last couple of weeks, fighting for her life. I reluctantly took a peek through the small glass door window, and I saw her lying in her bed, motionless. My heart throbbed. My father was at her bedside, his face pale with distress, his eyes lifeless. I started shaking as I pushed the door open and took a few hesitant steps inside.

“Get up mom! wake up! Don't you dare leave me alone! You would never leave your little girl, would you?” No reply. “Mama, please don't go! I threw myself over her cold body, gently kissed her forehead as my tears flooded and my cries filled the room. I held her hands. They were too cold and blue. Those are the hands that once held and rocked me as a baby and my children after me. Those are the same hands that warmly touched, nurtured, and soothed. Time stopped.

How did this happen in such a short time? Last year, she was thrilled about her trip to the United States. She was finally going to meet her granddaughter, my niece, for the first time and spend some time with her and my brother who had not visited for a while. She had been through a lot, my mom. They say that too much stress can alter one's DNA and eventually cause the onset of some incurable diseases. Is that how cancer got her? The ordeal began when she came back from the States. She started feeling sharp pain in her shoulder blade. “That must be caused by travel strain,” We all speculated. Later, as the pain grew more and more excruciating, we started to worry. We hence conducted several tests and scans and got the worst news ever: “Multiple Myeloma,” The report stated; “possibly metastatic.” It added. From then on, her fight against this malignant disease became our family’s main concern, and the short journey was full of agony and tears, tears that have never dried.

She had always been a fighter, my mom. She was our hero, the light of our home, the social butterfly that spread joy and affection. What happens to me now, her only girl? How do I live without her smile and her wisdom? The night before her passing, she looked me in the eye and said: “ I love those precious eyes of yours.” Those flashbacks and images crawled into my head and invaded my whole being back at the hospital. What do I tell my children? How does one explain death to eleven and twelve-year-olds? I am thirty- eight, and I do not have any answers. How do I justify the fact that God, the all merciful, has allowed her suffering and parting?

I started having panic attacks soon after her passing,and those lasted for quite a while. A simple song would trigger a million emotions, and could drown me in a sea of grief and self-blame. Was there anything I could do to prevent my mom’s death? As those feelings spiraled, I developed an autoimmune disease, just like many who experience acute emotional distress and endure chronic stress. I had embarked on an emotional rollercoaster that left me in a state of depression and stagnancy for a long time.

I knew that my mom would want me to be happy. I just could not help it. I could not help myself.

She used to reprimand me for my overthinking and say, “Try to enjoy your moments. Live now before it is too late.” Ironically, she passed away young and full of hope. Could it be that she felt the end was close even before her diagnosis?

“It is easier said than done,” I would then retort.

A few months after her passing , I adopted a dog; a lively, intelligent white female Labrador, Ivy. My dog is fun, playful, impulsive, like a baby really. I never dared to confess what I did to Ivy back then. This would be the first time I do, with all regret.

A short while after Ivy came in, I was drowning in rage, so I unleashed all my fury at her. I started beating her with a belt. I would regularly beat her and cry. It was as if I enjoyed making her suffer, for why would I be the only one who endures suffering? I was, in reality, beating myself, for I felt I should have done more to help my mom and prevent her fate. It was as if I was punishing myself through Ivy. Ivy, on the other hand, displayed only love for me. She still wanted to cuddle, and she unwaveringly stayed kind and loyal. When I cried after hurting her, she would roam around me, rub her belly against my leg, and wag her tail. It was as if she was saying: “It is okay. I forgive you.” And that would shatter what was left of my heart and self-esteem further. I had become a monster, and I loathed myself for it. I was out of control. I barely recognized myself, and I had lost my sense of purpose. I am not sure how long that state lasted. All I know is that one day, I woke up, and I was just… calmer. The chaos inside had started to wane.What have I become? What am I to do? I was alone without my mom, but it was time to take action. Change was inevitable.

She had a unique character, my mom. She was able to find peace amidst her struggles, and that resilience has always inspired me. She was always that beacon of light that would ignite hope and dissipate anxiety. She instilled solid values in us and passed on her virtues, even to my children. When I awoke from my self-destructive trance, I realized that I was not really a monster. I was just in pain.The shame and guilt I had felt slowly faded, and I accepted the fact that my mom was physically not here anymore, but that she will never leave me as I live through her. Death had crushed me, but it also humbled me and restored my vision. It was now time to practice self-care and compassion. I decided that I wanted to live, not just survive.I started writing about mama, and as I became more prolific, I cherished her presence in my heart, and engraved my childhood memories in the lines I crafted.

As the days go by,I feel the sprouts of hope blossom in my heart, and I feel joy although grounded in a pain that would never fade. But now, I have capitulated, and my desire for control has slowly faded. I was tamed by death. Where once resistance and anger prevailed, tolerance and acceptance have taken over. The guilt about the suffering I inflicted upon my dog still lingers in the back of my mind, but it is not as loud anymore. I am finally convinced that I would have never been able to control what happened to mom. It was beyond me. That is why, with the passing years, I have decided not to entertain my demons anymore and only live in the now. I no longer fight battles that drain me and consume my energy and time. I have finally become a honed version of myself, carrying my mother’s legacy within me. I am not shaped by the pain of her absence anymore, for her lingering presence brightens my life and fulfills my very existence. I am free now, glowing, just like her.