Reset. Restart. Reverse. Anything that would bring her back to me. I hope I won’t sound greedy asking for even just a minute more with her.
I can vividly remember her last photo when she wasn’t sick yet. We were on our way to Aklan, travelling inside the cheap but almost comfortable RORO. Holding a red bag, she was seated on a striped couch. There she had her prettiest smile in her bright yellow long sleeves. Picture perfect!
Nanay liked yellow. A lot like a cheerful ray of sunshine, yellow could always remind us of happiness, hope, and light. But when I see yellow, I am always reminded of her. She adored yellow bells and sunflowers. Our curtains have a tinge of yellow. Pancit miki or canton was always present on our dining table on special occasions. Pineapple juice what was she would always prepare and prefer to drink on merienda. Her dresses were mostly with shades of yellow. Obviously, yellow could have been her favorite. But I never knew. Yellow just reminds me of her.
Things changed and I never saw her wear yellow again. It was the day back in 2010 when she was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer Stage IV. Undergoing monthly chemotherapy, she still tried to wear her best. She didn’t want to look so fragile despite her sickness. And it became even more heartbreaking to see her fight. She would ask for red, green, orange, blue, and purple “bestida” but not yellow. It was sort of her collection but her favored color was not included. Simply mystifying. Looking back, the only yellow thing standing still as her favorite was pancit.
It was a bit funny and odd, if I may add. Funny because she forgot everything about yellow in a snap. Odd because how could one forget a favorite so easily. Maybe she got tired of what she used to like. Could it be for a change? It still remains a mystery to me. After all, we all go through changes and phases and it’s hard to explain why we can easily let go of things we used to love. Whatever happened to “yellow.”
Sad as it will always be, she left me seven years ago. The gloomiest day and I will never forget… I could hear her words but her mouth never moved. The words she could no longer utter suffocated me as I held back my tears. Her silence was the loudest noise I ever heard. Then, she left. Just like that. I know she’s in a better place and here I am struggling to write about her.
Those fancy cars, travels abroad, the house adorned with yellow bells in the front yard—the dreams we built together are yet to be fulfilled. Unfortunately, this time I’m on my own. Thinking of the dreams that once excite me makes me sadder now knowing I will no longer share them with my dearest Nanay.
She could have been celebrating her birthday today. Our family could have enjoyed her balloons and cakes as her birthday coincides with their wedding anniversary. She could have been belting her “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” on the videoke. She used to sing me that with matching head sway and smiles even when she was lying on the hospital bed. It’s ironic how the song would tell me that life goes on yet I’m glued on that day she left, wondering how life would go on without her.
I believe it was never her intention to leave. Nothing about her remaining days was certain. True. But the only thing I could count on was that for that time being, she was still there with me, still living. Regardless of the doctors’ explanations that time would come, I still could not understand why the pain seems to have multiplied the moment she left. Worse, I am yet to feel the full impact of whatever was left of me… the memories, the pain, the longing. I feel like there’s a knife stabbed through my chest, the pain remains no matter how I struggle to remove it. Maybe I don’t want the pain to go away. But I’m sure I was left hanging. Hoping everything will be fine like how the yellow sunshine promises hope after a rainy day.
My mother could have stopped liking yellow but she never gave up hoping. In my heart, I know she was also afraid of the word that never fails to haunt me; she never wanted to leave us behind. The proof remains unfazed in my inbox folder of the phone she used to own. April 16, 2011, two days before she left, I received a text message from her: “Yn p rn totoy hnap tau n iba opnyn gsto k mbhay.” (It’s the same, son. Let’s seek for other opinion. I want to live.)
She was freed from physical pain and I wondered if she was happy at that moment. I do not know and it breaks my heart thinking she promised she would still fight. She still wanted to live. I find comfort knowing she’s in the hands of our Creator; there is eternal happiness for her.
Sure, one would say my mother remains in my heart and memories. She is with me. Always. But what if they betray me? What if my heart numbs and my memories falter? I don’t want to forget. And every night, just like tonight, in perfect solitude and quiet, I dig all the memories and my heart would weep happy tears.
(By Rey Araja)
