Where It All Begins...

Again
by Yourgin O. Montejo

Sometimes, it takes a life to realize and understand how hard life itself is.

November 28, 2009... It has been 40 days since my mother, Aida, passed away. She had cancer. Poorly
Differentiated Adenocarcinoma to be exact. It was a disease I never thought would strike my mother. She passed
away last October 20 after suffering for several months. She was in pain for almost all the time. She had to take
morphine just to kill the pain away. But she knew the pain wouldn't die with a single tablet... Because the pain
has been there even before she knew it would come. She knew she was terminally ill. She knew the worst would
come. She never wanted to leave us. But we all had no choice.

Up to her final living days, her thoughts were always for me, my brother, and my father... Her family. Even
though she's in Manila with my father for the treatment, she wouldn't want us to feel as if she's miles away, even
though we know she is... She is indeed miles away. But today is a different story... Because the miles can't be
spelled out in this world. The miles are beyond life's dimensions.

Just before the week she died, she told my father to come back to Leyte to take care of my educational plan for
second semester. So my father had to leave her in the hospital, with an uncle and a cousin of mine left over
there to take care of her. It was her ultimate desire: to get us, her children, graduate in college, find a great job,
and live in harmony, without anybody trying to pull us down. With this mere thought, I broke in tears upon
knowing what she had in mind even in her most painful hours. She was indeed the person who helped me stand
up where I am. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be writing this piece, for I don't think I deserve to speak up if not
for her efforts of raising me to become a person as I am now.

Trying to recall the events that had taken place for about less than a year is as painful as losing someone you
love in just a few seconds. Right now, I can barely say the exact words to tell how it all happened. And right now,
I cannot even wonder how far I've went since losing my mother.

We were originally residents of Quezon City. Way back, my father was an air-conditioner technician working
abroad. And my mother was a plain housewife. In 2000, my father had an operation on his right hip because of
osteoarthritis, a disease my mother would worry for him. She was worried that he would collapse out of
exhaustion one day and that his hip would break up and disable him to walk again. She was afraid he might not
come home anymore because of that disease. My father had undergone a successful surgery on that disease. His
hip was surgically implanted with a metal tube. He had to retire in exchange of working abroad and earning for a
living. He was saved. But unfortunately, we didn't know that in a few years, it was my mother who would suffer
for the worse.

Most of 2001, we had no source of income. We had to depend from my mother's siblings, my uncles. They were
so generous that they never hesitated to lend us a hand and keep us alive. My mother knew it had to take short
because we won't survive out of begging for money, for food, for our life. One day of meditating, she thought
that there is a vacant space just near Papa's ancestral home in Palo. It was originally a sari-sari store operated by
Nanay and Tatay, Papa's parents. It ran out of business when Tatay died in 1999. It was the idea that would
bring life to us all. But sadly, it was the other way around for one of us. Papa and my brother had to move in first
on November of 2001. I and my mother had to follow in April of 2002 after I finished my elementary days. All
along, my mother never wanted to come to Leyte because she didn't feel secured in the presence of Papa's
siblings. But nevertheless, she had no choice. Neither did we. It was the start of her 'suicide'.

She's the kind of woman who would wake up early in the morning to go out to the market and buy all the stuffs
she and Papa would need for preparing and cooking the pancakes, which would be sold later on midday at our
Sari-sari Store. Most of the time, she would miss her breakfast in preparing the ingredients that my father would
use to cook the pancakes. But it was not her only task. She would come out to clean the garden because of our
dogs' crap. She would even help wrap the ice candies with my father, and sometimes, she'd do it alone. She
would also think of the bills all throughout the day, asking herself what to do just to pay the bills in the house.
She would think by herself. She hated to show us how she is sick of dealing with money matters. But most of the
time, I could not give her a hand for that, since I myself am an obligation she needs to fulfill. And as myself, all I
had to do is get the job done in school. And that's it. Since June 2002, she started her day-to-day combat with
stress in our store. A few bumps along the way, like Appendicitis and Myoma, were not enough to bring her
down. Two strikes. Strike three was just about to come.

It was December last year, 2008, when I started to feel worried about my mother. Every afternoon of that
month, she would always experience fever. It would only take a couple of Biogesic tablets to relieve her of those
aches. But sadly, those tablets can't kill the "demons" inside her body which would ultimately bring her hell here
on earth. And I have never imagined that it would be her last Christmas with us. After all, nobody in our family
had any idea that at that point, she was already suffering from cancer. On Christmas eve, I came along with her
to buy lechon manok for noche buena. I had no idea that next Christmas, she'll be far, far away to celebrate with
us.

January came when she started to feel some kind of tumor in her right pelvic area. She decided to consult a
doctor. The doctor told her that it could probably be a "mass", which in his definition, a muscular accumulation
on her pelvic area. So okay, we had nothing to be worried about since it could be removed through surgery.

February came. I went on a field trip. The day before, I told one of my classmates that "Tomorrow, our lives
would change." But I didn't know how big that change would be in my life... I was able to come over to Manila
because of Mama and Papa's efforts to raise money and get me going there with my classmates. I can even
remember the song "Love Of My Life" by Queen playing on the radio minutes before I leave. At that moment, I
cannot wonder how hard the song would touch my heart, for at the slightest of my senses, it would be the song
that would keep rocking my ears on the day I'd lose my mother. So okay, I had the field trip in Manila. I was able
to visit some places I've never gone to before. I've even visited some relatives there. But on the day I came back
to Leyte, it was a day that, never in my entire life, I wanted to come. It wasn't the day my mother had died. But
it was the day I found out that she has cancer, and that it is already in its advanced stage. Honestly, on that day,
I already started to imagine how my life would be if she's dead. I cried in solitude, for I can't bear to let her see
my own agony, my own fear, my own worry of losing her. At the first place, all she would tell me is to learn to
accept things that I cannot change or alter. In the end, it was the perfect advice I heeded to put myself through
all of this.

March was the start of her dying days. She was scheduled to have surgery that would remove the "mass" in her
pelvic area. It was in Eastern Visayas Regional Medical Center or EVRMC. The doctors had to "try" exploring what
they can do to treat her from the "mass". They have already figured out that it was cancerous, even before
surgery. And unfortunately, this surgery doomed my mother, for if they didn't touch the "mass", the cancer cells
would never have spread. They knew that they cannot extract the whole "mass" itself because it was already
attached to the bones. And removing it would cost my mother her right leg, or worse, her own life. So what they
did is extract a sample of the cancerous "mass" for biopsy purposes. And at that single moment, it ignited the
cancerous zombies that would kill my mother slowly for months. They told my father that it would only take my
mother six months to a year to live. I wish they were wrong... But unfortunately, they were right. How could it be
if they never 'touched' my mother? I think she would still be alive and kicking. Better, she still would have got
herself treated. She would have survived.

April came and I knew it would be a crucial point in our lives. She was scheduled to leave with my father on April
5 for Manila for her chemotherapy or radiation therapy, whichever is more appropriate for her condition. Before
that day, she was able to meet my current girlfriend, Ayen. On that day, they had a once-in-a-lifetime
conversation. It was like a getting to know each other style. But the bottom line of that meeting was when my
mother turned me over to my girlfriend... because she knew that she wouldn't be able to make it out of this
battle. I wish she was wrong. But then again, she was right. And honestly, I hated how fate is bringing me all
these things.

Two months passed before she was finally able to get chemotherapy. Mama and Papa had to cross blocks just to
find a hospital that would accommodate them. They had to fall in line so many times just to do everything they
can to let my mother survive, even though they know that in the end, there is little chance they would make it.
They had to be rejected a few times before my mother had to have her chemotherapy.

In May, after my OJT, I visited her in Manila for one week and I was still able to see her walking, but it started to
pit her in enormous pain. All the time she had to lie down in bed and massage her hips and thighs. The tumor
was getting bigger. She had to have chemotherapy soon in hopes of shrinking this tumor, treating her, and
enabling her to live on for the rest of her life with us. But I realize that it was all a shot on point-blank range. On
Wednesday of that week, I had to accompany her to Philippine General Hospital or PGH for her checkup and
followup meeting for her schedule on chemotherapy. We had to leave at 4 am, because we were residing in
Caloocan City. PGH is in Manila. We had to walk quite a long way (which almost makes my mother cry because of
the pain that strikes her leg during the walk) just to be able to ride a tricycle that would take us at the entrance
of the Dela Costa Homes Subdivision where we could ride a jeepney to SM Fairview. At SM Fairview, we would
have to ride a bus to take us to PGH. Upon reaching near PGH, we still had to ride a taxi to get into the hospital.
Since my mother cannot walk, I had to push her on a wheelchair just for us to reach the Cancer Institute, where
she'll meet with the doctors about her condition and her chemotherapy schedule. It took us half a day just to
meet her doctors, since there were more than a dozen falling in line with us, all of them hoping to be treated
from cancer as well. However, there are other requirements we had to submit and we had to return on Friday.
We left the hospital before sunset, doing all the same thing we did in the morning. We had to go through
Neopolitan Hospital to check the requirements and submit them on Friday. Upon coming home, she was in pain.
We had to return on Friday to PGH, do the same things, just for the progress of her treatment. And finally, on
June 4, she'll have her first chemotherapy session. By that time, I would be back to Leyte for my enrollment.
When I left, I hoped I could see her in a better state. She even wanted me to visit her on my semestral break on
October. She kept on encouraging me that she can do it. She can beat cancer. She had a strong will and
determination to fight. But her body was giving up.

She had three chemotherapy sessions, all to no avail. The doctors were waiting for positive responses from the
therapy, hoping to shrink the tumor in her pelvic area. Again, it's all a premeditated event, since they are also
gambling on how to treat my mother. At this point, she had to stop undergoing chemotherapy. The next option
was for her to undergo a 28-day radiation therapy, since chemotherapy cannot produce big changes in her
tumor. However, upon examining her for radiation therapy, the doctors found out that she can no longer undergo
radiation therapy, because if she did, it would have fried her internal organs, which could kill her. Out of so much
frustration, my father then decided to step into the light and questioned how good they are as doctors since they
were not able to see how far the therapy would bring... And up to this moment, we, as a family, felt that our
mother had been the sacrificial lamb for a medical practice that was just pointless... like a cute dog tied in the
middle of the streets by a brat, waiting to be ran over by a big truck.

The last option was for her to undergo a strong chemotherapy worth P25,000. My father demanded an assurance
that my mother would be treated. But the doctors themselves are gambling on this move, since they can't assure
that she can make it out of this treatment alive. So my father thought that all is lost. My mother had to stop
undergoing further treatments. We all had to depend on oral and herbal treatment. Morphine, for one, is her pain
reliever. But taking that drug makes her hallucinate. I knew back then that my father's emotions are being
crushed everytime he sees my mother in that condition.

I and my brother, we were able to visit our mother during the last week of August. My father decided for us to
come over and see her still alive. During that visit, I wasn't able to control my emotions and weep in silence upon
seeing my mother deteriorate in a matter of 4 to 5 months. The cancer was killing her slowly. She sometimes
shouts just to mend with the pain that got her bedridden. Up until now, I keep on asking myself... "God, why my
mother?" Of all the people that try to pull us down, why her? She had no other intentions in life but to raise us
well and bring us a life worth living. She had no criminal records, but why her? She never stole a cent from
anybody, but why her? She always smiled at home and never failed to make us happy for all time with the smiles
she flash, but why her? She has been sacrificing her own life just to feed us and keep us alive, waking up too
early in the morning and almost sleeping late at night just to make a living for the family, but why her?

During September, I already thought she was getting better. I had been receiving phone calls from her, telling
me she is getting better and that the tumor is quite shrinking. But deep inside, she was hiding enormous pain.
One day I'll never forget was my birthday. She and Papa called me first thing in the morning to greet me right
away. They had to let me feel like I'm never forgotten. They didn't fail on that matter and they never will. It was
a phone conversation that I always wish would happen again, for I know it was the rarest of things I would ever
have in my life. It was the first birthday I had that both my parents were away from me physically, yet because
of that phone call, I felt as if it was the birthday that I had them closest to me. And in those precious minutes did
I ever feel the warmth of having a bunch of parents who would kill just to keep us alive. And quite frankly, to me,
they are indisputably the greatest on that matter.

The last phone call I had with Mama was on October 7. I had no idea that it would be the last time I'd talk to her.
She was hospitalized several times because of loss of appetite and weakness. She had to undergo blood
transfusion and she had to receive dextrose to keep her nutrition balanced... But still, her soul is slowly fading to
nothing.

October 19... I cried. Because I was thinking that anytime during that day, she would pass away. It was the time
I felt all the tension and the nervous feeling I had. Every minute, I would feel butterflies in my stomach. I tend to
look at my cellphone at all times just to see if someone was calling me telling me what the situation is.

October 20, 2:10 AM. It was the moment she passed away. I was never beside her when it happened. My father
was here with us in Leyte. The only person beside her was my cousin. Papa told us that Mama was already gone.
And at that point, all I ever felt was numbness. I don't have any idea why I got numb. But for sure, it was a
feeling that I had never thought I would have. I expected myself to weep upon losing her. But I realized that on
that day, no tears would fall down my cheeks. Maybe because my mother wouldn't want us to cry for her. Just as
she told me in our last meeting, I had to accept things. Maybe it was easy. Maybe it was hard. But I can never
tell, for I was not in the position to say that it's all for the best. I know that my mother never wanted to leave us,
for we were her joy and purpose in life. But God had His own plans for her. And it didn't need us to be with her
on the next chapter of her life on the other side.

Mama was buried on November 6. She had to be on a wake for quite a while because we had to wait for her
brothers to come over and bring her to her final resting place. She was the only girl in their family. And when
they came over, they wept, worse than I did. They were responsible in making sure that my mother would still
survive. They tried everything to keep her alive. In the end, all they could feel is miss everything in her: her
voice, her smile, her face, her touch, the way she talks, everything. Just as they miss her, I miss her too. If there
was one person who deserve to grieve the most for losing her, it has to be me. On that day, I never wept. She
would not want me to, I thought. I felt brave. But deep inside, I was trembling in fear of facing the future
without a mother to lean on. At least, I still have a father. But it's all not going back to the way it used to be.

She was my best friend! I grew up with her. My father was out abroad to work so I felt more comfortable by her
side upon my childhood. She would always tell me what was bothering her. She would always remind me to eat
veggies. She would always listen to me when I have my own problems. She would always step up to protect us
from anyone who would try to offend us. She was my hero. She was the one who would always put food on our
plates. She was the first person who taught me how to pray during my sleepless nights (and I would sleep!). She
would always praise me for every achievement I would have in my life. She would always give me money for my
allowance daily. She would wash our clothes and even if she's feeling tired, she would always enjoy washing the
clothes. When I'm stubborn, she would raise her voice to nag at me (and honestly, I miss those times!). But then
her love for us has never run dry, up until her last breath. When I got into an accident, she tried everything for
me to survive and be able to walk again. She helped me during my elementary days in making my assignments
till I can do it all on my own. On my graduation day, she was with me on the aisle in marching down to get my
diploma later on. She was with me during my college application days. When I failed in Math 11, she encouraged
me not to feel hopeless, that there's always a chance for every failure in life. She gave me hope when I felt that I
would not pass a subject in college. And most of all, she gave me life to experience how beautiful living on this
place could be. And now, on any graduation day to come, I will have no mother with me anymore to accompany
me as I walk down the aisle and get me going for my diploma. No more Mama to call upon for help and comfort,
and no more Mama to tell us to wake up, to eat, to sleep early, to go home early, to take care of ourselves while
away, to save money, to be honest, to study hard. Most of all, we already have no Mama who would tell us how
proud she is of what we have done with our lives, and how much she loves us.

It is so apparent that I am closer to my mother rather than my father. But I don't disregard him as part of the
family. For if not for his efforts, I wouldn't be able to reach this point of my life. He worked hard abroad to
finance my elementary education, costing us both the time to spend with each other in my childhood. When I
was in high school, he would be responsible in managing our Sari-sari Store, along with my mother. He would
make and wrap ice candies for sale in our store. He would cook pancakes, turon, and other delicacies just to sell
and make money for the family. He is the chef of the household and his food is, without a shadow of a doubt, the
most delicious, not to mention the fact that my mother is also an all-around cook. During my mother's treatment,
he never left her side. Even if they had differences in their relationship as husband and wife, he had the chance
to prove that despite their differences, he would always be there to make us feel that he loves us and as her
husband and our father, he would always be willing to put everything on the line, even his life, just to save us
from danger. And because of that, I salute him for enduring the pain that me and my brother were supposed to
feel should have we been beside Mama in her agonizing days. Papa absorbed all the shock, all the pain, all the
scourging, and all the disappointment just to try save Mama from sure death. Even though Mama died, I have no
right and I never will blame my father for her death primarily because if not for his efforts, my mother wouldn't
even reach October. The truth is, he's braver than anybody of us in the family, even my mother. Why? Mama was
suffering in her bed all the time, but Papa was the one suffering inside and out, everywhere, worrying about my
mother's condition. And up until the end, he never tried to back down from the fight. He was my mother's tag
team partner in life. Above everything, I appreciate my father's efforts, everything, in their battle for Mama's life.
He even extended his obligations to us. Even if he was there beside Mama, he never failed to fulfill his duties for
us. As a father, he was and had always been there for us. He is the disciplinarian of the family. Even in his
imperfections, he is humble towards us. He has flaws as a person but he never lost his love and concern for the
family. If only I was given the chance to spend most of my childhood with him, he would have been my best
friend. And I would have understood him more than any other person. But along with the current events in the
family, I got to know the side of him I never met before: the silent warrior. And as one, he was the best among
those I know of.

At this point in time, I still wish I could have come back with my mother to Manila, in our house, to live on our
own again, just like the old times and just as much badly as she wanted. But now, it's never going to happen
again. And her death created a significant impact in the family, which forever shifted our lives. For better or for
worse, we do not know. Someday, I'd be back to live in our house in Manila, but my mother will no longer be
with me.

Now, we have to move on. On this day, I hope my mother is already at peace wherever her soul is. We all have
to start all over again, after a period of mourning for her loss. We had to change a few things we were used to,
like seeing Mama around doing her chores, seeing her prepare the food for the table, and her laugh while
watching the television shows. The rose in the family has withered, but not the legacy she has bestowed in the
milestones of our history. We will surely miss her.

In the end, I start to realize that God has closed Mama's book, her life. But God wouldn't just hang us over and
do nothing to help us live again. He has all taught us a lesson in life, and that is, to appreciate life itself and make
the most out of it while there is time. And honestly, it's the lesson that I would carry at my back to help me move
on and face the world that my mother wanted me to live on. It's never a farewell. It's just a matter of waiting a
long time to see her again and feel her lively presence. It's a matter of remembering. It's a matter of staying
strong and happy. Above all, it's a matter of putting aside the past and moving on forward to the future, which is
the only path we have for ourselves. Even without her, we know we would be alright for she is up there watching
over us.

A day after my mother's 40th day of passing, Papa came into my room and handed me a scapular. He told me
that it was Mama's will to be given it to me, and another for my brother. I did not hesitate to wear it, for it was
the only thing I would inherit from my fallen mother. It would serve as my protector as life goes on without her.
Papa surely always wanted what is best for us. So even if Mama is no longer with us, he had to make sure that
we would feel her concern, her protection, and her love, for all time... Forever.

For the first time in months, I now breathe a sigh of relief.

~YM~