It's all in the mind.

One of my closest friends in college lost her mom last Sunday.  Her sweet life ended at around 10 a.m. due to stroke, one of those silent killers we can never really predict. My friend sent me a message about an hour before, telling me her mom’s in the emergency room. I asked if  she was stable and she said “no, critical.” An hour has passed and I didn’t hear from her. Until she told me: “She’s gone.”

I got dizzy after reading it. It felt like a weird, funky energy entered my system and I didn’t know how to get rid of it. I probably sent her some meaningless message as a response. Afterwards, I grabbed the most decent clothes I could find and went straight to the hospital.

I found her at a small critical care room, crying in the corner, with some of her relatives hovering over her. She was holding her mom’s hand. Her mom was wrapped in a white blanket, with only her face showing. Tita looked peaceful, far from the grating sorrow resounding in the hearts of those who mourn her sudden passing.

Then my friend turned to me. I’ve never seen her look so defeated. She looked at me and I saw the eyes of an innocent child, welled up with grief for having lost her mother, her anchor, her everything. It’s true what Emerson said, people will always be children in the face of death.

In the midst of agony, my friend told me that she just lost her sole reason to work hard, her reason to live. Tell me, how do you respond to something like that?

I tried to muster enough strength to hold back tears. I failed. I hugged her and didn’t say anything else. Nothing will suffice anyway.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Tita and how she had been protective of my friend until the very end. My encounters with her over the years had actually been brief but wonderful. I remember when she graciously welcomed me in their new home last year and how she tried to make me feel comfortable. She reminded me of my own mom, who can be very strict at times but you know that she has the best intentions. But what I remember about her the most was how she trusted me when it comes to my friendship with her daughter. I will always treasure that.

I think about my friend and how she’ll be able to move forward from this. People who have lost their loved ones never really do. Not completely, anyway. They say death in the family is life-changing. Such is the biggest irony. 

I can’t help but think of our own mortality. How death really sneaks in like a thief in the night and catches you completely off-guard, vulnerable and devoid of any iota of rationality to really make sense of it. Even in the most ordinary days, it’s gonna happen, with no hints or premonitions.

It’s a sad, scary thought. A frightening reality.

“I realized that the world did not exist for my benefit. It followed that the ratio of pleasant and unpleasant things around me would not change. It wasn’t up to me.” – Banana Yoshimoto, Kitchen

In death comes the biggest lessons. We have every chance to show the people in our lives how much we love them. Never waste an opportunity to show them that while they’re still here with us. How often do we take them for granted because we thought we had better things to do? In the end, they are all that matters.

There’s a kind of grief that never really ends. It will take another lifetime  to get over a loss as big as this. But there’s also strength that comes from acceptance and moving on. My friend will get there eventually. For now, I share with her grief. It’s not gonna be easy when things go to back to normal. Because everything will never really be normal again. But with us, she can try. She’ll never be alone. That’s a promise.

Note:  This friend of mine is also my one true loyal reader ever since I started blogging, even during those years when I felt like I was talking to a wall. I’m sure she’ll stumble upon this soon. This is for you. I love you.