Remembering Mother

It’s been two years since my mom passed on, yet a part of me still feels she’s just back home in the Philippines. But that feeling doesn’t last very long because I am conscious that I just can’t make a call and hear her voice again.

Life is so different without a mother, even for an adult daughter in her 40s.

I have so many fond memories of my mother as she was a funny woman who laughed loudly and was talented at story-telling. She could never tell a story sitting down — she gestured; her facial expressions changed as quickly as Chinese opera players changed masks, and her voice made it difficult not to imagine whoever she was portraying.

My mother was a very interesting character; I hope one day I can really write a story about her. She would love that. Since I started writing poetry in high school she had asked me to write about her, but I only started to write about her as she lay dying, two years ago.

One of the things I truly regret in my life was not being able to give a good eulogy for her. My mother loved drama, and she would’ve liked something dramatic at her funeral (and I say this with fondness for memories of her ), but unfortunately I failed.

Last week I bought flowers (photos above) to put next to her picture which I keep in my apartment. It was her death anniversary, and wherever she is, just in case she has a way of knowing, I wanted her to know I still think about her and wish she was just a phone call away.

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Home is where …

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I’m home,

But somehow it doesn’t feel the same

I have time alone now, something I have always wanted

But somehow it doesn’t feel as comforting as it used to be. 

Your bedroom door’s open, 

And I turn to look at it

And I see your wheelchair in one corner,

It’s gathering dust. 

The curtains and the bed sheets were changed this weekend 

Like you were still going to lie on your bed 

But this room has not been occupied for months. 

It’s  a strange feeling — knowing you’re never coming back 

But like you’re on a vacation somewhere far. 

Maybe you are. 

I hope you’re happy there. 

 

Mother’s Day without Mom

momsday

They say the dead don’t see nor hear
But I don’t know for sure
I just wish you could…

See that I need you
To hug me like you did
When I needed a hug
Just because…

Hear me wish for you
To come and comfort me
As life gets a little too much
And I feel …tired.

I still keep wishing
You were just a phone call away
That I could still tell you
What’s making me sad,

And you’d reassure me
That everything’s going to be all right
And that you pray for me
Every single night.

When I was a child,
I couldn’t wait to grow up
But now that I have
I sometimes wish

I could run into your arms again
And close my eyes
As I bury my face into your neck
And smell your scent of talcum powder,

As you theatrically sing and sway
Making the sadness go away,
Turning it into giggles
And then rambunctious laughter.

Mother, how I wish
I could just be
Your little child again.

Like you used to

missing miming 1

For my Miming

Today I read something that made me laugh
And I thought of you, and for a second,
I thought of picking up the phone
To tell you the story,
And hear you laugh
Like you used to.

But then I remembered
That I had already said my goodbyes
That I won’t ever hear your voice again
Nor ever see your eyes disappear
As you laugh at my silliness,
Like you used to.

You’re no longer here.
That’s something
I have to get used to.