I Choose to Remember the Light
With my brothers and sister
It's hard to find the words when your heart still feels shattered, but this is for my mom, who passed away last February. I still can't believe she's gone.
My mom wasn’t just a parent. She was a warrior, a protector, and the glue that held our lives together. She raised four of us through chaos, pain, and struggle. She stood strong when my dad, who had his own demons. I saw her endure more than any person should, but she kept going. She carried all of us, even when the weight was too much.
She wasn’t perfect, but that’s what made her real. She had to be tough, because life didn’t give her much softness. And even though we weren’t the type of family to say “I love you” out loud, I know she felt it. I hope she did. Because I loved her more than words could ever really say.
When she was diagnosed with cancer last November, I thought we had more time. I believed she would finally receive care, finally be cared for, after years of caring for everyone else. But things turned fast. Complications kept piling up. I remember holding her hand in the ICU, watching her fight in silence, and wishing I could trade places just to give her peace.
The day she passed, everything went quiet. My world muted. And I haven’t been the same since.
But I don’t want my last memories of her to be in that dark hospital room. I don’t want to hold onto those final moments filled with pain and fear. Instead, I choose to remember her laugh. Her strength. The little jokes. The meals she cooked. The way she looked out for us even when she was tired. The happy moments we had growing up—the simple, beautiful times that made her my mom.
To Nanay: You were tired, but you kept fighting. You were hurting, but you never let it show. You gave us everything, and even now, you’re still giving. I love you. I miss you. And I’ll never forget the woman who gave us her all.
Pahuway na Nay. You did more than enough.
