I watched my mother die.

Her quality of life deteriorated...day by day.

From losing her desire to read and do any of her hobbies,

to the swelling of her feet and legs,

to her inability to stand nor walk on her own,

to feeling itchiness all over her body,

to losing her appetite,

to refusing her meds,

to shouting in pain,

to sleeping all day,

to gasping for air,

until her last breath.

Witnessing her suffer and agonize in pain was unbearable. My heart was shattered into pieces every single day.

I thought people grieve after someone dies, but I experienced it even before she was gone.

I didn’t ever know my prayers will be a plea to end her agony, and death was the only way.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross said, “To be in anticipatory grief is to be in those times when our loved one is not getting better and not dying yet, but in a state of poor health.”

It was exactly where I was.

I thought I was already prepared—that weeping buckets every night would spare me from grief after she dies.

I was wrong.

My heart ripped up into tiny pieces, when it sank deeper that she was gone for good and never coming back.

I had heartbreaks from the past, but nothing compares to this.

It was like being stabbed in the chest over and over again, and not having the energy to fight back nor do something to save oneself.

“Mama”, said my baby as she was looking for my mother. Hearing it is totally depressing.

It’s way too challenging to work with your grief if you’re taking care of a baby. You’ll want to maintain a happy and nurturing environment for your child, so you postpone your grieving until her nap time in the afternoon or sleeping time at night.

Noone told me that laziness will be a part of grieving, and that it will never be an option if you’re a mom of a toddler.

No one ever informed me that being an orphan hurts, regardless of your age or the nature of your connection with your parents.

I’m now motherless.

I'm now without a main supporter.

I'm now without a significant ally.

Noone could ever fill these roles.

I originally believed that my mother had nine lives, just like a cat. She had already endured numerous episodes of acute illness, but she always pulled through.

Not this time, though.

She didn’t make it.

The sight of her clothes, perfume, watch, and other belongings suddenly gave me indescribable sadness.

Christmas songs and Christmas lights instantly made me shed a tear. Are holidays gonna be this different when a beloved dies?

With no mother to actively worry about you and constantly pray for you, the world feels even terrifying than it does right now.

Surprisingly, the world around me offers me no solace.

As my family and I grieve, alternate tears and laughter fill our days. We try to cheer each other up, yet cry together when we suddenly long for mama.

I don’t know how long this is gonna be.

All I know is that grief is an expression of love.

I think the more intense our grief is, the more intense our love is.

I love you, mama.

I’m happy you had the kind of death that you dreamed of — surrounded by your loved ones at home. I’m happy you’re now free! You’re probably running now and finally walking again as long as you want. You’re no longer confined in a bed, in a room, and in a body that made you suffer.

I love you, mama.

Thank you for loving us until the very end. You were suffering, but you had hidden pockets of strength that you used to wait for all of us, especially for Ate Ellis. Your body had fallen apart, but your love for us just went on and on.

I love you, mama.

I miss your voice, your smell, your hugs and kisses, your encouragement, your faults, your imperfections.

I love you, mama.

Always and forever.