Jovert
Thursday, July 18, 2024:

I was resting when Jen came home at around 1:30 pm, woke me, and played a recording of the oncologist delivering the devastating prognosis to Mama.

We returned to hospital. 

When I arrived, Mama was sitting up in bed with Tita Lisa seated to her left. I rushed into the room and hugged Mama. After composing myself, I put on a yellow gown and face mask, then stood on Mama's right side and held her hand.

Here and there, Mama and Tita Lisa spoke Tagalog and Fukien. At one point, Mama told Tita Lisa she thought she would have at least a year to live—perhaps even 2 or 3—pero hindi daw pala. At least in that moment, Mama seemed to accept her fate. She didn't appear angry, sad, or scared.

As I stood there, the snot from my nose started soaking into my face mask. I had been trying hard to hold back my tears because Jen had instructed me not to let Mama see me cry. Ultimately, I couldn't do it. 

Mama noticed my tears. She looked up at me and smiled the sweetest, kindest, warmest, and most reassuring smile. She beckoned with her hand for me to come closer and hug her, so I did.

That smile is one memory from the hospital that I hope I never forget. Even as Mama lay dying, she comforted me.

Summer of 1995:

We lived in Maple Ridge at the time. 

One day, I developed some itchy patches that looked like mosquito bites on my arms and legs. It didn't seem too bad and I thought they'd go away, so I didn't tell anyone. We even went to the mall in the afternoon.

Later, in the middle of the night, I awoke to discover my entire body covered with the itchy patches. I was terrified! I went to Mama's room and woke her. At the time, Papa was working graveyard shift, so he wasn't home. I remember Mama being alarmed, running to the medicine cabinet in the washroom of their master bedroom, and fetching a bottle of Caladryl. She applied it all over my body.

Mama then got me to sleep on her bed, comforted me, and kept watch for the rest of the night. Luckily, by morning, the itchy swollen patches subsided.

During that same summer, I woke up from a nightmare that involved people dying. Once again, I got up and went to Mama's room. And, once again, she comforted me until I fell asleep on her bed.

All of the above to say: thank you, Mama, for these and the many other times you gave me comfort. I wish I could have done more to comfort you in your final weeks.