Grief Never Truly Goes Away

Hey, friends.

It's been almost a year since I last posted anything on my blog, and even though I tried so hard to write, nothing was truly ever inspired enough. I figured I'd rather not post anything than put something up half-assed. Hence the very, very long hiatus.

I wish I could write about a happy event for my "back to blogging" post, but when I thought about what I truly feel at this point in time, I realized I'm still grieving the loss of my mom. 

Yeah. It's been a while but the hurt is still as fresh as ever. I don't think you ever truly heal from losing a parent. You only try to have enough courage every day to face the reality that they're never coming back. You try to live as well as you can, to exist for the people left in the wake of something so tragic. In my case, I have my brother and dad to be strong for. 

If I may, I'd like to be truly vulnerable with you and share my deepest feelings about it all.

My mom died last July 24, 2021. 

It was still during the height of COVID-19 and hospitals were still very strict, only limiting one visitor (or help) at a time. Weirdly enough, my mom didn't get confined for her heart condition, but its effects on her body - specifically the muscles and nerves on her feet.

Two days before everything fell apart, my mom and dad had gone to the hospital to get clearance to go to Manila where she would be getting more treatment for her heart condition. What ended up happening was the doctor telling them to get my mom confined and her feet looked at immediately.

In our minds, it was just an "oh, this is just a routine check to make sure her feet and nerves are still good before the trip" but it ended up being the worst event of my life thus far. 

She got confined and the doctors started tests to figure out how to best help my mom, and one of them said that she needed to get some form of treatment done to clear up or open up the veins on her feet since they weren't receiving enough blood anymore. 

We really thought it was going to be an easy procedure. It was a nightmare. I was told that my mom was in so much pain during the procedure that she was asking them to stop, but they still went through with it. My dad had to get meds for her when she was having the procedure done and it pains me every time he talks about how he would've told them to stop if he had been there. Even now, he keeps blaming himself that if he had stopped them, my mom would still be alive.

I don't blame him or anyone for my mom's death. I do know of some people who stressed her out a lot but I think it's pointless to bring it up now.

I do blame myself for not being able to stay with her during the last few days of her life. The last time I ever got to talk to her was when they left for the hospital. I said 'I love you' to them and that was that.

Little did I know that that would be the last time I'd ever get to see her smile, hear her voice, or see her conscious. 

It's truly difficult for me to express in words how much it pains me to talk about this, but I've kept this in for so long and I can feel myself dying inside little by little every single day. I can't even write this without bawling and the screen is becoming blurrier by the second.

The last time I 'spoke' to her was when she was already unconscious in the hospital, fighting for her life. As I watched her from a video call, talking to her, telling her to wake up and that she'll be alright, I was trying my hardest to not fall apart. To not let people see that I was also dying on the inside with her. To let people think that I was as strong as they said I was.

Inside I was falling apart.

Then I woke up after a restless sleep to a call from ate. It took her a while to speak as she was also sobbing, but I knew it was bad. I didn't want to believe it. But then she said it.

"Ate Vee... wala na si mommy mo."

It took me a few seconds to understand what she said. My brain wanted to check out and pretend it wasn't happening. Not me, I thought. This was something that only happened in teleseryes my mom used to love watching. But it was the truth.                                                                                                  

My brother woke up to my sobs and he knew immediately what was happening. He cried in silence as I cried heavily to my cousin and then eventually my best friend. My brother and I hugged briefly before retreating to our own grieving. I didn't know what to do. It felt like the world stopped suddenly and we were balancing on the tip of a needle.

And I know it was the same for my ate, my brother, and most especially my dad. 

She was HIS PARTNER. They've had each other since before I existed. I know I'll never understand his grief or my brother's grief, but I know we were all grieving and still are. Imagine losing the love of your life like that. Imagine losing a mother. A confidant. Someone you thought would be able to walk you down the aisle one day.

As if losing my mom wasn't enough, relatives who thought they knew everything about the situation started attacking me and my dad. You'd think they would understand our grief but apparently, that made them want to impale us and burn us even more. 

Relatives whom I thought cared about me and my brother turned out to be... well, two-faced. I kept asking them why they just couldn't let us grieve. Why they were airing out all the problems now that my mom wasn't there to defend her name. Why this was such an important issue now. Why couldn't they just let us grieve?!

Hearing one of my mom's sisters scream out that I didn't care enough for MY OWN MOTHER will haunt me forever. My perception of what 'family' meant was destroyed that day. When your own so-called "family" turns on you like that WHEN YOU'RE GRIEVING YOUR MOTHER is foul. I've never been so hurt by my kin if you could still consider them that.

That day, I decided I would choose my own family. 

I still thank them for all the help they'd given us in the past, but to be treated like you weren't your mother's daughter or part of the family... I just can't look past it. 

I wanted to kill myself that day. 

I've had suicidal thoughts for years but because I carry myself a certain way, you would never know. People thought I was always okay when I didn't want to wake up anymore. Then someone in the family sends me hurtful, threatening texts like it was nothing. Amazing.

Looking back, I can't say I've healed from everything else that happened after that. I still wake up every day wishing my mom was still with us so I could share what happened at work or what's happening in my life in general. 

I don't really have anyone to do that with, share my day and rant to. I end up recording my thoughts and playing them back, in an attempt to understand my own thoughts and feelings and process them at the same time. 

After the events of my mom's passing and my relatives unveiling how they truly felt about me and my family, I've started to consider myself a burden more than ever. It truly left a scar that reopens at any mention of any of the people that hurt us. 

Like I said in the title, grief never truly goes away. Anyone who's ever lost somebody they loved would know this to be true.

The pain doesn't go away, but it gets bearable, just enough to put it aside for a while and go about your day. Then you come back to it before you sleep and everything comes flooding back in.

I guess that's also why I haven't been able to sleep properly unless I'm incredibly tired.

I'm hoping this post marks a milestone for me, the day I let myself feel the pain I've been putting aside for years. My eyes hurt but my heart feels slightly lighter if only a tiny, tiny bit.

If you've read this far into my post, thank you for letting me bare my soul. I hope you never get to experience what I've recounted today. If you have, here's a very, very big bear hug for comfort.  

'Til the next post, friends.

Ciao.