Slowly Losing My Mother

Dear Me,

I really have a soft heart when it comes to pieces like this. I feel too heartbroken and I really cannot help but cry. I feel very guilty because I am like the person who wrote this.

My parents are nearing their retiring age. I can see from their faces and bodies how they aged through the years. Gone are the agility and the energy they used to have then. Now, I can see those gray hairs turning white, wrinkles marring their skins. They easily get tired and I can see how they try to hide the pains of old age.

They are still healthy in a way but who knows what may happen tomorrow.

I really want to make it up to both of them. I was never a good daughter to them. It's high time that I become one. I should spend more time with them while they are still well and alive. I should find the time to include them in my schedules. After all, they found the time to raise me well. I owe it much to them.

To Mamu and Papa, I never ever have the courage to say upfront how I care and love you both. But I really do.


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My mother has Alzheimer's disease. I find clothes neatly folded inside the refrigerator, as if it were a bedroom closet. I catch her sprinkling Tide on her toes, as if it were baby powder. I am now used to answering the same question over and over again at five-minute intervals. She claims she just talked to my dead grandmother or dined with my father who passed away when I was still in college. She looks for her puppy under the bed. That puppy was her dad's gift to her on her 10th birthday. She is 80. I used to enjoy talking to my mom. Being the youngest child and only girl, I wore clothes of the same design and print that she did. We were inseparable. When I started working, I'd treat her to Shakey's on weekends. We watched Vilma Santos movies together. On Sunday afternoons, we'd snuggle in bed reading magazines. We took turns feeding our cats and dogs.

Then I became too engrossed in my work and spent less and less time with her. On weekends, I'd sleep the whole day. Since we live in Novaliches, I had to leave early for my eight o'clock job and got home late - too tired to chat with her. But she understood and was always supportive of my job. For 14 years, she was left alone at home while I was at the office. But she did not mind. She had her plants, our pets, and her sewing machine to keep her busy. Her kingdom was our house. In fact, she felt proud of all the tasks she accomplished each day.

I am now a freelancer. I have all the time to spend with my mom. We can chat for hours now, go on vacations out-of-town, watch movies, horse around like we used to.

But it's too late.

She now has her own little world. She can't understand what I say. She can't appreciate my achievements anymore. She can no longer empathize with me the way she used to. She is obsessed with her odd collection of empty plastic bottles, cereal boxes and tin cans. She collects what I discard - germs and all! I have to scold her for she won't listen to my gentle reminders. She insists on going home to a house in Binondo where she was born, grew up and fell in love. But that house is long gone. And so is my grandmother - her mom. She does not believe me when I try to explain these things. She throws a tantrum instead. She thinks I am deceiving her. It breaks my heart. And this happens every single day! I feel like I'm going out of my mind. I
feel like a prisoner in a German camp. Now I know what mental torture a mere leaking faucet can induce.

It is ironic that while I can now enjoy being with my mom and talking to her for as long as I want, I'd rather not. I have discovered that it is better to just keep quiet and silently watch her.

I used to hear stories of how hard it is to take care of aging parents. They say it can really test your patience. It can suck out your time and energy, not to mention money. I'd like to think that I am better off: my mom is not bedridden. Neither does she make a mess of herself – yet. She still walks around our garden, eats by herself, enjoys our pets and tinkers around. But I now realize that it is harder to watch your mom gradually drifting into her own private world. I try to catch the fleeting moments when she still knows that she is my mother. I know that one day she will ask who I am. I dread that day.

Many times as I watch her sleeping peacefully like a child, I scold myself. Though I showered her with material gifts when I still had a regular job, I deprived her of so much: my time, my presence, my attention and in a way, my love. I feel guilty for the stories I did not share with her, the advice I did not ask from her, the secrets I did not confide to her, the activities I did not enjoy with her. It's sad that when I gained new friends and discovered new horizons in life, there was very little space left for her in my heart.

For those out there who still have your mom - sane and sound - always set aside time for her. Grab every opportunity to bond and show her your love. And let her love you too. Let her continue being a mother to you. Seize the time. One day, she might still be around but you would have already lost her.