When Mama passed away in May 2018, murag ni-collapse akong kalibutan. Everything happened so sudden, so unexpected, nga murag di pa ko katuo. The pain was too much, but I didn’t allow myself to really feel it. Instead, I kept myself busy — magpangita kog buhaton, mag-ukay-ukay ug trabaho — thinking nga if I stayed busy, maybe di ko kaayo ma-feel ang kasakit.
I handled almost everything — the arrangements, the errands, all the little details nga kinahanglan buhaton. I was everywhere, trying so hard not to break down. People might have thought strong ko, but the truth is, I was just trying to survive each day without falling apart.
Pag-human sa tanan, when everything finally settled down, that’s when it hit me. I went inside Mama and Papa’s room. The moment I entered, murag na-freeze ang time. I just stood there, staring at the bed, the things she used to touch, and the quiet that filled the room. Murag bug-at kaayo ang hangin. Then out of nowhere, tears just started falling.
Katong tanan nga akong gipugong for days, suddenly came out. I cried so hard, friend. Murag akong heart gi-pisil. I didn’t even know unsa akong gibati — kasakit, kalibog, numbness, tanan nag-mix. My heart just went numb, maybe because it couldn’t handle too much pain at once.
The days that followed felt blurry. The world suddenly felt different — colder, emptier. Every time I woke up, I still expected to hear Mama’s voice, but wala na. And every time ma-realize nako nga wala na gyud siya, the pain came back all over again. I kept asking myself, “Unsaon man nako ni? How do I go on without her?”
But life goes on, even if it’s hard. Little by little, I learned to move forward. One day at a time. Mama’s voice may be gone, but her love stayed — and that’s what kept me going.
I remember our last talk in the ICU. She looked at me, weak but still thinking about us, and said softly, “Atimana baya ninyo inyong Papa ha.” I forced a smile and said, “Ayaw ana, Ma. Diba magpulis pa ko? Ubanan pa ko nimo.” But deep inside, I knew what she meant. I just didn’t want to accept it.
That moment stayed with me. Every word, every look. I wanted so much for her to see me become the person she believed I could be. I can still remember when she accompanied me to file for the NAPOLCOM Entrance Exam. I was nervous, but having her there made me brave. When the results came out and I passed, grabe ka-happy si Mama. Makita gyud sa iyang nawong nga proud kaayo siya.
After that, she became my daily alarm clock. “Sige na, bangon, mag-jogging ta,” she would say early in the morning. She wanted me to be ready for when I’d apply to the PNP. That was our small routine — her way of showing support, of pushing me to chase my dream.
But then, kalit lang, wala na siya. Murag gi-kawatan kog kalig-on. The person who was my strength and inspiration was suddenly gone.
Even now, it still hurts, knowing she didn’t get to see everything I achieved. Pero bisan wala na siya physically, I can feel her presence. When I finally applied to the PNP, I could feel her guiding me — like she was holding my hand, telling me, “Kaya ra lagi na nimo.”
I believe she’s still with me, watching over me every step of the way. Maybe not in the way I hoped, but in the way I need.
Mama may be gone, but her love lives on — in my heart, in my dreams, in everything I do. She’s still here, reminding me that I was loved deeply, and that love will always be my strength.
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