Last Friday my husband and I went for our annual medical exam. While sitting at the lounge waiting for our next procedures, I happened to glance at the elderly lady sitting on one of the sofas in front of us.
Around her upper chest area she had a port inserted, which looked like one of those used for administering chemotherapy meds.
And just like that, memories of my mother came rushing back.
It's been 6 months. We've tried to get on as normally as we can, knowing that we will never again see her loving smile and experience her motherly ministrations. Never again taste her mechado made from fresh tomatoes. Never again to receive an SMS from her just saying "Kamusta ka na anak?"
All it takes is a glimpse of her books, a peek at her favorite snacks, several lines from her favorite songs, even the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations (she seemed to be happiest this time of the year) -- and then the remembering begins anew.
In many ways we've indeed moved on. And yet, in a lot of other ways, we haven't.
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