Mom and snowflakes

An icy cold morning welcomed me to Dalgety Bay in Scotland, my new home. I was just waking up with my eyes half-closed when I fixed my gaze on the misty window. A thrill of anticipation engulfed me, awakening all my senses in an instant.

I got up and hurried down the spiral stairs on the wine-red carpet leading to the living room. I opened the main door as quickly as I could, without thinking. The snow showers and bitingly cold wind made me freeze for a moment as I stood in awe at seeing snow for the first time in my life.

I was deliriously happy. The next thing I knew, I was outside jumping merrily on the snowy ground like a kid. I wondered what the neighbors would think at seeing me like that. They might think I was crazy, but I did not mind because I could not contain my happiness. The joy of catching snowflakes was indescribable.

Minutes later, an early-childhood memory, a nostalgic walk-down-memory-lane kind of thing, played afresh in my head. Mom and I were busy looking for photos of urban and rural communities in magazines and newspapers, to be cut and pasted on long bond paper for a school project.

Among the many beautiful photos we found, one truly caught my fancy. I showed it to Mom, saying in Surigaonon, my native language: “Nay, tan-awa! Kagana lage! Hamuk snow ug an mga bata lingaw karajaw sila ngduwa-duwa sa snow sanan ngdakop-dakop nan snowflakes!” (Mom, look! It’s beautiful! There’s a lot of snow and the children are enjoying catching snowflakes!)

After taking an observing glance at it, my mother replied quite profoundly: She said that someday when I grew up and studied hard, I would be able to finish school and achieve my dreams in life, even catching snowflakes.

It seemed that it took me several years to realize the impact of her message. I laughed at myself, thinking how stupid I was. I cheerfully watched the snowflakes floating downward right in front of me, and noticed that my vision was blurring.

Tears were welling from my eyes before I realized that I was crying. That beautiful memory brought a new light, a great sense of success and fulfillment. But I felt as though tiny needles were piercing my heart. I wept, both in triumph and longing for a wonderful mother.

Reminiscing, I mentally reconnected with her. We were never able to talk after our last phone call. I was so busy growing up after leaving my hometown years ago.

Just after my college graduation in Surigao City, I moved to Cebu City and began to establish myself at work. My visits and phone calls home became less and less until that last phone call which changed everything.

She was saying that her throat was aching badly, that she needed to go to the hospital, but that she did not want to because there was not enough money.

She was worried of becoming an additional burden, mindful that I was putting my brother through his engineering course in college and generally helping out in the family finances. Of course, she was never a burden; she was my mother.

Yet it felt as though the whole weight of the world was upon my shoulders. Being a breadwinner was never easy. The heavy load gave way to my croaky voice. I had to summon reserves of strength and courage not to cry while on the phone with her.

So my parents went for a checkup and Mom was admitted as a patient. She stayed in the hospital for about three months. I managed the bills and everything else by working seven days a week — only to learn from my family that Mom was in the last stage of  throat cancer and, according to the doctors, would not get better. We could only hope for a miracle.

I felt so hopeless that I cried and whined like a cantankerous child. It was the turning point of my life. I had to be stronger to face realities from then on.

Mid-April of 2014, I flew home and went straight to the hospital to visit my mother. It was heartbreaking but I had to hold back my tears so no one would break down. Dad and my brothers looked away; our relatives wiped their tears in silence.

I could hardly recognize Mom. Gone were her beautiful and youthful looks, but not her gentle and loving look. We hugged and kissed and smiled at each other. She could no longer speak, but her welcoming smile and the way we held hands reassured us that we remained each other’s best friend.

But despite her smile, I could see a glint of pain in her eyes—and that was what tore my heart to pieces. As much as I tried to rein in my emotions, I had to excuse myself. I fled to the bathroom where I wept like I had never done before.

But I knew that if anyone had to be strong at such a time, it was me. Everybody knew it, too, including Mom. I am the only girl among the children, but the most independent.

Mom had always believed in me, that I could get through anything. She said I was strong, and a go-getter. She had been quite vocal with it since I started living alone at a very young age.

So I composed myself and tried my hardest not to shed any more tears. Our reunion as a complete family lasted for only two weeks. My mother eventually said goodbye, literally without a word.

And life went on. I kept myself very busy by working part-time even on weekends, to help me overcome the grief. I had to accept the fact that Mom was no longer with us — so much easier said than done.

I braved the pain, emptiness and tears each day until I learned to make peace with myself, to accept that everything I went through, the responsibilities she left me, the pain of her passing, the doubts, shaped me into who I am today.

I have realized one goal at a time and learned to become a better person. I strive to be a good daughter and a loving sister to my brothers, and to not be so hard on myself. This time around, I value time and family more than anything else.

Now I am settling down with the love of my life. How I wish my mother had the chance to meet him. But I do believe she is happy now, just as I am. I know my happiness matters to her the most, too.

She may have passed away but her love, kindness and wisdom will live in my heart forever. May there be more snowflakes to catch in her memory.

* * *

Euzette Fermilan, 29, worked as a manager of a condotel and a teacher of English as a second language in Cebu City before migrating to the United Kingdom and getting back to writing.