Eventful Saturdays
The first time I went to this place, it was my mom’s first week in the hospital, in what was her fourth or fifth hospitalization for the year. The moment I arrived in Manila I immediately rushed to the hospital. Three days ago I went back to this place with the same purpose — work — but I did not have much to look forward to back at home.
Three Saturdays ago, September 29, my mom was discharged from the hospital after being hospitalized for two months.
Two Saturdays ago, we rushed her to the hospital but later decided not to get her admitted upon her request only to rush her back again that night. That Saturday night, I was on alert, continuously monitoring her vital signs. She was becoming more unresponsive by the hour. I did not know it would be the last time I could talk to her. And we both did not know it was her last time to be at our home.
Last Saturday, it was the last day and night we could see her physically, peacefully sleeping.
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Ten Saturdays ago, I was in the hospital looking after my mom. I was tired. I was tired from work. I was tired seeing my mom looking tired and in pain. I kept thinking when these days and nights at the hospital will end. When will she be freed from the confines of the hospital? When will things go back to where I imagined things would be — celebrating every small but triumphant sign of her recovery, lazing around during Saturdays and Sundays watching Korean cooking shows, talking about that recipe she wants to try, and the places we would visit when she fully recovers, then eventually accomplishing each plan?
Today, a Saturday, I think about how a week can make such a difference in a person’s life. One Saturday you are tired and feeling hopeless. The next Saturday you are happy and hopeful. The next one you are grieving.
This Saturday I think about the previous Saturdays in the hospital and how I missed being there because I could see my mom breathing — in pain, yes, but still breathing. I could see her chest rise and I could feel her pulse and I could console myself after that everything is alright at least at that very moment after checking her pulse and her breathing.
This Saturday I think about how the next Saturdays would not be the way I imagined them because the very person to whom those imagined Saturdays are built upon won’t be there.
This Saturday I think about how the phrases along the lines of live as though it is your last day are bullshit.
Yes, we may be motivated and inspired to live our lives thinking about how we only “live” “once”. But we only get to do so every now and then because most of us do not have the luxury to. We will eventually fall back to our routines and to the monotony of our daily lives. I had to work. My dad had to work. My sister had to concentrate on her studies. My mom had to brave the needles, bear the discomfort or just sleep the whole day during those days when sitting required lots of effort on her part.
This Saturday, it feels painful to even think of the Saturdays to come with this gaping hole in my chest and the painful and apparent void left by mama.
Next Saturday, I hope I will be able to write something more uplifting.
This photo was taken during my last day at this place which I believed would be the perfect escape but ended up bringing about strong emotions and painful thoughts.
