Losing my mom, one year later

It’s been one year since my mom, Nadia, died of cancer and my feelings have been intense, confusing and sometimes not there.

I’ll try my best to explain as I go.

Anticipatory grief

The best description of how I felt in the days immediately after my mom had passed are better expressed in the post I wrote a year ago. Those emotions were incredibly raw and, somehow, very focused. I read somewhere that there is this thing called “anticipatory grief” and it is very common in people who have loved ones with terminal illnesses. The articles say that people who are experiencing said grief can feel more intense anger and feelings of guilt.

And this is very true in my case. I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I didn’t do enough to help her at home while she was sick or didn’t get to know her better when she wasn’t. I felt like I missed out on so much because I was being selfish by simply living my own life.

My mom died on July 20th, but she was moved to pallative care around the 7th or 8th. I had about two weeks of anticipatory grief before regular, original recipe grief took over. It’s probably why my family and I were a lot more calm than others: we had time to mentally prepare for the eventuality that my mom was going to die very soon.

There were going to be so many “first’s” that would happen without her: birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, wedding anniversary, etc. Whether it was her cooking or decorations, this enormous void carved itself in my heart because I could only think about how things used to be when she was around.

I had to grow up real fast, real quick.

Growing up way too quickly

My mom left this giant hole that needed to be filled by the rest of the family. Something my therapist pointed out is that everyone in my household had to do a lot of growing up in such a short amount of time. For me, that meant taking up the mantle of housekeeper.

When my mom died, it’s almost as if her spirit gifted me this incredible perception of dirt, dust and grime on any surface. I would have conniptions if floors weren’t swept, counters weren’t clean and, God forbid, if there was water around any sink. It’s like I inherited my mom’s high-ranking position in the war against filth.

I also took after her in making sure others were fed. Almost every night, as soon as I finished work, I would race downstairs to cook dinner so that it would be ready at a reasonable hour- and this is dinner for six people, mind you. My cuisine may not be as Filipino as my mom would have preferred - in fact, I often cook curry, which is a dish my mom absolutely despised - but dammit is it delicious! I may not be a professional chef, but I can cook good food (ask about my chicken pot pie).

It also meant setting an even better example for my little cousins. They need to see that their auntie left them with the right tools to grow up into respectable adults. And while my kuya is definitely the more laid-back, fun cousin, both of us make sure that my mom’s nephews are being led in the right direction.

I just hope that I’m leading myself in the right direction too.

Feeling guilty for not feeling guilty

There were moments sprinkled throughout the past year where I would purposefully sink myself into bouts of sadness. I would read old text conversations, look at old pictures or remember happier times when my mom was not only alive, but not sick.

And then there were times where I didn’t feel anything.

Grief is strange. I expected this past year to be filled with a lot more tears and outbursts of anger. There were moments where I just lived my life and realized I didn’t think much of my mom’s passing. In those moments, I would feel guilty for not feeling anything. Sometimes I would panic, thinking I was beginning to forget her. Even in the food I cook, the fact that I don’t cook as much Filipino food makes me feel like the recipes she would feed me all throughout my childhood would disappear with her.

I don’t know how else to explain it but there were just times where it felt like I moved on way too quickly. Or maybe it was that I just had so much on my plate in my own life that, now I didn’t have to worry about taking care of my mom, I could just focus on those things?

I have a feeling that somewhere, five years down the road, grief is going to hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m going to just shrink into a ball and beg for her to come to my aid. But until then, I (strangely?) feel … fine.

Keeping her memory alive

I mentioned this in the previous post, but I think that, regardless of your beliefs on the afterlife, there are tangible ways for loved ones to live on long after death, even down to the molecular level.

Bear with me: if the laws of physics dictate that matter cannot be destroyed, then my mom isn’t truly gone. On some, molecular level, the atoms that composed her body or spirit have physically been passed onto me and my family. Maybe this is just a bunch of BS, but I think I physically inherited parts of my mom. And it’s through that and my actions where I keep her spirit alive.

Biggest example: gardening.

My mom loved gardening. Every year, no matter what, she would toil away in the backyard to plant a beautiful arrangement of petunias, hostea, dahlias, as well as tomatoes, peppers and chilis. In the month before she died, I took it upon myself to de-weed the garden and prep the soil in hopes that she and I could plant another garden. In fact, I go back to the text she sent me after I finished cleaning:

Saturday, June 12 2021 | 7:01pm

Aidan, you did an amazing excellent job in the backyard today. Just when I thought those weeds are going to just continue to grow this summer and wither in the fall naturally, you come to the rescue.

I’m emotional because it means so much to me and I always look forward to gardening every year.

Today I smile because I now have you to carry on.

I pray that one day I get to do gardening on my own again 🙏🙏

Thanks again Aidan for cleaning up the backyard🧡🧡

Now, let’s plant herbs and flowers soon?

The last line never fails to make me cry.

This year, though, I managed to plant a garden for her. My dad helped choose some of the flowers and together we managed to make a pretty solid arrangement. Most of the plants are similar to her’s: petunias, tomatoes, peppers are a mainstay. We also added lilac, hydrangea and I also was able to plant my precious cooking herbs of parsley and dill.

Every morning, I tend and water to the plants as she would have done all these years. I totally understand why she enjoyed gardening so much: it makes the backyard prettier, gets me in touch with nature and, specifically with the veggies, I can use the plants in my daily life. Do you know how bad I’ve always wanted to grab fresh parsley from my garden to use in dishes?! It’s an amazing feeling!

However, there are moments where I really do wish she could be here and see for herself.

Bittersweet milestones

The one topic on which my mom and I could bond was navigating the professional world.

In a household with as many siblings as she had, my mom had to work her ass off from a young age to give herself career opportunties. For my Lolo and Lola, it was either give one child enough to go to college or feed the whole family each night. I think my mom understood that and I think it made her even more headstrong; how far she could go depended on her own drive.

So with me working freelance, I naturally fell into the same headspace. It’s that nuance that really helped her and I bond that much stronger. She would give me advice on negotiating salary, sending professional emails, cover letters, how to conduct myself in interviews, etc. So it was bittersweet that this past year, I achieved some of the biggest milestones of my career.

This past winter and spring, I was fortunate enough to do work for the Toronto Maple Leafs(!!!) I was able to make a series of animated videos that would be shared on the offical team social media accounts, NOT TO MENTION be played in front of the entire crowd at Scotiabank Arena! Countless fans, as well as team executives and actual players would have their eyes on something I made in my bedroom/office.

So funny enough, my dad and I were invited to come down to a Leafs game where we actually saw a video I made play live on the jumbotron! I felt so happy and also a little sad because the woman who helped get me here wasn’t able to see the biggest achievement of my career thus far. I told my dad how I felt and he said “she’s watching you, don’t worry about that. She’s seeing what you’ve accomplished and I know she’s proud of you.” Suffice to say my heart was warm.

Dammit, why couldn’t she be alive to see all this?

Takeaways and conclusions

If I’ve learned anything from this past year is that grief is a strange thing and that it affects every single person differently.

I’ve had to mature a lot as a son, a brother, an older cousin and as a man. I think I was able to do a pretty decent job. I’ve struggled immensely at times and that’s okay. While I may forget some small details about my mom, I don’t think I could ever truly forget her the way I fear.

I visited Casa Loma last month, the same day she and I went the year prior - the last happy memory I had while my mom was alive. I walked the same route, took the same pictures and just took in the scenery. I even went down to Chinatown and got the same cheung fun from the same restaurant. And, just like last year, the Leafs also lost in the first round in seven games!

I just miss her a lot. I miss the big things and the little things. I miss watching Raptors games with her (or at the very least, hearing her yelling at the TV). I think my mom would have really loved Scottie Barnes. I can just imagine her cheering his name during games. I can even see her sitting on the bed or couch with her glasses, under a blanket, cheering for our rookie of the year. I can even see her heckling Joel Embiid during the playoffs and being equally stunned when he hits a big turnaround three-pointer in the dying seconds.

I miss her going on shopping sprees with my kuya and them coming back with bags full of clothes and leftovers from the food court at whatever outlet mall they decided to visit. I miss her texts asking me to pick her up from McCowan station or Scarborough Town Centre. I miss the sound of the kitchen when she would make puto, cuchinta or her sinigang. I miss her mispronouncing my friend Allysia’s name (she says it like “Alicia”) even after countless corrections.

All I have of her is memories; memories that will soon be lost in time as I get older. So the next best thing is to remember her with my actions. I just want to be a son that she would have been proud of. Maybe I could even grow up to be someone with whom she’d be friends?

I hope I continue to make you proud, mom. I miss you so much.

Thank you for everything <3