For My Mother, A Poem

You left quietly
on a Sunday,
on your end, as it was breaking,
on mine, as it was coming
to a close.

Always with fondness
will I recall my first
faltering steps; should I
falter now, you won't be
there

To soothe
my hurt pride, to persuade
me to try again, to assure
my puny, fearful soul
of your permanence.

You, as all good mothers are,
were a gift from God,
for children you saw as
heaven-sent, and not
the little devils we truly were.

You were dutiful
in each thing
you did: We had a mother,
a teacher, a friend,
and my father, a wife.

I will miss you
in many things, places, events
from hereon; and
from hereon as well
I will find you in everything beautiful.

A Letter To My Mom

Wrote my Mom an e-mail today. She's been in the hospital for about a month now; been in and out of the ICU, on and off the ventilator; afflicted with complications mostly related to her lungs; their names all terrible-sounding. She also has decubitus ulcers. Things are not looking too good. Here is that letter:


Dear Mommy,

Perhaps you have neither the time nor energy to read this letter now, as you wage a difficult battle against your illnesses. I know it's all uphill, Ma. Maybe at a more convenient time, when you are all rested and refreshed at The Lord's side? I feel that it's near, even without you telling me. I don't ever want it to be near, but maybe you're looking forward to it. You've always kept things like these to yourself.

I will very much miss you when you finally decide to let go. The memories will come in a flood. I will surely be overwhelmed and be left gasping.

You are God's wonderful gift to me, and to all those to whom you give your love. I'm so blessed that you are my mother. You are far from perfect, but I love you just the same. You love me through all my faults and shortcomings, and all the pain I have caused. Who am I to give you less?

You were my very first teacher. You set me off on the path to learning as I took slow, unsure steps. There were times when school was intimidating, and how I longed to be home with you, safe and sound.

You filled our home with the wondrous aroma of your meals. Many of your dishes were your very own. I've never tasted them anywhere else, or had them cooked by anyone else, not even by my own wife. There are rare moments in my life, when I smell similar aromas, and I then remember the wonderful meals we shared together as a family. I remember you, and how you worked in your kitchen. You asked for help sometimes.

I know you need help now, with your pain and labored breathing, but I'm so far from you, Ma. I can only be with you in my prayers, thoughts, and dreams. I can't be there to hug you and kiss you, and wipe the sweat from your brow, as you gasp and cling on to dear life. I hope that I can dream of you each night from hereon, and see your comely face and hear your reassuring voice. I'm physically well, but my emotions are wreaking havoc on me. I feel so like the times when I was thin and sickly, and prone to bouts of fever. Fever made me delirious. I had nightmares. I pulled through each time, thanks to your attention and care. Now you need attention and care, and I can't be there to give them to you. My only hope now is God, and I'm praying to Him that with each labored gasp for air, you will feel His reassuring presence. I may not be with you right now, but God is.

Thank you for always taking me to the movies when I was still a young boy. Those films fired my imagination. I discovered worlds beyond my own world. I may not be much of a movie buff like you've always been, but my curiosity remains deep-seated.

Thank you for the wonderful summers and Christmases of my childhood and youth. Their pleasant memories will be with me until the day we see each other again.

I regret not having hugged you and kissed you as often as I could. The last time was over five years ago. I regret that when I was there for some time, attempting to build a dream for myself and my family, I declined your invitation that we watch a movie together, telling you that I was busy with work and that I had no time. Now that I want to give you all the time that I have available, I cannot, because we are apart. I regret that I have not e-mailed you as often as you would have wanted me to. My life is pretty much uneventful and so I have nothing significant to write you about. But now, I realize you would have tremendously appreciated a weekly (more so a daily) Hi or Hello. I'm writing you this long e-mail now and I'm not even sure you will still be able to read it.

I'm still hoping for the best, Ma, hoping that you will get well. But if not, and you want to move on to the place that we all dream of reaching, then we have no choice but to let you go. We don't want to keep you where you're not happy any longer, and where you are in difficulty and pain. We give you all the love we can give you, and you can either take it with you or give it away. But if I know you well, I'm sure you'll still give some of it away, and some of it back to us. You're a genuinely generous person, Ma.

Take good care, Ma. I don't know when I'll see you again, but I'm sure we'll see each other again.

With much love,

Pompit