I lost my mom to cancer on the seventh day of the new year.
Her pain took her and made her break the promise to me, to wait for my return to tend to her last days.
Everything went on and on, I tagged along with everyone back home, from across the Pacific.
Virtually. Post Covid era, why haven't I got used to it, I wonder.
Everything happened so fast, my vision went blurred the whole time.
Within seven days, she's buried.
S57, that's her tree.
I've got the coordinate. I plan to have it tattooed to my left arm.
I will never forget her last embrace with me, wailing while refraining herself from asking me to stay.
That's probably why after she passed, every once in a while, the sight of every silver-white hair short hair old lady becomes the trigger of a breakdown.
Got me big time.