The Aftermath

I’ve only been 26 for four months, but I feel like I’ve turned 40. That’s what seeing your cancer-ridden Mom does, God rest her soul.

It really was my Mom’s time. It only made sense on the day she passed, when she showed us the last page of the book she read, when her best friend told us the significance of her death date (August 8, a date she obsessed over since my sister was born). It was only then I understood that there are no coincidences. As someone who has wandered in and out of faith, it was only this instance that had me fully realize God’s design.

I understand why Mom had to go, even with her unfinished business. I understand why it happened so fast: a mere six months, starting from non-threatening leukemia that suddenly led to a malignant meioma turned uterine cancer. Even in grief, I could count the steps to her illness in the cups of coffee, the long work hours, and the superhuman adrenaline of single-handedly raising two girls. Mom was stubborn, and she learned all she could in this existence.

People ask me how I am. I never know how to answer that in this stage. I’ve had better years. I know we’ll be ok. But damn, I am scared. I can’t even keep up with my phone bill, what more a household? I don’t even know where to begin.