It’s our first Christmas without my mom. Probably why I feel doing nothing inside our house, like I’d rather be outside, having coffee somewhere else, typing these feelings away.
I still remember that day. As all people surrounded her, telling her to rest, I was holding her hand, whispering for her to fight. Selfish as it may seem, I knew her more than anyone else. She’s a fighter, and she’ll choose to fight no matter what, even if she knew she’ll lose in the end. I bet my life she wanted to live; she even wanted life more than me.
It’s been months, but memories of her death are still vivid. Why can I not let go? I have promised so many times that I’ll move forward. But my eyes burn the moment I talk about her. I wish I could have given more. But life took this away.
Christmas today seems just as ordinary as any other day. It had always been my favorite day of the year, only this year’s Christmas started to feel empty. I tried to fight this, but my efforts were futile. I remember how I would end up receiving no gifts, but on Christmas Eve, she’d be surprising us, even with three 100-peso bills inside a Dove soapbox. This year, I received none. I’m kind of used to it, but it hurts knowing that she’s nowhere to surprise me as if saying, “Who says you’ll be receiving nothing?”
This year, there really was nothing.
At this time, she would have had the ingredients ready for Noche Buena. The newly cleaned rooms would have Christmas-themed curtains, pillows, and bed sheets. This year, everything is as disorganized as my thoughts. And I’m kind of sad for my dad. I know he misses her too, but after her demise, everything seemed to have stopped.
Last year was one of the best Christmases and New Years I had ever celebrated. Probably the last one too.