She celebrates her birthdays on Mothers' Day. Every year without fail, we would gather around her and sing the Birthday Song. As the years passed by, she might not even know those were HER days.
After a long day at the hospital, we received a call when we reached home. Her pulse rate was a mere 45/40. We rushed back to the hospital and pleaded her to hold on, even though we knew she wouldn't respond. She managed to fight the God of Death till we were by her side and that was the last we see of her.
20 mintues before Mothers' Day, she left us.
Rest in peace, Popo.
I cried, we all did. But I know I cried the most, and the longest. My eyes are dried up from all the crying. We weren't close, but without her, I wouldn't be here. Perhaps it's just the emotional me, but if it was you, and you don't cry, I'd say you're just a heartless bastard. I thought of someone to tell, someone to talk to. But I realised, I'm not close to anyone. If there's anyone who cares, it would be you, my dear readers.
80 long years she lived, from hardship to a comfortable life, with children and grandchildren by her side almost every week, she must have been a contented Grandma. If only God gave her a few more months, she could have been a Great Grandma, embracing her first Great Grandson in her arms, grinning from cheek to cheek. But life's like that, shit happens.
Happy birthday Popo, wherever you are.
Labels: popo