It has been 40 days since you passed away, and today you’re supposed to be looking at us from heaven, seeing us finally pick up the pieces and move on. But you knew it wouldn’t be easy, but we’ll try hard anyway.
We’d likely stumble and fall, and maybe quarrel amongst ourselves—but we also know you wouldn’t be there to fix it for us, so we’ll do it ourselves. We’d simply look back to a memory of you, doing the things you always do, and we’d know how to mend our hurts.
We’d be facing hurdles much tougher than we’ve ever conquered, but we promise we’d have the humility to pause and think, the resolve to persevere, and the faith to never lose hope. Because that’s the way you’ve taught us—the right way to live life.
Maybe at some point, we’d be forced to confront forks on the road that cannot be ignored—but we’d simply choose the one you would’ve chosen, the choice that leads us closer to God.
I will miss the conversations we used to have, even the bad arguments. But I will always look back to the times I’ve told you about my struggles in life, not because you had the answers to some of them, but because you were just always there, ready to listen. Like only a mother knows how.
Though you’ve carried much burden and hurt in life, you still chose to love unconditionally. It’s a beautiful thing—how you can give much after losing most of yourself. But I was wrong to think that way—because you always had faith. Now I know that through faith, you can love without questions, and without bounds.
I could only hope I can live life like you did. It’s sad to say goodbye, but what choices do I have?
I love you, Mommy Fe. Thanks for the memories.
