Today is my maternal grandmother's death anniversary. She passed away in 1998 due to complications of diabetes. Her right leg was amputated due to a pedicure wound. She never made it out of the hospital. She was operated on twice. I spent my summer that year in and out of the hospital with my cousins. We were tasked to sleep in the hospital with her. Luckily, we had a private room so it was comfortable enough.
I was actually at her bedside when she passed together with my lolo and her daughter. She was just waiting for her sister in Bataan to arrive. She was told the boat would get in by dawn and at about 5 am, she died. I never expected it to happen because I thought she was getting better. I was going to college by June and I never thought she would be gone before that. I was her favorite apo. My mom was her favorite daughter too, you know. I was always accompanying her when she traveled, she would come to our house to rest and we would talk about anything and everything. I fondly remember her telling me not to spend too much time with my boyfriend because in the past they only met once a month. I would ask her for money and she would willingly give me. We made fun of her for switching religions and called her PTL for Praise the Lord.
Fourteen years after her death, I still miss her at times. I didn't cry at her funeral because no tears would fall but time after time, I cry and mourn for her. I wish she was here to see my son and tell me how my life should be. She always had specific ideas about how to live and she was a very good cook. I miss the meals she would cook during fiestas and birthdays. She didn't have a perfect life and wasn't a perfect person but I love her all the same.
This is what I hate about death. When a person dies, you can never see or touch or feel that person again. Despite what others say about them being around us and watching over us, it's still not the same. And it never will be-ever again.
I was actually at her bedside when she passed together with my lolo and her daughter. She was just waiting for her sister in Bataan to arrive. She was told the boat would get in by dawn and at about 5 am, she died. I never expected it to happen because I thought she was getting better. I was going to college by June and I never thought she would be gone before that. I was her favorite apo. My mom was her favorite daughter too, you know. I was always accompanying her when she traveled, she would come to our house to rest and we would talk about anything and everything. I fondly remember her telling me not to spend too much time with my boyfriend because in the past they only met once a month. I would ask her for money and she would willingly give me. We made fun of her for switching religions and called her PTL for Praise the Lord.
Fourteen years after her death, I still miss her at times. I didn't cry at her funeral because no tears would fall but time after time, I cry and mourn for her. I wish she was here to see my son and tell me how my life should be. She always had specific ideas about how to live and she was a very good cook. I miss the meals she would cook during fiestas and birthdays. She didn't have a perfect life and wasn't a perfect person but I love her all the same.
This is what I hate about death. When a person dies, you can never see or touch or feel that person again. Despite what others say about them being around us and watching over us, it's still not the same. And it never will be-ever again.
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