To the woman who held it all

“When Lolo died, did you cry?”

“When Mom’s twin died, did you cry?”

I remember how I would always ask you that when I was a kid. And you, without a fail, would casually respond,

“Of course I did.”

You would answer it so lightly as if it weren’t heavy. You would tell the story as if your heavens and earth did not collide when it happened.

Back then, I would be in awe, how come it seemed like it didn’t hurt you? How come you do not dwell on it anymore? I wondered — probably because you were an adult. I thought that maybe, as an adult, you had simply outgrown the pain.

I saw you as an adult who‘s numb and strong, an adult who doesn’t get affected. However, growing up, I figured adults don’t bear it easy, they don’t hurt any less — they just pretend. And that’s what you did.

As I grew up, I started seeing through your facades. I saw how you are someone introspective — a thought daughter, as how we label it; you feel things deeply. And I know, the moment you told me how you loved studying, how you studied so hard despite some people bringing you down as you were not from an “elite” family, and how you juggled studying while being a mom, you were a dreamer too.

Your strong wrinkly mask started to wear down, and beneath it, I saw a young teenage girl. So, when all of it happened, how did you hold it?

When Mom’s twin became one with the stars, did you bury his name along with him? Do you not speak of him because you have forgotten, or because remembering hurts too much? I used to think you talk about it so indifferently because you weren’t as attached to him for he was gone young. But I realized, you are a mother, you were his mother. It doesn’t hurt less just because you held him for a shorter time. At times, do you ever want to talk about him? Is your guilt bigger than your longing? Love, even in death, does not fade. Grief, even in many years, does not disappear. So, how did you hold it?

When Lolo drifted into eternity, how did you bear the weight of his absence while carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? I thought, maybe it doesn’t hurt much because you had your children who you love more dearly, who your world revolves around. Yet, when you narrated your romance, you talk of it so fondly, so full of love. It dawned on me — before you were parents, you were two souls in love. Before your world revolved around your tiny souls, you were each other’s world. You wrote your love story and had your own fairytale, but it did not give you the “happily ever after” you wanted. It ended drastically, earlier than it should have been. So, when you could no longer visit as often, when distance and conflict kept you away from where he rested, how did you grieve? When you cry every time you visit his grave miles away from you, I learned you didn’t move on — you just moved forward, because life demanded it. They say life goes on for the living, it has to. You needed to survive, you need to fend for the six little love he left you. But still, how did you hold it?

When your mother — already deprived of sight — was also starting to be stripped of memories of you, how did you bear it?

“Who are you?” When she asked you that, and you told me how it made you want to cry, I wondered — in those moments, did you feel like a child again, longing for your mother’s presence even though she was right there?

To lose someone while they are still alive is its own kind of cruelty. You probably needed her at that time — more than anything, more than anytime. You were then a mother, but you were also a daughter. So, how did you hold it?

I know you carry it all — the grief, the guilt, the love, the dreams.

Still, I ask — how did you hold it all?

Maybe one day, when I am old, and someone younger asks me the same…

I will remember you.

And maybe, I’ll finally know the answer.