Death is a subject most of us would want to avoid talking about. Most of the time, it is concretely defined as something inescapable - the final part in the sequence of every person’s life; a harsh reality all of us should accept. But of course, it never appears too easy, not for me.

Early in the month of May this year, death disguised as cancer and claimed the life of my mother. I was devastated.

For the past four years, as I may recall, I muddled through life based on her philosophy. I was too dependent and submissive to her that every thought and action I made were anchored to her norms.

She knew everything about me. Literally, she was my live journal and every single encounter I faced was jotted to her in details. She was one of my “ersons” and she played a very crucial role to my existence, she was my security blanket. So when she died, a big part of me died with her too.

The scenario of her last breath still haunts me and it keeps me sleepless until now. She’s gone forever; such a truth I find very hard to live by.

It was a horrifying experience. It was a tragedy. It seemed too much for me to handle. Somehow, I knew a bit of anger and remorse stole my consciousness, and I became a stranger to my own self. I was creating a monster out of me but I considered it as an excuse.

For quite a while, I made myself believe that it was okay. It was my way of grieving. And so I respected it. I was in the process of healing.

But then again, nurturing as she always were, my mother, even in her physical absence; helped me realize that her dying was meant to happen. She spent her last days battling with the killer disease and I deemed it amazing how optimistic she dealt with this ordeal. She knew that the disease was incurable but she worked her way out the other way around.

Her faith was never shaken. Instead, she was grateful that it was cancer and not just any freak accident. She felt like the heavens looked down upon her with favor because she was given the chance to iron out kinks she’s had with her loved ones and to every person who may, in any manner have been involved in her life’s story.

Now, I strive to conquer my very own enemy and apparently, it’s my fear of moving on and adapting with change. Her strength is my rock, an inspiration of its kind. She showed me that it was something God willed. I had to let go because I knew I could not afford to stay wasted for long. So as rational as I can get, I eventually decided to bring myself back to my senses and tried to put the pieces in their proper order.

I’m standing strong again, primarily because I never intended to disappoint her. She has spent her last years trying to teach me lessons that will help get me through whatever comes along. She has graced me with so much love in an incredibly profound way. She kept it posted in my heart that no one, not even death can deprive me of.

I miss her, but in the midst of sorrow, her spirit lived on and reminded me that I am never alone as I cope - I still have the rest of my family, the one important thing that remains intact because of her devoted effort as a loving mother to me and my siblings and a loving wife to my father. That I think was her purpose, and still, her light shines bright.