I wrote this on Feb 12, 2010, a day after Mader, what I used to call my mother-in-law, was called by God to join Him in heaven. In a few hours, we'd be marking a year without her. We have learned to cope but it's still not the same without her.
Mader, we love you and miss you.
She was superwoman to us - she ran the household, took care of my girls, cooked food that would make you erase the word diet from your vocabulary. Even after she had her first heart attack last December, she refused to slow down. She'd sometimes get irritated when I would insist on washing the plates or would play deaf when Bong would tell her to just sit down.
Thursday morning, I was rushing to the car to get to the office, as I do most days. But this morning was different. I stopped at the door, realized I hadn't said goodbye to mader and pader yet. But I ignored the strange feeling and ran out to the gate. I usually don't bid them goodbye in the morning. It was in the evening after I come home from work and kiss my girls when I would ask mader if she had already eaten. Thursday evening, I said goodbye to mader as she lay still on a bed in the emergency room, her skin already cold and yellowish. Doctors tried to revive her for more than an hour but her heart refused to beat again.
I seem to be taking it the hardest, which I think is weird. I texted a few friends that I seem to have cried more tears than Bong. But I really, truly miss her. I love her very much and I regret never ever telling her in words. Maybe she heard me when I tried talking to her last night or early this morning. Maybe she saw me when I opened her cabinet for the first time today and just looked at her clothes. Maybe she felt the mattress on her bed move when I sat there this morning, crying my eyes out and telling her stuff I should have told her before last night. Or maybe she knew, without me having to tell her.