Today's Sunday. Today, she would wake up at five AM. She would wear that beautiful red dress and walk her way to the church. I'd wake up at seven and go out of the house and wait for her to come home. I'd look far because the road stretched long. Then I'd see her . I would see that red figure walking towards me. To home.
When the news of her death broke out, I spaced out for five minutes. I don't know how to feel. I was in a complete hollow. Then, out of nowhere, I was crying like shit. It burned me. It ripped my heart out and I was crying like shit. All the memories of her flashed so fast and with it: the pain.
She was bedridden for almost 8 years. I watched how her body betrayed her. I watched her cry. I watched her pain. I listened, and promised when she asked "Pagdali ug graduate para kaabot pa ko." Her illness changed her. And it pains me every time I visit and she'd ask, "Kinsa ka? 'Mong, kinsa ni?" I don't want to remember her like that. She wasn't the same woman who would wear that red dress on Sundays.
She watched me grow. She watched me wear that white uniform to school. She would wait at five in the afternoon for me to come home. She would look far because the road stretched long. Then she would see, and distinguish me in the sea of kids wearing white.
Rest in peace, 'la. You know how much it hurts that I couldn't keep that promise.
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