I'll be home for Christmas

Photo by Asael Peña on Unsplash

One thing I noticed about Filipinos is how much we value Christmas. It's the most wonderful time of the year, indeed. We forget all the hardships and challenges we have faced in the previous months. In December, our resiliency is on a different high. We temporarily forget those who have wronged us and try to see the good in everything. We become positive and hopeful to a fault. 

December 25, 2016 - Finally, after months on end, we were given a go-signal to have my mother discharged. My step-father quickly processed all necessary documents and payments that morning. We were all excited to go home. A week earlier, a vein in my mother's eye ruptured. It was nothing serious, but I can't help myself and feel sorry for my poor mother. It's as if her emaciated state wasn't enough of an indicator of how her sickness had manifested and had taken control over her body, the fucker decided to bruise her eyes and colonized the windows to her soul.

Her doctors came by for her clearance checkup and greeted my mother a happy Christmas. They joked on hoping to not see her in the hospital again, and encouraged us to never tire of taking care of my mother. Looking at my mother, I saw hope glint in her bloodshot eyes as she smiled weakly at the pleasantries. But if it were up to me, I'd rather that she stayed a day or two until her condition improved. I don't care if it's Christmas or New Year's or St. Patrick's day. These man-made holidays are as useless as the meanings we attach to them. I have lived long enough to see through the bullshit. But still I thought, maybe if I acted hopeful, this would manifest as a healing energy for my mother. So fake it until I make it I did.

One of the nurses who took care of her said, "Your mother being home will help with her recovery."

"I hope so," I replied. And with it being Christmas, I hope we won't set afoot PGH soon.

While we were all scrambling about, mama stayed seated on her cot, the curtains of her eyes all shut. I couldn't tell if she was excited as we were, but one thing I was sure of was her resiliency. My mother, despite her prolonged sickness, was hopeful, or at least that's what it seemed. If there was something my mother unknowingly taught me, it was her undying resiliency. One that I would selfishly reject when my time comes.

Around 4 PM, we rode a taxi on the way home. A Christmas song was playing on the radio when we settled at the backseat, my mother sandwiched between me and my younger sister, my stepfather riding shotgun. The Christmas song ended and another one began. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" played softly in the background. What a fitting song, I thought, while looking out the window. After 3 months, we are finally going home---on Christmas day. I had to fight back the tears while recalling those grueling and seemingly endless months. A Christmas miracle, indeed. Or so I thought.