REGRETS [one shot story]

Regrets

In my teenage years, I was lot alike all the other teenagers—stubborn, selfish, bipolar, and rebellious. I often have mood swings; but rather than showing it to anybody at school I would just keep myself in one secluded place and keep quiet. After I get home—just when I thought I could breathe from the suffocating grip of my teachers and classmates—there's my mom who starts asking so much questions; how my school had been, have I passed the test, or am I feeling alright.

When I get fully loaded with all these overwhelming emotions clouding inside me I would just burst out and yell at her. Then there goes the irritating nagging voice of my angry mom. Out of frustration I would climb up my room stomping my feet like a kid and shutting the door behind me—so much thankful that I was finally in my safe haven where I could be alone in my peaceful little world.

The same old thing happens almost everyday with my mom. Why wouldn't she just shut it? It's pretty much annoying and frustrating. I don't even remember what else had we done together. Nothing but fights and arguments is what I recall.

Then, that day came. The Day of Lamentations. My whole family was grieving—dad, my older brothers, even my little brother. At first, I don't know what I should feel. I was confused. I know I felt something of a pain in my heart but I did not cry like them. Not a single tear fell down on my eye. Maybe it's because I thought mom's disease won't take in after a long time. I didn't think it was that serious. But, I regret that day where I didn't even share with their sorrow because of my mom's illness. I regret that I took it so lightly.

Months after that news mom started to forget little things like where she'd put her car key, or sometimes she would sleep without turning off the TV. Next thing she started to forget, which I hated the most, is that whenever I'm out she would call me over and over again asking me where I am when not an hour ago I just told her where I was. I know it's because of her Alzheimer's but I can't help but to be annoyed. She's like a broken radio.

Years after, mom's becoming more like a kid. A lot of things that she should be doing herself, her own personal nurse does them for her. During summer I have to take responsibility of taking care of my own mother. At first it was a horrifying experience. I was taking care of an adult, yes, an adult who can't even eat by herself. She does stuffs that I don't even know what. It was really irritating and annoying.

But, as days pass by, a pang of guilt struck through me as my patient tells me how she loves her little daughter playing her dolls in her own little room which she calls her safe haven. And that little girl happens to be me way back 10 years ago. She would tell me these stories everyday without knowing that I am that little girl. I then realized how she loves me. She cared for me, and until that last moment she cherished me like she could touch her dear child with her weak hands so fragile it seems to fall off her arms in any moment.

Even after every fight we've been through, she still showed how she loved me. Until her last breath I felt it. That unending love. That moment, memories came flashing in my mind like raindrops, so many I couldn't contain it anymore. Scenes like when mom used to sing me lullabies to get me off to sleep, or whenever I'm scared, she was always there for me. When I'm tired for school she would cheer me up, always. She would buy me gifts even there's no occasion, it's to show how she loves me so much with her dear life. Among her children, the only girl is her favorite, the one whom she treasures the most. I was her precious baby.

I cried in remorse. Guilt was down me deep into my flesh, ripping my heart apart. How I remembered we fought. How many times have I yelled at her? How many times did I made her feel like a worthless mother? Then, I also saw her suffering. The pain she's gone through. She experienced physical pain, those bed sores in her back slowly eating her flesh. But, before all those happened, I, I was the excruciating her. It surely killed her fighting with her most precious daughter which she treasured the most. How she grieved when she saw the bad daughter I turned in to. With and without that disease she's tortured. She has long been excruciated by me personally.

If I could just turn back time and undo all the things that I've done. I would have stopped myself from saying all those horrendous words that were like knives to her heart that killed her slowly inside. If I could just, I already did. But just like what they say, 'Regret is always in the end.' Now I regret that I haven't expressed myself. How thankful I am she became my mom, I should have told her how much I appreciated all her works, how much I love her. But all those things I wanted to do, it is all too late.