Last Call — Hive

This is my entry for nonfiction prompt #4: OVERCOMING OBSTACLES

November 4th, 2011.

My eyes were as restless as the erratic beating in my chest. I couldn’t explain the peculiar emotion enveloping my squeamish heart then. My hands were icy and trembling when I grabbed my phone to make a call.

I dialed my sister’s number to check on our mother, who was in the hospital. The long ringing sound coming from the other end of the line brought an agonizing feeling, tormenting me to the core. Until finally…

“Hello?” my shaky voice betrayed me. “How’s Mama?” I asked, trying my best not to sound like a crybaby because I had been missing my family.

“She just woke up,” Daisy said.

“Can I talk to her?”

As I waited for her response, excitement filled my heart. I couldn’t wait to tell Mama how much I loved her, and that I’ll see her soon. Because during the time she was hospitalized, I was away, working in a different province to send myself to college since our family couldn’t afford it.

“Mama ate wants to talk to you.” I heard Daisy speak. And then there was silence before she dropped the bomb. “Ate—” (A-te is the term we use in the Philippines to address older sisters.)

“Yes?”

"She doesn't want to talk to you."

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. Just put the phone on her ears. I’ll just say something.”

Silence.

“Sorry,” Daisy spoke again. “She’s pushing away the phone. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

My heart sank to my stomach. I could hear a loud crash of my heart being torn to bits. I broke down in tears. My knees buckled as if my femur had turned into soggy noodles.

“It’s—it’s okay. Please tell her I love her. Tell her I have passed my second-semester exams. I’m going home soon. Tell her to get well, and happy birthday in advance.”

When the call ended, I clutched my left chest, trying to find a heartbeat. Pain and sadness choked me, depriving me of oxygen.
Overthinking flooded my mind.

‘Why didn’t she talk to me?’

‘Is she mad because I didn’t go home as soon as she told me so?’

‘Did I hurt her that much?’

‘Did she think I don’t care about her?’

I wanted to explain that I can’t go home ASAP because I don’t have the money yet, but she didn’t give me a chance.

I spent two nights blaming myself for not complying with my mother’s wish for me to go home. I spent two nights crying myself to sleep, thinking that I was a worthless daughter. And such torment had gotten worst when I received a call from Daisy on the sixth of November, a day before Mama’s birthday.

“Ate—Mama’s gone.”

My world collapsed!

Mama died without talking to me. She died without me by her side. I wasn’t given the chance to tell her how much I love her. The last time I told her those words was when I was eleven.

To cut the long story short, my mother’s passing, though painful as hell, didn’t hinder me from achieving her dream for me—to be an educator. I took the education course in college because it was what she wanted for me. I graduated, hoping she was there walking with me while I was receiving my diploma.

I didn’t let the pain of losing my mother hinder me to keep moving, although it incapacitated me for a while.

In the end, I just forced myself into believing that the reason why she didn’t want to talk to me then was because she didn’t want to be the reason for me to get distracted with my studies, just so I could stop hating myself for not being by her side.

I still miss her at this very moment.