Going from Purple to Bald, Part Three

(Read Part Two HERE)

Except for the occasional bandana tugging, Mom was motionless for the most part of the 10-minute trip. I attempted to strike a conversation with her a couple of times, but she just wouldn’t budge. All she could afford was the sporadic Mmm’s and Yeah’s. She wasn’t the bubbly, chatty personality that everyone knew. She loved life and lived life to the fullest. But at that moment, it seemed as if life had completely been drained from her.

The sun finally peered through the clouds when we arrived at our compound. My brother was the first one to alight the vehicle and made his way to where my Mom was seated. Understandably, it took some time before she could get off. And when it was finally empty, I remained inside the car and tried to take everything in.

It was so surreal, like watching your life unravel before your eyes. Before I boarded the plane, Mom was in her usual self, sending me the usual affectionate messages. But the moment I got here, everything changed; like someone switched the mode from colored to black and white.

I tried to stifle my screams, but a few tears still managed to escape from my eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling how unfair this whole thing was – unfair for her and for us.

Going from Purple to Bald, Part Two

(Read Part One Here)

“Hi, how are you?” The flight attendant greeted me. I gave a reluctant smile without looking at her. But I answered her … in my head.

“Well, let’s see, Miss. I’m going home to see my mother whom I haven’t seen for months. She’s bald now, and she needs me. No, it wasn’t her choice – it just is. And when I asked her want she wanted for pasalubong, she didn’t ask for the usual which includes – but not limited to – bags or shoes. Instead, she wants a bandana … with shiny stones and beads! How cool is that? Oh yeah, she has Cancer. So, does that answer your question?”

I went straight to my seat, put my earphones on, and waited for the announcement to turn all electronic devices off. I took the Jessica Zafra book out from my bag, and although I have read the book one too many times already, I purposely packed it because I know it’s going to be a long flight, and I could use a laugh or two. The flight generally takes about an hour and a half, but due to the bittersweet nature of my trip, I know that it’s going to be a very long one.

When the number of boarding passengers began to thin out, I sent a text again. “Switching my phone off in a bit. Love you!” And right before I could turn it off, my phone beeped. “Can’t wait. We’ll be waiting. Love you, nak!”

How are you, the question from the flight attendant echoed in my mind. How am I? I didn’t know how I could possibly begin to find the answer. I’d like to say that I’m fine, but that’s the most overused lie, second only to I’m on my way. So, I let the question hang in air as the plane taxied on the runway. I’ll check back on it once the plane lands. By the way, it was such a beautiful day, it was ironic.

Going from Purple to Bald

“Do not cry in front of Mama when you see her. She just can’t have that.” I read a text from my sister while I was at the departure area, waiting for my flight home to see my mother. “She doesn’t have hair. And she’s lost a lot of weight. She might try to ignore you at first but just maintain the usual banter you and Mom would do every time she’d fetch you at the airport,” the text briefing from my sister continued.

It would be the first time that I’d see her post chemotherapy,and my family members made sure that I understood the situation. “No crying, please. You need you to be strong. You have to be strong for Mama.”

Amidst the flurry of people, the frenzied pace, and the raucous clatter, I sat there staring blankly onto space not knowing what to do or how to react. With my back pack on one side, I clutched my phone lightly against my chest. I felt my heartbeat racing as tears welled up in both eyes.

I reviewed the message for the nth time – maintain the usual banter. I quickly stashed the phone inside my bag and tried to focus my thoughts on more positive things; like the appreciative look the cab driver gave me when I tipped him for getting me to the airport as fast as he could, like how I remembered to pack all the essentials, and like how I managed to arrive at the airport two hours before my flight.

However, it proved to be of little or no help at all as everything that I could think of would always lead me to thoughts of her.

“How hard is it to give people a little extra something whenever they did a good job?” She always wanted me to tip. And she always wished I’d stop procrastinating, because according to her, cramming would almost always end up with a shoddy and haphazard output. “You could do more if you’re not cramming, you know, like packing the night before the flight.” And she always wanted me to arrive at the airport as soon as the check-in counters open for “good seats and a buffer for unforeseen delays.” I focused on other things but my thoughts were always punctuated with me thinking about her more.