Mama, I’m Sorry
There is no one in our lives that we take forgranted more than you, and there isn’t anyone we discredit more than you either.
You’ve had us inside of you for nine months, had your life at stake every second before and after you gave birth to us but we cannot spare an hour of our precious time to inquire after your health.
Your entire life changed when you held us in your arms. When you ate, when you slept, when you went to work, how you dressed. But we’re not even willing to change our route when coming back home for the medicine you needed for your arthritis; you picked me up even when I was too heavy for you to carry.
We blame you for not understanding our emotional state because we are unaware of the postpartum depression you went through. We’ve never given a second thought to the wounds we’ve inflicted upon your heart with our thoughtless words. You can’t understand our depression and the challenges we face, and we won’t even try to understand yours.
Mother, you’re getting old. You just don’t get technology and we don’t have the time to teach you. Of course, you could’ve chosen not to teach us how to hold a spoon – and where would we be without that skill? You’re too old for this and too old for that.
You’ve spent the entirety of your youth, middle-age, and retirement on us; you held us when we first lost our partners and were happiest when we became parents. Attending our calls in the late hours of the night because we were sleepless was only a problem to us, not you.
Don’t tell us what to do. What we wear, where we work, where we at, who we spend our lives with is none of your business; even if we were the reason why you stayed with your abusive spouse because while he may have been a terrible husband, he was a great father. You could never go out to see your friends because you had to cook, clean, work and raise us. At the end of the day, somehow we were always more tired than you. You wanted to pursue art, but how could you when your children required your attention 24/7? Of course, when you fell down the stairs and sobbed for help, none of us were there. Your medical insurance collapsed, and all of us grumbled when we had to spare a penny.
You’re dead now, and we no longer have the comfort of your existence. We are restless because the person who valued us unconditionally above all has finally thrown us away. We’ll call you selfish for giving in to death. You, who chased away every monster, has deserted us, left us to fight for ourselves in this cruel, dark world. No one left to stroke our hair, no one to wipe our tears. Who’ll console us when our children become what we became to you?
Mama, please come back.
Mama, forgive me for forgetting who you raised me to be, for being so cruel to you.
Mama, I’m sorry.
