Since about Thanksgiving, I've been thinking alot about
Ate Liza. Actually, I've thought about her every single day since last year's
awful January when this blog served as a sanctuary for me of what had been happening. A month of going to the hospital which ended with her passing that was much too early. Then again, when is it ever the "right time" to die, right? Anyway nearly one year ago she was first admitted to the hospital. My memories of that day are so vivid, its unbelievable. And I have such a bad memory, I can't believe how much I do remember. The more I think about that first night, the more I remember. How that morning, Mom told me they were going to bring her to the doctor. And how I thought it was just a passing cold,
maybe the flu, and more likely just a case of holiday homesickness manifesting in her physically getting sick. I feel so guilty for not really believing she could be that sick. Mom, even that early on, was already extremely worried. I remember her looking like she was about to cry. Dad and I just thought we were just going along for the ride, not really thinking twice about how serious it could be. I remember being more concerned about getting to some Arkipelago meeting on time than about Ate Liza. I remember even being annoyed at her for letting herself get so down about the holiday season. That I could be that insensitive really pisses me off to this day. From that first day, Mom knew that it was something serious. I remember later on that month when we knew how serious it was, being so pissed at Tita Ene, Ate Liza's roomate for knowing that Ate Liza was feeling this weak for a while and never said a word to us about it. Would we have given it a second thought then? Who knows. I remember searching for something to blame it on. Blaming Ate Liza herself for not taking care of herself better. For working to hard for a family thousands of miles away who didn't seem to comprehend how hard she was working for them. I remember being so pissed at her family for depending on her for their financial well being. I remember being pissed at everything. I remember that Thanksgiving and Christmas were the last holidays that she joined us for the festivities. I remember her crying during Christmas day mass for reasons she could not explain other than thinking how beautiful the mass was. I remember New Year's eve at our house, how she stayed in the basement by her room for the entire night. I remember us nearly forgetting to greet her Happy New Year because she just "refused" to come up. I remember feeling bad that she was in the basement all by herself when the clock turned 12. I remember shouting down from the top of the basement stairs, calling out her name, and saying "Happy New Year!" and her non-response. Why didn't I just go downstairs to give her a hug? How hard would that have been? I remember being pissed at my family that we didn't make a stronger effort to have her come up and join us. Would that have changed what happened next?
