Woke up early this morning to go and bath my mother as it is Sunday and visitors always come out to see them. I entered their room and they were both asleep. My father on his favorite couch that he took days to fix and my mom on her hospital bed. I bent down to kiss her haunted with the familiar sense of guilt because I don't spent enough time with her. Yes, I come in and out of their room every day but not long enough to really see how she's doing, how her day is going. I looked at her this morning and remembered the woman, the mother she use to be. Always working and so full of life. Now, unable and an invalid and her only consolation is the presence of my father by her side and her little Mele Tupou. She woke up, looked at me, smiled and I wanted to weep. How can I make her see just how grateful I am for the fact that she is still alive and breathing. A few times I've heard her cry for death. I don't blame her. I would be praying for death if I was in her shoes. As much as she has been wishing for death I have been pleading with God to let her live. Let me serve her a little longer, let me give back just a fraction of what she has given me. Yet, I continue to question if I am doing enough for her at all. My father does everything for her. I only make sure I cook their food and every now and then, change her diaper and clean their room.
My mother leaves a legacy of faith, love and hard work. She worked for everything we had when we were growing up. We had the best of everything and now I can't even provide her with a decent pair of socks. I am trying and I still need to try harder. They deserve more then what I am able to give them now. I only hope that their day will come soon before they exit this life.