My mother lives on

Today I thought about bringing my mom a bunch of roses from Dangwa, or maybe I'd take her out to dine at that newly-opened restaurant. Coffee perhaps? The list goes on.

There are just so many things to do with her. Sadly, none will ever be. I lost my mother to Alzheimer's Disease nine years ago.

Bernadette Reyes, her brother Robert and their mother Evelyn. Photos courtesy of Bernadette Reyes

Losing my mom didn't come with any notice or warning, whatsoever. I guess most deaths are like that. One day they appear so alive, the next thing you know they are gone.

Weeks before her death, my brother Robert and I brought her to a hospital in Cavite. She was diagnosed with pneumonia. We didn't have the money to keep her at the hospital. We didn't know what to do. We had no one else to depend on except ourselves. We brought mom home that day. Oblivious of the fact that it could cause her death.

Kuya went about his usual routine and so did I. I went back to my dormitory in Quezon City. On a Friday I knew I was gonna come home to see my mother.

Friday came and indeed I saw her once again, only this time she was lifeless.

Had I come home a little earlier that fateful day, I could have rushed her earlier to the hospital. Who knows, she could still be here by my side to this day.

More than not coming home early that day, I regret not spending more time with my mother. There was just always one more thing to do, one more person to see before her.

Since my mother lost her speech, I never heard her complain about why I would come home late, feed her late, wash her late. I was too busy with so many other things. One day I saw tears falling down her cheeks and it said so much more than words could ever tell. She must have suffered because of me but she couldn't find the words anymore.

Between my brother and I, perhaps he has fewer regrets than I. The weekend before mom died, he was reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I saw him put the book down and tickle mom, and it made her laugh.

After the laughter faded he talked to mom some more. While I, I was in my room doing some unimportant things. How I wish I can go back to that day. I would have dropped everything just to spend that one more day with her, share one more laugh with her.

That same weekend I bid her my usual goodbye. As I stepped out the gate something told me I should go back and give her a kiss. I didn't, because my friend was already waiting for me. Now it's me waiting for a lifetime to have that one more chance to kiss her again.

Most of all, I regret not telling her how much I love her. She may not recognize me as her daughter anymore but the heart will never forget. I should have told her those three words. She died not knowing I love her after all.

All the firsts after her death were the most difficult times. First Mother's Day without her; my first birthday, her first birthday without her; first Christmas without her. A New Year without her, for good.

My mother would have been 71 today. She passed away when she was 62. Nine years have gone by but I still miss her time and again. Maybe some people never really get over the loss of someone so dear: there is always that part of us, hoping we could see them again, touch them again, live in the moment again with our dear departed.

Today I still fill my bucket list with all the wonderful things I wish to have done with her. I guess it my way of coping to try to make up for the things I should have done when she was still alive.

I should have brought more of your favorite donut at Dunkin. I should have gotten that autograph from your favorite actor Joseph Estrada when I had the chance. I should've gone to SM Southmall with you more often. The chocolates, all those years you were hiding them tucked under your bed! I still remember everything, Ma. I will never forget. You will never be forgotten. That's how we keep you alive.

The the pain of losing you gets easier, but it will never go away. We can never stop the pain, but we can always choose to live through the day. Kuya and I, we never really stopped grieving over losing you. We just learned to live with it.

My mother is long dead but I didn't lose all of her. In my heart she lives; her memory lives. Thank you, Ma. You can no longer hear me say it now, but let it be written down forever: I love you, Ma.

Bernadette Reyes is an Senior Correspondent/Anchor at GMA Network Inc. She has authored a number of essays about motherhood and her favorite topic, her mom.

Read her previous stories about her family here:

The mother who forgot she had children

From Louis Vuittons to Parisians: How motherhood has changed me