..the wind as my messenger..

Sundays, as I have redundantly blogged is one of my favorite days of the week. I guess I already developed a "Sunday blues" eversince I moved out from home.I see to it that my phone is already loaded by Saturday because Sunday is for my family, my "untouchables"..

 I phoned my Tita Neng  first because Mom was not answering, and as usual, I'm hearing her "habilins" like of not sleeping with my hair wet, not taking shower when I arrived from work, to drink milk before sleeping and never to skip meals..I was again bombarded with her "iloveyouloveyouloveyou Inday" and oftentimes it's harder for me to terminate a conversation with her.

 Everytime I went home from work, the first thing I would do is to give a glance on my bedside table. Aside from piles of books on its top is the picture of my Mom and my sister Robz. Last Sunday when I was still on duty and the ward is still and calm, I phoned her. She told me how much she misses me. Since my sister and I are away, she's living all alone in our house. It's a big irony because when we were kids, she was the one who's away from us..and now that my sister and I are grown-ups, we were the ones who are away from her. Should I'll calculate the years we were living together, I think I spent more years living with our dog Keso than with my Mom. She was  bragging that she had landscaped the garden of our new house by herself and that she is planning to put pebbles on the footwalk..and that she saw my pictures and concluded that she is still prettier than us...hahaha  I've forgotten in a while my worries about her living by  herself and her laxity about her health. I remember the times when I had my nightmares and I would transfer in her bed with my sister and the three of us would enjoy the space-limited bed and she will just utter "you should pray before sleeping". We would then wake up with food already in the table and our uniforms well-pressed. As she would always say, it was her frustration of taking good care of us because she had done these things at times that we are already capable of doing it for ourselves. I understand her fully now that I am in her shoe, not as being a mom yet, but as a daughter failing to take good care of her mother. 

My finger was hesitant to terminate the call  as I  said my bitter-sweet goodbye and just imagining my Mom's voice saying "I love you Kim"..

As I waited for the bus going home that night, I felt the warm wind blowing..

 "Thanks for the hug Mom, your Kim will be home soon"..