Breakfast in Bed

It’s easy. All you have to do is make coffee. And don’t forget the freshly squeezed orange juice. And the bacon, eggs and toast. Bring the breakfast tray upstairs to her bedroom. Fix your face. She does so hate sombre faces. She hates it when she thinks people are sad around her or feel pity for her.

Knock lightly on her door. Whisper: “Mum? I brought you breakfast.”

Dodge the flying hairbrush. Or ignore the pain of the words, “You? What the hell are you doing here? I told you to go away. I don’t want anything to do with you. Can’t you get that through that thick skull of yours?”

Pretend chirpy cheer as you put down the tray on the dresser. “Well, there isn’t anything we can do about that for the moment is there. Best we eat our breakfast so we can take our medication, okay? Doctor’s coming any moment now to check up on you.”

Hasten to the kitchen and let the sobs out. Cry. Cry. Let it all out. Because this is not the first time your mother hit rock bottom and threatened to kill herself. This is not the first time in your seventeen years that you have seen her go on a downward spiral. This is not the first time the rug was pulled from under your feet. Certainly, this is not the first time you had to rely on your own strength to pull your mother through. Don’t worry, this is another time you’ll make it. Repeat that to yourself.

Open the door for Dr. Cooper. Let her hug comfort you. Tell her about the death of your mother’s best friend and how she went downhill from there. Accept her invitation to lunch. She has been like a second mother to you since your parents explained your Mom’s condition to you on your thirteenth birthday.

Breathe and let the tears all out. Say “Hi, Mom! Dr. Cooper’s here. She wants you to take a vacation,” even when you know she’ll need to go back to the asylum until her suicidality subsides.

Pack Mom’s bags. Drive over to your Dad’s grave after making the trip to the hospital.

And you know what, when you tell your Dad, “Wish you were here,” he can actually hear you.

Pait

Paano malalaman
Ang haplos ng tamis
Sa mga labing uhaw
Kung pait ay di pangkaraniwan
Di dumadampi
Sa unos ng pagsambit

Ika’y hangad
At pait ay pangkaraniwan
Kaibigang matalik
Ng pusong di pa natuto
Sa pagsukob ng sakit at hapdi

Ika’y hangad
Isang banyaga
Sa bayan ng mga umiibig
Ng mga banyaga

Sino ka na dumalaw
Sa dapithapon ng pagtatangi
Ito nga
Ikaw nga ay itinatangi
Ngunit ang bagay na ito
Sa iyo’y kubli

Ika’y hangad
Banyaga sa panlasa
Kakambal ng tamis
Sa mundo ng pait
Sa pagbukadkad ng araw
Sana ika’y hahanapin
Sa halip na luha
Tuwa ang iyong bitbit.