My stats show somebody from the Philippines keeps on dropping by my blog regularly. I hope it isn’t any of my former colleagues at my last job because it’s not fair that they continue to be engrossed as to what’s going on in my daily existence while I don’t give an ounce of attention over any of them. Sure a few are still somewhat connected to me on FB although I’d unfollowed them all because their affairs just don’t interest me.
I don’t mind if I have a follower who’s a complete stranger. Whatever I write here won’t be much of an issue to him or her.
What if that consistent visitor happens to be my son? Oh well…. He ‘kinda told me off in one of his recent text messages about my hidden resentment towards him. When I read his note, my mind was like “wtf, you expect me to be happy and proud of your unconscionable demeanor towards your mother for the past three years?” Of course I know he’s been reading my blog — he was the one who set it up in the first place. He’s probably checking periodically if I’m still alive. He still has a hard time believing I’ve lasted this long on my own.
I visited and talked to him during the height of the dreadful crisis last month. Because I wanted him to at least do the right thing and pay his last respects to someone who had loved him dearly. Mind you, the brat was once more so full of himself to think about other people other than his ego and imagined hurt pride. I can’t believe I raised that huge of a monster.
During our text messaging and especially in our last conversation face to face I kept telling him I love him. It’s true — he’s my child. The 22 years we’d been together 24/7 cannot be erased; even though it’s become clear he doesn’t love me. The boy who grew up with me — despite losing him eventually — still remains in my heart.
He’d definitely condemn me again if he reads this post. I say, “Dear child, it only proves you are not a De Leon — which I am and truly proud of. You are a Mamaradlo; only your father’s blood runs deep and pure in you.”
I gave him instructions (what to do) when it’s my time to pass away. Cremation and no funeral for me. Not surprising if he ends up tossing out my ashes wherever (although I hope it’d be in some beautiful sea 🙂 ). His inexplicable indignation no doubt he will hold on to.
I’d been a good and responsible mother; that I can uphold until the end of my days. May I be able to live many many more years to rejoice on that fact and take delight with what’s left in my life.
-dinner after hearing mass on the 9th day. Feeling terrible; not motivated to make myself pretty.