It is a numbness that I feel now, learning of your passing from my mother. When I saw you last month, I feared for the worst already. But having seen other people's struggles and witnessed miracles, the only thing I could do then was to hold your hand, make you feel that you were, are, loved, and say a silent prayer that my quota on miracles in this lifetime has not been reached yet.
I tell myself now that I should not feel sad that you have left us. I saw how the cancer has ravaged you, and I can only begin to imagine the pain that you must have lived through, night and day, as you battled for life. Yet, I still cannot help but shed tears for you tonight, as I remember you.
I felt special as a child because you made me feel that I was your favorite. Next to my mother, you were the other woman that made me believe that I can be what I want to be. Sometimes, even now, I playfully blame you for how I have turned out to be - you, dressing me up in those girl clothes when I was still a kid! You would bring me to your office and ask me to recite poems, or sing to your staff, and you'd give me a coin for my performance. You were instrumental in how I've conquered my shyness and developed my confidence. You were the day care center my mother entrusted me to when she had to be somewhere else. And in my adolescence, didn't you always ask me to accompany you to watch those Sharon Cuneta tearjerkers, when you visited us? I could go on and on and on, but most of all, it was because you were there for my mother when many weren't....
I will never forget now how you hugged me so tightly when I visited you last month. Perhaps, we both knew then that that was going to be my last hug with you.
I love you, Tia. I will miss you.
