In Loving Memory of the late
Patria Teodocia Uy y Cervantes
Born: May 30, 1935
Died: March 22, 2007
"In the palm of His Hands, He has carved my name. Lord, You are my Light and my Salvation..."
(Verse taken from the Holy Bible)
Dreamlike, I heard a faint sound from a distance, indistinct and unrecognizable, like a flute or a softly blown trumpet. I slowly opened my eyes and suddenly, the sound became a loud ringing. Ah, it’s morning. I reached for my alarm clock and turned it off. For one second, I imagined being serenaded by the angels. Positive thoughts. My mental state was in its proper perspective. I yawned and stretched out my limbs as my mind randomly checked my to-do list. I needed to reach my daily goal and that meant accomplishing everything written on that small but powerful piece of paper!
A few more stretches and I was on my way to hit the shower. Absently, I opened the door to the bath and stifled a frightened scream. A big black butterfly flew over my head! My eyes followed its flight as I tried to gain back my equilibrium. Where did it come from? I checked the high window and saw that it was closed, then I turned to the exhaust fan, it wasn’t on and even if it were, it would be impossible for anything to fly or crawl that way without getting hit by the small propellers. I opened the high window for the butterfly to fly free and wondered about it. As the cool and refreshing water rained over my body, I forgot the little incident in no time.
Feeling renewed, I was prepared to go about my usual routine. Cook breakfast, get my boys ready for school, do the laundry and water the flowers. All done, I was ready for to-do list #1, the water bill. There was an exorbitant increase in the latest bill and I later found out there was a leak in one of the pipes that the plumbers have installed. I needed to go to the water district to complain and ask for an adjustment. There was a long line when I entered their office. I patiently waited on the queue when, quite unexpectedly, my thoughts drifted back to the butterfly. I wasn’t superstitious and just wanted to brush off any meaning related to the incident that might have cropped up inside my head. Nonsense!
I tried to follow my planned itinerary but the incident back in the bathroom that morning kept bugging me. I started to have goose bumps and I felt somewhat weak and uneasy. After my business at the water district, I proceeded with to-do #2 and tried #3 with what was left of the time before lunch break. I went home for a late lunch and sat under an unfinished structure, which I originally planned as a small space for rent but didn’t materialize due to financial constraints. My eyes darted to the still open high window of my bathroom. Curious, I went inside and checked if the butterfly stayed where it was when I left or flew out. I didn’t find it there. Instead, I almost jumped out of my skin when I saw it perched on one of the picture frames on the wall as I made my way out to the kitchen door. There it was, as big and black as ever. All the hairs on my skin stood out in fear. I took a broomstick and drove it out of the house.
Slumped on a chair, I looked at the clock and remembered that I wasn’t even half way to hitting my goal that day. I was only on my to-do #3.
I must have dozed off because when I glanced back at the clock, it was almost 3:00 P.M. For no apparent reason, I paced back and forth my little room. I just couldn’t get over the feeling of uneasiness that seemed to engulf me that very moment. Some twenty minutes later, my phone rang. My nerves sprang like a leaping kitten at the first ring. I grabbed the receiver as if it was my lifeline. I was acting crazy. Later, I surmised it was intuition.
I heard my cousin’s wife speaking incoherently on the other end. Dreading what she was about to say, I willed myself to keep calm and have the necessary presence of mind. In a voice laden with anxiety, she told me that my mother didn’t wake up for her scheduled dose of medicine at 3:00 P.M. that day. She was sleeping and refused to open her eyes but she was breathing normally. Mother had diabetes for over 10 years now. So, I calmly instructed her to call the doctor and report the matter immediately while I frantically prepared for the long travel ahead to find out for myself what’s gone wrong with her.
My mother lived in a small town located in the eastern coast of Southern Philippines. It is my hometown. I was born in that peaceful and beautiful place. I had a happy childhood and spent half of my life there before leaving for college. Mother never liked the city life so she stayed on with my father and other relatives in our old home.
As I boarded a van going to our town, my brother rang to inform me that they were taking Mother to the city hospital. Like a caged animal about to be freed, I got out of the van and headed for the hospital and waited for them at the lobby. I kept praying and praying and praying. My heart was beating furiously that I was sure it would pop out of my chest anytime. Waiting was hell. I wanted to be with my mother that instant. My heart was reaching out to her. “Oh God, please don’t let herdie. Please, please, please”. My silent pleas were transparent in my eyes as tear after tear rolled down my face uncontrollably.
The ambulance that carried my mother arrived four hours later. Our town takes five hours of travel in normal conditions before reaching the city. We always travel by land on rough roads. There are no airplanes plying that route.
I ran out of the hospital building to meet them and see my mother. There she was, seemingly deep in sleep- no movement, no nothing. An unspeakable pain squeezed my heart as I wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear. “Please hang on Momma, you’ll be OK. I am here and I will not leave you”. Reassuring words, actually meant more for me than for her.
Day 1 in the ICU (Intensive Care Unit): My mother completely slipped into coma. She was diagnosed with Hypoglycemia, a usual complication of diabetes, when a patient has an abnormally low level of the sugar glucose in the blood triggered by inappropriate and unmonitored diet, among others. My heart bled at the sight of her in that condition. Once strong and bubbly, she was now pliant and helpless. My brother and I took turns in pumping air into the manual ventilator to help Mother breathe. All mechanical ventilators in that hospital were either being used or broken. It was only a matter of time before we were overtaken by sheer exhaustion and the result would be fatal. Without the manual ventilator, Mother couldn’t breathe.
Day 2 in the ICU: I didn’t sleep the whole night watching her and pumping air into that ventilator. My arms started to feel numb with the continuous exertion of energy. I had to think of some remedy; otherwise I would just drop with exhaustion any moment. The initial expenses of Mother’s medications needed for her IV’s took half of all my small savings. My brother and his wife assisted me for as long as their time and limited resources allowed. I went to the nurses’ station to check again if a mechanical ventilator was now available for my mother. Negative. It was then that someone told us that there was one for rent on the second floor of the hospital building. I rushed down to get it, worrying all the time that someone might get there ahead of me to rent the thing before I could. Luckily, I got the last one out. Lord, thank you! I silently rejoiced.
Day 3 in the ICU: With the equipment known as a Life Support System safely installed, my mother was breathing at a normal pace. She had a healthy color on her face. She still looked beautiful even at her advanced age. But she was still in a seemingly blissful sleep, unknowing of what was happening to her and around her. I was able to rest and I soon learned how to use the suction machine, a devise used to suck out accumulated saliva and phlegm from her throat. It was done every 4 hours or so or if needed to aid the passage of oxygen into her body. Regular milk feeding was done thru the nasogastric tube inserted into her nose. A kind of rubber or plastic tube used to feed a patient who is not capable of chewing food in the mouth and remove small particles and air from the stomach to decompress it. I personally monitored her pulse rate, blood pressure and sugar level. I was a trained caregiver and I was glad that my skill was put into practice for someone very dear to me.
I felt a sense of happiness and satisfaction that I was lovingly taking care of my mother at a time when she needed it most. Nurses were becoming scarce in our country. Almost 95% of the country’s qualified nurses work abroad since the meager pay that most hospitals in the Philippines offer was hardly adequate for their daily basic needs and couldn’t compensate for the services they are asked of to render.
Day 4 in the ICU: Hospital expenses cut down my small savings to almost nil. I was spending at a fast rate of $130 USD daily for my mother’s IV medicines. Only drugs that were available in the hospital pharmacy, room & board, doctors’ fees and laboratory procedures such as CT scan, X-rays, etc., were covered by my health insurance of which my mother and father are the principal beneficiaries. All other expenses were to be shouldered by me. I was starting to worry. I thought of my jewelries and other valuables. It would greatly help in our expenses both at home and at the hospital.
That afternoon, my son and his wife came to visit and give Mother her usual sponge bath. Both of them were nursing students on the second year level and they usually go to the hospital after classes to take their turn in caring for Mother. I found the time to go home and take a long warm bath and even rested for an hour or so before returning to the hospital.
Day 5 – By Myself: Carefully, I took out all of my jewelries, which were few, and placed them in a small pouch. I looked at the set of prescription slips handed to me by the nurse before I left the hospital. I was mentally calculating the proceeds and how to divide the money for Mother’s medicine, children’s allowances and food. I quickly boarded a public utility vehicle on my way to the pawnshop. I wasn’t disappointed with the amount that I got from my jewelries, some of which were special gifts given to me by my man. But there was no time for sentimentality in the face of real danger. A life was at stake. After buying all the things needed at the ICU I went back to the hospital without delay. The children have to go home early for their final exams the following day. My energy was at its best and I thanked God for keeping me on my feet on those trying days. “Momma, things are gonna befine, just hold on”, I whispered as I clutched my purse close to my breast.
Day 6 in the ICU: That night, I was resting my head on Mother’s pillow, close to her still frame and whispered to her everything that was on my mind. I let her know all that was in my heart, which were never told when she was well. I cried silently while I told her how sorry I was that I couldn’t give her a good and easy life in her later years, and how I regret the many ‘fights’ that we had simply because I was too stubborn to follow the house rules or she was too hard-headed to follow doctor’s advise. I asked for her forgiveness for all those times when I should be at her side and I was elsewhere, and for the hurting words I might have said at times when I was mad at life’s unfairness and difficulties. Most of all I thanked her for her boundless love for me. “I'm so sorry, Momma. Please wake up, I miss you so much.” I whispered between my tears.
The pain in my heart was unbearable and I embraced her and told her how much I loved her. Then I looked at her expressionless face. I saw a pair of tears slipped out from the corners of her eyes. My mother heard everything I said! I kissed her forehead and cried even more, this time with joy that she still could hear. “Thank you for listening Momma”.That night, I slept peacefully beside her, one arm protectively spread across her motionless body.
Day 7 Last Day in the ICU: I woke up to a gentle tap on my shoulder. It was the attending nurse and another one behind him. He gently asked me to move from the bed so that they have room to check my mother’s BP and sugar level. I looked at the clock. It was 2:00 A.M. I removed my mask and put a cool wet towel on my face to completely wake me. Then the nurse turned to me with sympathetic eyes and said that my mother’s BP has dropped to a level that meant it wasn’t long before she passed on.
I struggled for composure and with trembling hands, took out my mobile phone and called my sons. I needed them for emotional support and wanted them to be with their grand mother in her final moments. I informed my brother and his family too. My father was brought to the room but wasn’t allowed to stay long since he was too frail to withstand his grief. My sons promptly arrived within a few minutes. My youngest son gently put my mother’s head in his arms and kissed her forehead, while his older brother held her hands and carried them to his face contorted with grief. I could tell Momma was slipping away. Her veins wouldn’t take the IV’s anymore. Purple started to show under her nails, skin turning to a pale yellowish shade. It was just a matter of time.
I pressed my cheeks on her chest and draw her hand over my head, wanting to feel that infinite comfort she provided when I was a little girl and I ran into some trouble. She would then draw me within her embrace and gently smooth my hair with tender strokes of her loving hand. I wanted to feel it for the last time.
At exactly 6:05 A.M., Momma drew her last breath. Like a long intake of deep breath that was somehow trapped inside her lungs and never came back to be released. The doctors and nurses tried to resuscitate her and pumped on her heart, but she could feel no more. She has quietly and completely slipped away into a new world. A world free from disease, free from troubles and pain. On bended knees, my shoulders shook as I sobbed over my loss. It was the saddest moment of my life. It was the only time that I felt the deepest of grief. My brother, his wife, my sons and myself surrounded Momma's lifeless body and just let our tears wash over our pain of losing her. She looked peaceful and serene and beautiful even in death.
Nothing but nothing could measure the depth of my sorrow the day we laid Momma to her resting place. She was 71 at the time of her demise.
Now, looking back, I thought of that big black butterfly in my bathroom. Could it have been my dearest mother who wanted to watch me again going about my daily routine and the usual to-do lists? No one can tell but I sure will not drive one away when it shows up anywhere in my house one day. I’d like to believe that some butterflies bring a message with them, a warning maybe, or simply a way of saying goodbye to a loved one. I sure miss that particular black butterfly.
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Reviewed by 000 000
2/19/2010
I believe your mama was the butterfly and this story touches deep into my heart! We are sent signs and messages...just many are to busy to connect. Beautiful and thank you for sharing. Love and sunshine, carol
Beautiful story...
I was unable to be there when my mom unexpectedly passed away 15 months ago. I am glad that you were able to spend those last seven days with your mom...even if she wasn't coherent I am sure she knew you were there.
Cryssa
Reviewed by C. Borris
1/14/2008
A painful experience, yet somehow liberating...
Reviewed by E. Richardson
12/30/2007
You have been given the gift of possessing a loving and filial heart, Sheri. I have an ailing mother who was diagnosed with a terminal disease. When I stumbled upon your honest and emotional story/recollection of your mother's final days, it gave me a a new introspection on my own mother's plight and you have profoundly inspired me to be a better daughter than a better person to others. From the depths of my heart, I thank you Sheri, for this beautiful and touching story, and for somehow touching my soul. Blessings to you, my new friend. May the new year bring you more love, prosperity and peace in your home.
My best,
Elizabeth
Reviewed by T. Schwimmer
12/23/2007
A heartrending recollection. It was hard not to be drawn into the deep sorrow of the author without shedding tears. A simple yet loving retelling of the dying days of a loved one.
Thank You for sharing "Black Butterfly (A Recollection)".
In admiration,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
Reviewed by Lillian Hampson
12/19/2007
I do believe that your beloved mother thought of you dearly before the inevitable claimed her. You had a very close relationship with her and I remember her kindness and generosity. I had the chance to meet her when I worked on a research about the Mandayan Tribe in the Philippines some 34 years back. My, how you've grown! I'm sure your mother is proud of you, where ever she is now. Her photo shows that kind smile she always bestowed on me whenever I went to her restaurant to eat. Yes, I recall everything about her with fondness. Please be glad in the thought that she is now free from any form of suffering and that she's finally home with The Creator. I am still in awe of the way she brought you up. Please continue your work and be assured of my prayers that you may succeed in your chosen field. It's good to see you again.
Sheri, this was such a lovely tribute to your mother. I had a tough time getting through it for the tears it brought. Your love for your mother shines through with every word. I do believe your butterfly was some kind of sign. When my own mother passed away there were many small "coincidences" that just could not be explained in any other way than to say they were small miracles, sent to give comfort. If you would like to read about one of them, I invite you to have a look at my story, A Crocus in the Snow.
Peace and blessings to you, my friend.
Jean
Reviewed by Mimi Moxley
12/8/2007
Hi Pinks, I really enjoyed reading your poems and short stories. Wow, what a talent you have! Honestly, I cried over this particular story because I personally know Tia Anting. I can relate to your feeling of loss. As you know, I too lost Mamay over a year ago, so I can imagine how painful it was for you. Please continue and I hope you get a well deserved recognition.
Just forwarded the link to Chief.
Love,
Mimi
Reviewed by Marigold Johnson
12/7/2007
Such vivid recollection of a mother's dying moments. You, Sheri is lucky for having been given the chance to let your mother feel your great love for her. The special bond between mother and daughter. Poignant. Well done!
So sad...had tears in my eyes. But, surrounded by her loving and devoted daughter and grandchildren, Mother could not have asked for a more pleasant passing. Call me superstious but I really believe the Black Butterfly was her spirit watching over the daughter who she loved so much. The Butterfly will be there in times of great need and crisis.
GodBless and take care my dear! You are indeed loved and cared by one who is now in God's realm
At the young of age of seven, Jill's mother Eve takes her for regular sessions to a child psychologist for treatment of her anxiety, which only makes her behavior worse. When she reaches her teens, she starts drinking and then smoking marijuana with
At the young of age of seven, Jill's mother Eve takes her for regular sessions to a child psychologist for treatment of her anxiety, which only makes her behavior worse. When she reaches her teens, she starts drinking and then smoking marijuana with
Dreamlike, I heard a faint sound from a distance, indistinct and unrecognizable, like a flute or a softly blown trumpet. I slowly opened my eyes and suddenly, the sound became a loud ringing. Ah, it’s morning. I reached for my alarm clock and turned it off. For one second, I imagined being serenaded by the angels. Positive thoughts. My mental state was in its proper perspective. I yawned and stretched out my limbs as my mind randomly checked my to-do list. I needed to reach my daily goal and that meant accomplishing everything written on that small but powerful piece of paper!
