Remembering You

note: Kuya = endearing term used to refer to an older brother

I set out all my ingredients before me, mentally checking them off a list I’d prepared months ago. On my left hand side, the basics: some beef stock, a couple vegetables, flour, milk, and finally, salt and pepper. As my eyes moved to the right, however, the stuff on the table became more unique: the seven days of food and drink had left me plenty of leftovers to work with. Bay leaves, peppercorns, roasted pork belly, bone marrow, and a dozen other ingredients were scattered on the counter, all pieces of the culture Ina had taken with her when she left her homeland long ago.

She knew each ingredient by heart. I only knew them from a cookbook.

Taking a deep breath, I placed two empty pots on the open stovetop, plus a chopping board on the clear space next to them. I grabbed a knife from my drawer, sharpening it carefully to a fine edge.

No more delaying. The funeral would be tomorrow, and there was still a lot of work to do.

=-=-=

A silhouette stood at the door of my childhood home. “Sab,” I breathed out. I let go of my suitcase, and stepped forward to hug my baby sister. She’d grown older since I’d last seen her, the crow’s feet and dark eyebags betraying the stress of her work. Moving cross-country hadn’t helped much either. Still, she smiled, and I could almost imagine us as kids again, teasing and running around the house as Mom cooked our lunches and Dad sipped on his eternally-hot coffee.

“Kamusta ka na? I haven’t seen you in years!” I asked.

“I’m fine, Kuya.” She laughed. “Always worrying. You never changed. I already fixed up your old room, come bring your stuff in.”

“Of course I’m worrying,” I continued, slowly pulling my luggage up the steps. “How’s the job?”

“Tiring, of course. But I already knew it would be when I first took up Nursing. I got lucky with my boss at the hospital though; I told her about the situation, and she let me stay off for as long as I-” She paused. “Are you okay?”

“Was there-- always this many-- steps?” I asked, taking in deep breaths as I went up the staircase.

Sab smiled. “Take a break here,” she said, stopping at the landing midway up to the second floor. “Besides, you can go check on-” She trailed off, vaguely waving towards the closed door beside us both.

I stared at it too, catching my breath, trying to delay the inevitable turning of the door knob. “How is she?”

Her smile faded slightly. “Not.. the best. She’s asleep right now. Best not to wake her up. But you can go inside and take a look.”

We stared at the door a moment longer, neither wanting to make the first move. I finally asked the lingering question: “Did she- I mean, does she...?”

Sab answered with an almost-imperceptible shake of her head.

=-=-=

The potatoes were skinned, chopped, and boiling. The garlic and onions were sliced and minced,  the classic chew-a-mint-while-cutting technique saving me from a lot of tears. With the butter melted, I threw them into the hot pan, and the vegetables sizzled on contact. The softness of the kitchen, however, was quickly interrupted by the door swinging open.

In walked the siblings who were in charge of the wake today: Migs, who only stopped with a quick “hi, kuya” before trudging off to his room, and Sab, who paused and took a deep sniff of the air.

“Smells good, Kuya,” she remarked. “Never thought you’d be the cook between us, you know.”

I smiled back. “How was the wake? I’d ask Migs but...”

She laughed. “Oh, you should’ve seen it. Mom’s siblings came back again.”

I shuddered. “And since they hadn’t seen Migs yet-”

“Mhm! They were on him like a pack of wild dogs.” Her voice rose to mimic the high tones of the women: “Oh you’re so tall na! What’s your job? How much do you make? I’m actually surprised he didn’t pass out earlier!”

We both laughed at the thought, before easing into a comfortable silence. “You should rest already, you know?” I said. “We need to be all there for tomorrow.”

“And what about you?” she countered.

“The soup still needs a lot of work. I’ll find a way to catch up.”

“Hay nako. Up to you. That better be the best damn soup I’ll ever taste. I’ll make sure to get you coffee in the morning. Night, Kuya”

“No promises. Night, Sab,” I replied. She closed the kitchen door behind her, leaving me back alone in the ambience of the kitchen.

=-=-=

The machine that had taken up most of my suitcase’s weight was almost completely set up now. From afar, it simply looked like another mechanical addition to the machines crowding Mom’s bedside. But I knew this one couldn’t ever be found in any other hospital.

I kneeled next to my sleeping Mom, with Sab on the other side. I hated to interrupt her sleep, especially with her looking so peaceful, but the machine needed a connection. “This might hurt a bit. Sorry, Mom,” I whispered, as I inserted a short, thin, needle into the back of the sleeping woman’s head. She barely reacted. Me and Sab both let out a deep breath, and I turned on the machine, letting its quiet hum enter the room’s silence.

I read through the dials. “Everything looks good, Sab. Just make sure she doesn’t pull it out or anything. Shouldn’t happen too frequently, though. Once she’s awake, we can start-”

“Mark?”

I froze. The voice had come from my left, but I couldn’t make myself turn my head. It wasn’t the gentle tones of Sab, rather, the weak speech of a voice that had failed to speak... and was just now figuring it out.

“Is that you?”

I finally turned to face Mom, who had now awoken from her sleep. She looked frail, tired, thin, like the simple weight of gravity was already too much for her to bear. Still, she strained to raise her hand onto my face.

“Hey, Mo-”

“My dear,” she interrupted me. “You’re finally home.”

The realization dawned on me. Mom had only ever called one person “my dear,” and that name had never, not once, belonged to him or any of his siblings. She had her own special ways for each of us. But “my dear”? That was for her husband, and her husband alone. A dad who just so happened to name his first son after himself. And a dad who had passed away years ago.

I choked back a tear, and could only muster a word. “Hi.” I looked at Sab for support, but she seemed as frozen in place as I was.

“Where… have you been?” Mom asked.

“I had to do a few things. But I’m here now. How’re you feeling?” I continued.

“Sick. Very sick. But this nice, new nurse takes care of me. Did you hire her for me?” Mom waved towards Sab, and pain flashed across my sister’s face.

“Of course I did. And she says you should be resting.”

“Later, later,” she dismissively answered. “The kids.” Her voice suddenly sounded alert, catching me by surprise. “Did we… did we do it right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You promised, at the end of… it all, we’d ask each other. I’m asking you now. Do you think we did well?”

Sab had to turn away now, freely crying into her arm. I struggled to not do the same. “I think we did. I really do.”

“Good, good.” She closed her eyes again. “I think I’ll go back to sleep. Wake me up for dinner, won’t you?”

I watched through teary eyes as the first of the bright liquid flowed from her head, through the needle, and into the machine.

=-=-=

I pulled out the small, glass tube from the fridge. It always felt weird, just storing it with all the other common ingredients, when I knew an entire grocery could never replace what it could do. Still, the bright fluid inside gleamed, and that was as good a sign as any.

The soup, now all thrown together, bubbled in its pot. I took a quick taste, relishing in the flavors bursting through to my mouth. This alone would’ve been good enough for almost anyone already. But I’d worked too hard to stop now, and I had exactly all I needed to finish it off.

I quickly drained the pocket-sized tube of its contents.

One tablespoon.

Two tablespoons.

And the last of the bright liquid, the last of my Mom’s memories, dissolved into the simmering soup. Immediately, the bubbling stopped. I lowered the heat, sat down, and relaxed. 

This would take a while.

=-=-=

It didn’t take much longer for the final two of my younger siblings to arrive. That usually happens when a parent is on their deathbed, you see. Just a few days after Migs and Emily, the youngest, had arrived, Sab called us all back into the room. We were brewing coffee for the next night shift, extra hot, just as Dad would’ve liked it. Maybe that was one sign of many that, for once in many, many, years, my family was finally all together again.

The fourof us crowded around Mom’s bed. I stood at the foot of it, watching it all go down with my eyes flying everywhere except at Mom. Sab kneeled on my left, clutching Mom’s hand tightly. Migs and Emily stood opposite, already in various stages of grief. The white liquid continued to slowly stream from the back of Mom’s head.

She opened her clouded eyes weakly, taking in a deep breath. We all leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word of what she said next. Every moment felt like a minute, every slow breath another tug on her fading life strings, every second a second lost.

She slowly raised her right hand out of Sab’s grip. It went past everything else, only to seemingly caress the one empty space left to her right. Her gaze swept across all of us, and for a moment, recognition flared in her eyes. They were the clearest I’d seen in months.

“You’re… all… here.” She smiled. Her hand went limp, and fell back to the bed. She closed her eyes a final time. And our Mom was no more.

=-=-=

“Final day, huh.” Emily said, breaking the silence. Us four were the only ones in Mom’s funeral room, meaning our voices echoed throughout the white walls. We’d all taken a good look at the coffin, and just sat down now, trying to take it all in.

Migs turned to me. “Guess I’ll be the first to ask. Where’s that soup you kept going on about?”

I smiled and stood up, signalling my siblings to follow me to the food tables. Where there had once been fancy dishes, delicacies from our home country, and sweets of every kind--yet now there was only a pot, fourbowls, and four spoons.

“Help yourself,” I said. Once we had all served ourselves, we sat back down around the long table. I sat at the foot of it, leaving Migs and Emily on my right and Sab on my left.

“We all know how this goes, right?” I asked. They nodded in unison. Of course they did; they were the first ones I ever showed it to. “Well then,” I announced. “Let’s remember Mom, not just in the way we knew her, but in all the ways she knew herself.”

We all took our first sips. Immediately, my head was overloaded. Not just my tongue, with all the flavors, but my brain as well, as Mom’s memories came rushing through me.

Her making the most out of poverty. Fighting to take care of her siblings. Leaving her hometown. Getting a job. Meeting Mark. Marriage. Giving birth to… me, then Sab, then Migs, then Emily. Watching them grow up. Arguments. Fights. Vacations.

They rushed through me, but I already knew which memory I wanted to see most. I brushed past most of her life, all the way to the end, until reaching a scene all too familiar to me.

=-=-=

I was laying on the bed now. The weariness in my veins made themselves known, telling me that I couldn’t hold back the inevitable for much longer. I felt people around my bed, and with the last of my energy, opened my eyes. The four nurses who’d been so kind in taking care of me stood and kneeled around me now, all watching what I would do next. But, wait! A fifth man came forward, older than everyone else, and leaned his face close to mine. Even for a stranger, he was handsome, and so, oddly, familiar…

“Hello, dear.” He smiled at me. And with that smile, the faces all cleared up for me. It all made sense. I raised my right hand to caress the face of my long-dead husband.

“It’s time to go,” he said softly. “We did well. We really did. But it’s time to say your goodbyes.”

I panned my gaze across my four nurses, their faces calling forward their names. Emily. Migs. Mark. Sab. Of course. Who else would be stubborn enough to take care of me but these four? They looked at me expectantly. And for one last time, miraculously, all six of us had found our way back together.

“You’re… all… here,”  I whispered, before closing my eyes.

And the memory faded away.