the six stages of grief

Written by: Andrew Miguel Natividad

Layout by: Jainik Granado

November 2, 2023 | 4:45 P.M.

As a mother, I've always believed that an angel brought you to me, an angel tasked to be my daughter. I never thought that you’d soon go back to being an angel and be with Him.

The past week has felt so normal at work. Then, my phone rang. I thought it was just your sister’s usual calls about what happened at school, so I didn’t bother to answer. After doing six hours of surgery, I grabbed my phone and got ready to leave. In my notifications were 38 missed calls from your father, your siblings, and your grandparents. Then I saw your father outside the other operating room. I regretted not answering your sister’s first call. I could have been there. Now on your last night, what else could I have done? 

Sitting here with the rest of our family, the bright lights behind the big, round flowers, your white “bed” in front of our eyes. My glasses, moist with the heat coming from my coffee, blurring my lens. So I closed my eyes to wait for it to dry. It’s already 4 AM, so as my eyes closed, I fell asleep. Then I heard a voice—your voice.

As I opened my eyes, there you were, my little girl, my little angel. A big smile welcomed me as tears flowed down my cheeks. You approached me and hugged me tightly. I didn't want to let go. I could stay like this with you forever. Still not letting go, you looked at me, you’re crying and I can see too much sadness in your eyes. Why are you so sad and it made you cry like this? Then I woke up.

“She’s not happy. She doesn’t want to be there. I saw my little girl and she’s crying,” I cried as I said to your father. “She’s sad because her mother wasn’t there beside her. She’s sad because I wasn’t there beside her. That one call would have only cost me two minutes and yet, I failed to be there for her. She needed her mother to be there for her.”

Three months later, the pain still lingers. I can feel the presence of your absence. I know I couldn’t have done anything to stop Him from taking you back. For 14 years you’ve fought that battle. You were so strong, while I was so weak. I was so weak because I didn’t expect that you’d go so soon. I was so weak to believe that everything was okay and you’d live a healthy and long life. I was too optimistic, not expecting this could happen.

I haven’t returned to work. The house is a mess. Your siblings are trying to cheer me up, but after a fake smile, my eyes can’t lie, I still miss you. No parent should see their child die. I didn’t see my child die, and yet, it still hurts. I wasn’t there when you breathed your last breath. I wasn’t there when you flatlined. I wasn’t even there when they rushed you to the hospital. I wasn’t there when your life ended, but the pain is worth a million endings.

Since the day you di-no, since the day you left, everytime I close my eyes, I see your beautiful smile with your beautiful hair and your beautiful eyes, as well as your beautiful skin. I remember the days you would wake me up because you forgot to remind me about the things to bring at school. The days you would interrupt my call because your dress doesn’t match your heels. The days you would break my vases because you danced too much. I miss experiencing all those things that annoyed me before. 

Oh, my little angel. If I could ask you one last question, I’d ask "Will you ever forgive mommy?” Will you forgive me for not expecting that day? Will you forgive me for not being there that day? Will you forgive me for fooling myself that you’d live long? Will you ever forgive mommy for being the mother you deserve and for failing to be the mother you deserve at the same time? 

Moving on is too hard. It’s been four years, today should be your 18th birthday, your debut. We should have been preparing your party with your 18 roses, 18 gifts, 18 blue bills, 18 shots, and 18 candles. I should have been preparing my speech as the last speaker for your 18 candles. I should have been telling you how proud I am of the life you’ve lived. I should have been giving you advice for being a young woman. I should have been hugging you right now and greeting you a ‘happy birthday’. I should have been doing all those things, not talking to this grave.

I haven’t exactly moved on, I've just learned how to live with the pain. I learned how to smile without my eyes showing hurt. Our life could've been so different right now if you were here with us. Others have asked me how I moved on. Have I? Ever since your wake, you’ve never visited me in my dreams. Is that the reason why you cried in that dream? Are you angry with me? Well, I can’t blame you for feeling that way because I’m angry with myself too. My life is now full of “If only I”s, “Why didn’t I”s, and “Right now, you should be”s. But how strong is my power compared to death’s? How strong is my power compared to God’s?

Now, it’s been 54 years since your death. It’s All Saints’ Day. Tomorrow, I’ll visit you at the cemetery and I have a lot to tell you. You should have had your own family by now and have grandchildren from you. Don’t worry, as we remember you, we smile with our memories. As I talk about you, I laugh about our funny moments. I’m old, I'’m going to see my angel soon. I still haven’t moved on from your death, but I have accepted it a long time ago. See you tomorrow, my child.

Now I’m here, in front of your grave when in fact, I should've been the one there and you, here, with your family. 54 years have passed and you still haven’t visited me in my dreams. Are you still mad at me? If you are, I don’t know what I’d say when I meet you there again. Just know that I’ve always loved you and I would give everything just to take that time back and be with you until your last breath. But that’s what happened and we can’t turn back time. I guess I’ll see you soon, my angel.

A few days later, as I open my eyes, there you are, my little girl, my little angel. The biggest smile welcomed me as tears flowed down my cheeks. You approached me and hugged me tightly. I don’t want to let go. I could stay like this with you forever. Still not letting go, you looked at me. You’re crying and I can see in your eyes that you’re happy. Why are you crying? Then I realized you were never mad at me. 

You were sad that it will take too long for me to accept your death. You were sad that I will forget about my life because of too much grieving. Now, you’re happy because I accepted it, I tried to move on from it. You helped me grieve you properly. You helped me accept what happened. Your absence made my grieving healthy. It took years to accept your death, but at least, I learned how to live with your absence.

I always thought of what our life could have been, it was beautiful. But, it would be a life where you would suffer for so long. So I guess, your death meant something, it ended your suffering. It made me realize how the pain brought upon by your loss meant that your presence brought joy and love to my life. I wouldn’t have been hurt so much if I didn’t love you so much, so I thank you for the pain because it meant I successfully showed my love to you as your mother. Now, let us journey to the next chapter together.

If you ask me, “What is the most important part of grieving?” I’d answer, “The sixth stage of grief,” the part where you see grief as a good thing. Seeing grief as the fruit of the love we had for each other. Seeing grief as necessary to realize that you’re hurting now because you loved before. I love you when you’re with me, that’s why it hurts when you’re away from me.