I wish I had known that the last time you called my name would be the last. That the last meal you made for me would be the last. That the last time I left home in a rush, barely saying goodbye, would be the last time I would see you standing there, waiting for me to turn back.
But I did not know. I thought there would be more time.
I grew up believing you were unbreakable. You were always there, strong, patient, giving. You took care of everything, from the little things like making sure I never left the house hungry to the big things like holding our family together when it felt like everything was falling apart.
And I, selfish, distracted, always in a hurry, took it all for granted.
I should have asked how you were doing more often. I should have noticed how tired you were, how you winced when you thought no one was looking, how your body was starting to give up on you even as you kept pushing through. I should have listened when you told me to slow down, to spend more time at home, to not waste the precious moments we had together. But I was always chasing something, work, success, my own ambitions, never realizing that while I was running, time was running out too.
And then one day, you were gone.
No warning, no goodbye, no chance for me to make things right. Just an empty chair at the dinner table, just the scent of your cooking lingering in the kitchen, just your voice echoing in my head, saying my name the way only you could.
I keep replaying our last conversation, trying to remember if I said “I love you.” I hope I did. God, I hope I did. But I do not remember, and that uncertainty eats away at me. Because I had a lifetime of chances to tell you, to show you, to make you feel just a fraction of the love you gave me so effortlessly, and I wasted them.
I am sorry, Ma.
For every time I rolled my eyes when you worried about me. For every call I ignored because I was too busy. For every “later” that never came. For every hug I should have given you but did not.
I would give anything for one more day. One more chance to sit beside you, to hold your hand, to hear you scold me for working too much, to watch you laugh at your favorite TV show, to feel the warmth of your presence filling the room.
But life does not give do-overs. It only leaves you with regrets.
So now, all I can do is hope that somewhere, somehow, you know. That you knew even when I failed to show it. That despite all my shortcomings, despite my selfishness, I loved you more than words can say.
And I am so, so sorry for not saying it enough when I had the chance.