April 30, 2020

Thursday, 11:40 pm

It’s been pretty busy (and stressful) these past two weeks. I’ve been swamped with wedding cake orders for next month that I didn’t even know that it was my birthday today… Or maybe, it’s because of this illness, who knows?

Well, you’re 31 now; congrats.

I never would have known if eomma hadn’t called me earlier, congratulating me… Jesus. My heart dropped when I heard her say “Happy birthday”... I should have been happy, right? After all, a birthday is something to be celebrated; a moment when we become the stars of the day… Yet, all I felt was guilt. 

Here was my mom, wishing me a happy birthday and praying that I would be happy and healthy this year with such a lighthearted and happy laugh... While all I’ve been doing was care about how this disease was affecting me. I couldn’t even say anything back as I heard my parents laugh about how proud they were of me while reminiscing about my embarrassing childhood memories… Ones that I’ll eventually forget about as this disease progresses.

I guess eomma felt something was off when I didn’t respond or react like I usually do when they tease me of my childhood days. She kept asking me if everything was all right, her voice increasingly getting worried and frightened. My heart just clenched with anger. I don’t know what came over me, but I just got so irritated and annoyed with her. 

Why was she worried about her son who rarely ever calls or visits because he’s always “busy with work”? Why bother even wishing that he be healthy? Or ask if he’s eating his meals? Why be sorry towards your ungrateful kid for “taking up” his time? Shouldn’t you be angry at him? Or at least be resentful that he doesn’t give a damn about his parents?

...Those were the thoughts that crossed my mind while I listened to eomma repeatedly asking me if I was okay. Before I knew it, I felt my throat close as the hot tears that I’ve been suppressing spilled out while I sat on the bench in the locker room. How could I tell this sweet, caring lady, who was my mom, that something was wrong with me? I cried like an idiot and hung up on her before she could ask again. I bet she freaked out afterwards but I haven’t turned my phone on to check. I’m too scared to see her messages...

I’m a fucking coward.

I still don’t know if those tears were ones of anger or guilt. Maybe they were a mix of both. God, I feel like a child; I miss them so much… I wish I was five again so that I could just run into my parents’ arms and cry my heart out… I just want someone to tell me that everything is going to be okay. 

You know, when I first heard Dr. Meyers utter the words, “early on-set Alzheimer’s” from his lips… I felt like my whole world collapsed right under my feet. All I cared about was how this was going to affect me. I didn’t even think of my family at that moment. All I could think of was: What the fuck is going to happen to me now? How is everyone going to perceive me?

Only now, I’m realizing that it won’t just be me that’ll be affected by my health. 

What’s going to happen to my parents? Would they even be able to recover from the shock? Who’s going to take care of them when they get older? Sure, I left some money for my parents but money won’t solve all of their problems and needs. They need someone besides them if anything were to happen to them… Yet, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be with them. Dammit. Nothing in their life will ever be ‘normal’ again… And for that, I’m truly sorry.

…For now, I want to be a good son to my parents. I’m going to do whatever it takes for them to have happy memories of their only child… Hopefully, they’ll remember them for me.

Ha… What a great way to start my 31st year of life, huh? 

**NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.**