I was with friends (we weirdly call ourselves "Ghost Brides" after that one film we saw together) a few weeks ago for our annual pre-Christmas gathering. There was an overflow of food, nonstop dancing, seemingly endless laughter, mischief, and gift-giving. I love those girls; ten years of friendship through the highest of highs and lowest of lows. On our winddown, we talked about our 2024. Listening to theirs, I am honestly glad it was a mixture of everything, mostly about gratification, self-growth, and realization. They had so much to be thankful for, and I, as their friend, could never be more proud.
Then it was my turn. "How was your 2024, Kath?" It's not like they didn't know, but I sadly smiled and summarized my 2024 with "Worst."
I would like to answer them in detail, but everything will just boil down to the fact that my Mum died in March, and the rest of that year went like nothing but fractions of things that tried to stir me away from the pain and sadness even for just a moment. I am not the depressive kind (though I have an unresolved social anxiety disorder), and I appreciate the things that happened after March, but it was never the same. When I went to New York for the second time to attend a United Nations event, it was the second week of April, just days after we buried my Mum. I didn't want to go, but my sisters told me that if they had the same chance as me, they would go to keep them distracted. My boss, like a father figure to me, hugged me at the airport (when I showed up) and said, "You'll be fine, Kath. You need this trip." During that 16-hour flight, while the cabin lights were dimmed and most were catching up on their sleep, I was controlling my tears. I was thinking of Mum and talking to her in my head. "Ma, I'm going to New York again. I couldn't bring Bonamine, but don't worry; I can take care of myself. I will just sleep away my motion sickness." She was always around to feel my feelings, hear my stories, and always be available during milestones or setbacks in my life. The Sakura flowers inside the UNHQ were in full bloom in April, and I bet telling Mum about it would be her favorite New York story of mine because she loved flowers.
On May 1st, the 40th day since her death, we had a small gathering at home with her friends, a few relatives, and some neighbors. Mum was always the extroverted and sociable one in the family. No wonder the guests who came that day were full of stories about Mum and her take on different topics with so much open-mindedness.
During this month, my sisters and I also visited Mum’s grave for the first time to be with her on Mother’s Day. All those past Mother’s Day celebrations are indeed in the past now. Her gravestone says it all.
June was never better. It was my first birthday without Mum, without a parent. Don't get me wrong; I love the celebrations I had with my sisters, friends, and workmates, and I genuinely appreciate the time they took from theirs to ensure that my birthday was remembered and celebrated. But for me, it was another devastating realization that I would age and celebrate my birthdays moving forward without the woman who gave birth to me.
In my country, the rainy season peaks in July, and I usually love the heavy downpours. But that July, I looked at the rain with so much difference. It was during one of those rainy days when I saw my younger sister cry because we had to celebrate her birthday with just us three. I think, the realization also hit her that our July, her July, will never be the same again.
The 8th to 10th months of my 2024 (except the week spent elsewhere) were very much occupied with work-related distractions. We were finalizing the organization of the annual international conference we were hosting, and I was helping our bookkeeper close the accounting books and prepare them for the yearly audit. Most of my time was spent in the office, or even if I was at home, I was still working. While it was a welcome distraction, the combined physical and mental stress and the ongoing grief took a toll on my body, and by early November, after the conference, my body gave up on me. My acid reflux was in full swing, the contracted cough and colds were tyrants, the fever was on and off, and I was just in pain here and there. I needed to see two different doctors, do random lab tests, and be given three different sets of meds to wholly but slowly recuperate. During these moments of sickness, I did see no one (apart from my sisters who are living at home with me), I canceled my Hong Kong trip with the Ghost Brides, never made myself available in our friends' group chats (if ever I did, very minimal), and requested to work from home for a good number of weeks. I just wanted to disappear for a while. I felt like I had too much of everything. If that seven-day trip in September to South Korea with my sisters had not happened, if we hadn't managed to squeeze that into our hectic adult lives, I don't know what chaos would have happened to me mentally.
A day or two before November ended, I felt better and somehow ready to be back on track. One of the Ghost Brides was post-celebrating her birthday, and I really thought I owed her, them, the time. They were so helpful during Mum's wake, always present, and always assisted guests despite them having to work early the next day. We managed to catch up on things and planned our annual pre-Christmas party, and as expected, they never held any judgment for being in front of a deranged Geminian. The pre-Christmas party is the one I am talking about in the opening paragraph of this post.
By mid-December, I decided to finally catch up with my other friends, the “Chums” (my lifelong pals since we were 9). The first thing they asked me was, “We know you were sick, but what happened to you?” I just smiled, for I know they already know that one of my red flags is to disappear when I am going through something. They just wanted me to talk.
If there is one thing that I genuinely like in my 2024, it is that I was able to participate in doing something worthwhile. Around June or July, I pitched to Chums to give Christmas gifts to random people on the street, to those we think need them the most: the homeless, street sweepers, sellers, and beggars, among others. Having the Chums in my life is truly a blessing because we have this common thing about always trying to give to those in need, whether we have much or nothing. So, this idea was an immediate hit, and it did materialize; I extended it to stray dogs and cats, too. I love looking at people’s faces when they’re given hope, sustenance, and kindness. They didn’t need to profusely say thank you, but if that is their way of conveying their gratification for an answered prayer, I would gladly accept it.
Then came December 24, 2024. All past December 24s in our lives, we always watched Mum being so busy in the kitchen cooking this and that for the Noche Buena. But on 24 December 2024, our kitchen was so quiet and clean of ingredients, there were no used pots and pans, spills, and whatever. The already-cooked food we bought and served for the Noche Buena was another truth slapped on our faces. Nothing is the same anymore.
New Year’s Eve was no different despite the noise from firecrackers, street parties, and loud music. I was not making it obvious, but I felt like grief was owning my thoughts again that night. We were four when we welcomed 2024. We were always four ever since Pops died. What makes 2025 so different that we needed to “welcome” it without Mum?
This has been a super long post for a simple question: “How was my 2024?” I do not hate 2024; it was just a year with still so much to be thankful for (sisters, friends, work, opportunities, possibilities, best health, etc.). The only thing is, it is the year that brought the most painful and life-changing heartbreak that will keep on hurting for the rest of my life. My sisters and I never talk about our grief with each other so much, but I know they, too, are struggling to keep everything inside. My older sister’s birthday is in March. Our Dad died on March 19, and years later, Mum on March 23. I couldn’t imagine the pain she would be feeling every time her birthday came because, after each celebration, there would be the reminder of two losses.
So, if I were to ask again how my 2024 was, it would be this worst.