Alone and Disoriented.

She sits. Alone and disoriented. Unable to move her frail body. Trapped in a steady wheelchair, watching the world pass her by. She remembers very little. Faces of loved ones long gone. Faces she sees, but can no longer recognize.

Why are they so sad? Some in tears, looking down at their feet. Why are they so angry at each other? Others yelling at the top of their lungs, stretching their vocal chords to a range she has never heard before. She knows how they are feeling, but cannot find a reason for their pain.

Seven children. Two boys and five girls. Raised by one woman, proud to call herself a true mother. Never perfect, but present in their lives by her own willful strength and determination. She taught them how to cook, clean, and care for themselves. She enforced strict rules and regulations that they all must abide by to maintain proper order in the household. To avoid any bickering, she gave each child their own things by labeling items with their names. Everything. From bathing products to underwear, branded with their initials. Missing the fact that although this teaches independence, it fails to show the importance of teamwork and the willingness to share.

Suddenly, as if struck by lightning the reason comes to her. It pierces her heart and pulls her downward causing her to hunch over. She stares at her scrawny legs and pencil-thin arms helpless in her physical condition to fight back the memories lashing out at her. She closes her eyes as moments of their childhood play in her head. She did not allow them to work out their differences. They never had to achieve great communication skills to get their points across. They never had to learn how to deal with the drama in their family because she was always there to protect them. Her solution had always been her.

Now she was too weak to even stand up; too weak to tell them all to shut-up.

With their calendars and notepads, itineraries and checklists, each highlighted square indicating who will be at her dying side. She can't help, but think back to her struggles and how extremely easy it would've been if she could create an agenda where six other mothers could her care for a single child.

She shakes her head at the thought of this. What happened? Why is her weakness causing those around her to weaken? Why, as her mind falls to pieces, are they losing their piece of mind? She blames herself. Even though her eldest son tries so desperately to defend her. "Remember what she used to say?" he asked. "Kapag binato mo na bato, ibato ng tinapay (if someone throws rocks at you, you throw back bread). But it fell on deaf ears. Fire fought with fire. And in this case, everyone burned.

She watched as one-by-one, her children fled. Running away from the rubble that once felt like "home," a disasterous mess that used to be called a family. Wondering why it is so complicated for them to come to an understanding with one another. She knew she raised them well, but their stubborn independence has caused them to act selfish. Rather than brainstorming together to resolve something so simple, they created numerous other challenges to make things worse.

"You disrespected me!" one daughter screams.

"It's my house!" the other stormed back.

"You're not listening!" the youngest retorted.

Round and round they go, stuck in a whirl of anger. Unable to break free and like their mother in a wheelchair, they are stuck.

Alone and disoriented.