One Year Reflections after Losing my Mom, Araceli “Aries” La Madrid Serafin
I. Opening Reflections
We made it, mama.
I reflect so often on how everything on earth is going, but really — I’m curious to know how you have been enjoying your first year in heaven.
I keep wondering if God gave you special strings to reach us when you first entered heaven because since the moment you left — February 9, 2022 at 11:17 PM — I have felt you everywhere immensely. It’s as if when you entered heaven, you cashed out on all the blessings you didn’t get to experience during your life on earth and dropped them onto the family through those green Mario Party pipes. And you just keep sending them.
I can really only speak for myself, but I have a strong hunch that you’re the one running the show up there.
Hi — for those new here. And welcome back — to everyone else who’s been on this one to four-year journey, depending on when you first learned about my mom’s situation, story, and passing. If you’ve never heard of my mom and somehow came across this story — wow, hello to you, too.
To recap, we lost my badass mom one year ago. For most, it was a complete shock. My superwoman mom, Araceli “Aries” La Madrid Serafin passed away at 58 years old. She was a passionate nursing educator who found pure joy in empowering the next generation of nurses. She was a leader and visionary whose energy could make you feel like you could change the world. She was the life of the party type of woman that made strangers feel at home instantly. She lived unapologetically and followed her dreams until her very last breath. I learned so much about how people felt about my mom throughout the funeral planning process, and I can objectively say my beautiful mom was well-loved and respected.
You can learn more about her life on her tribute page.
Unfortunately, the world lost her through a prolonged and complicated three year or so breast cancer battle, which she kept very close to her. In February 2021, I, Mary Serafin, her eldest daughter, moved home to Los Angeles from the Bay Area to help take care of her in both part-time and full-time capacities. I effectively served as a 24/7 total care bedside nurse for a year. I was trained (and critiqued) by the nursing educator, herself.
All in all, caregiving was an incredible experience that I will never regret, despite the costs — mentally, physically, emotionally, psychologically, even financially — that I still defray today. Though seeing how the dust settled, I have no regrets. I am so incredibly blessed to have taken the time to tend to my mother’s needs — even if it was an insurmountable uphill battle — because I know for a fact that I loved her right until the very end. I did absolutely everything within my control to show her love, compassion, and kindness to the fullest capacity possible for me. I was not alone. My family, including my father, Ric, brother, Jeremy, and sister, Shantelle, all treated and cared for my mom to our fullest capacities. Although it was hard and gut-wrenching to watch her suffer so painfully, she died with dignity.
Perhaps obvious, but worthwhile to mention: caregiving is hard — in any capacity, for any duration, for a parent or any other loved one. It’s not talked about enough. School doesn’t prepare you for it. It’s harder for women, especially eldest daughters. And it’s complicated for young people kicking off their career. There’s an added nuance in the Filipino culture, which has strong roots and such a ubiquitous presence in healthcare across the board. For some, caregiving — both deciding to caregive and tactically giving care — come second nature. For others, the decision can be harder. To avoid belaboring the details, it was the right decision for me and my family. And all of us showed up to be there for Mom.
This post isn’t intended to be about my caregiving experience, but there truly is no singular guidebook for young caregivers. In my opinion, there is limited support for caregivers at large. More on this later, but I am genuinely always happy to share my experience with those going through a similar situation, or would be honored to even be an ear to just listen. We can find time here.
Also, I have so much love and respect for healthcare professionals. I spent 4–10 hours in hospitals daily for months while my mom was sick. Watching them do what they do, I quietly fell in love with so many nurses and doctors who work hard and save lives patiently — often without thanks. It’s not easy, and I want to thank you for all that you did to care for my mom. A special thanks to the Filipinx nurses who called my mom “tita” or “ate.” For all the months she spent there, I at least feel some peace knowing you all made her (and me) feel at home and with family.
In writing this post, I learned that “National Caregivers Day” is the third Friday of February — just a few days before publishing this. Discovering National Caregivers Day felt like my heart and soul was seen in a way I never knew I needed. I encourage you to take a moment to learn more about Caregiving in America, an article by Melinda Gates’ Pivotal Ventures.
I was 23 when my mom was first diagnosed with advanced breast cancer in 2019. I was about a year out of college, working as a first-year analyst. I can still remember the feeling of ominous curiosity when I read my Dad’s cryptic texts requesting an urgent family phone call during the work day. When he delivered the news, I didn’t know how to react. I experienced a mix of shock and confusion. I bombarded him with questions that were impossible for him to answer at that point. My mom’s cancer journey, itself, was quite complicated, and it’s not my place to disclose her medical details. Complications aside, this phone call kicked off years of lulling ambiguity and questioning “Will she die? How long does she have to live?” My instinctual reactions mimicked the type you’d expect to see in movies. You don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it’s hard to keep your mind from wandering when you lack information on what’s happening health-wise.
And as someone who experiences anticipatory grief heavily, I did often find myself jumping to the worst possible conclusion of her dying. Though because of this, the silver lining may have been that my family savored every moment together following the horrid news. Holidays felt extra special. Family vacations felt even hopeful. We did our best to help my mom live her best life while she still had functional health and mobility.
Some of the moments I know she held close during her “early cancer days” were:
I’m not quite sure if evidence of my mom’s cancer ever really “left” technically, but it returned or grew with a vengeance in February 2021. That’s when I moved home to help care for her part-time. As you may recall, in March 2020, we all did a freeze dance wherever we were to quarantine indefinitely. I spent most of 2020 in the Bay Area. I took a leave of absence from work and began full-time caregiving starting September 2021 until she passed.
I must skip over describing the actual day-to-day caregiving experience. To this day, it’s incredibly difficult to unpack my mom’s medical journey. It’s quite painful to think about and relive, let alone publish. But the short of it is: I watched my wonder woman mother suffer a slow, excruciating death every single day, despite the care we provided. In some ways, she was dead and alive at the same time — it was no way to live.
During the worst of it, my mom had 2–3 surgeries every week for over 2 months straight. When she passed, her doctors were heartbroken. So many people worked to keep my mom alive. She had boards of LA’s best cancer doctors working on her complex situation for months, if not years. When the news spread of her passing, my mom’s main surgeon called my Dad saying my mom was a miracle lady and the strongest fighter they’ve ever seen.
Thank you to every single doctor and nurse who helped keep my mom alive. Thank you to her doctors for taking the time to call my family and for even showing up to her funeral. My family is indebted to you forever.
Mom, I’m still so sorry for all the pain you experienced in your last year.
Thinking of how you suffered still brings tears to my eyes. My family and I try to block it out the best we can, and I don’t know when that part of my journey will really feel healed. I still occasionally feel heavy waves of PTSD from caregiving, on top of mourning and grief. All I know is— and I hear this in her wise mama voice— is that it will be okay. I can still see you close your eyes gently nodding in your hospital bed to let you rest, to let you go.
No more pain.
Since your passing, I have always heard your whisper in the back of my mind saying to share your story and use your experience in service of something larger. I don’t know how yet, but my hunch is that it’s probably to help the kawawa (less fortunate).
Don’t look up kawawa in Google Translate. I’m not fluent in Tagalog (yet). And Google’s definition is not quite what I interpret and understand kawawa to mean. But I am using “kawawa” to mean the less fortunate — those like my mom who had humble means growing up or someone in need.
Before jumping into my own healing journey reflections, I want to share a bit about how I saw my mom as her daughter in addition to her life lessons that I carry with me moving on.
To start, here’s the opening excerpt from my “first” eulogy shared at her memorial services.
“Good evening, friends and family. My name is Mary Serafin, and I am the eldest daughter of Aries. Thank you all for coming to celebrate my beautiful mother’s life. I feel honored to have had a super mom for the last 26 years. My mom, Aries, was an undeniably passionate, intelligent, generous, empowering, and loving human. As a young girl, my mom often reminded me: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” She embodied this idea. My mom made me feel like I could shoot for and always reach the stars.”
My mom dreamt big — always. She was a change maker, a culture shaker, and a status quo breaker. She was a small 5'0 tall woman — the type of woman who’s energy is quite literally too big for her stature. She made a warm impression quickly on everyone it seemed and lived a life of service. She was empowering. She made you feel like your life mattered. She was the one person who always made me feel like I mattered — like I can and should change the world. Growing up, instead of having mother-daughter conversations about sex and boys, she pulled me aside about becoming independent and self-empowering. She taught me about showing up for myself and holding myself taller. One of my core childhood moments growing up is her literally breaking down the definition of “empowerment” — a moment that influenced how I live my life today.
Mom, I really am who I am because I am your daughter. Some notable takeaways I’ll always remember about the end of her life are:
- Her last Christmas gift wish was to donate a scholarship to her alma mater in the Philippines, Stella Maris High School. She accomplished this from her deathbed with the help of my Dad, Brother, and Sister Cho. My Aries takeaways here are “Give without the expectation of receiving,” “Always help the kawawa,” and “Use your life to serve.”
- My mom still inquired about getting her dream PhD in Nursing or Nursing Education while on her deathbed. After my mom passed, my dad started receiving calls from student loan companies about my mom’s inquiries. Coming from humble beginnings, my mom didn’t have the means to become a doctor in her lifetime. At the end of her life, she just wanted to keep learning and educating. My Aries takeaway here is “Go hard and follow your dreams. It is such a privilege to have the means and capacity to follow your dreams — whatever they may be. Follow your dream until the end of time. It’s your life. Why not live the life you want to?” It sucks that she never became the doctor she wanted to be — but I’ll say, it’s not impossible for there to be another Dr. Serafin in the family. 👀
- The last thing she did before her cancer treatments essentially knocked her out was teach. She loved her students. My mom lit up in the classroom. I wonder if any of her students are reading this right now — was she a hardo professor? She gives me those vibes honestly. Her favorite thing to do on the first day of any class was to call attendance of her new student batch by name without a roster in hand. Can you imagine that? It was a mix of setting the class tone and letting her students know she saw each of them. She loved teaching so much that she wanted to continue teaching even during chemotherapy and radiation. It was hard having teaching taken away from her, but she never gave up hope that she would teach again. It was like a movie trailer played in her mind for “life after cancer”: Teach nursing class remotely on a beachfront in Hawaii during the day, then take beachside strolls with my dad in the afternoon. She never wanted to retire because she just loved teaching with all of her being. My Aries takeaway here is “Seek alignment. Do what you love.” Like my mom, I strive to seek a life of service. I have a big vision, and I feel like my mom and I co-created a lot of this vision together. I know she’s with me spiritually, but I do really miss having her brain and presence around physically for brainstorming.
- She loved her children immensely. I am so lucky to have been loved by her. Some of you may know that all of my siblings are born in February — Jer Bear: Feb 10, Me: Feb 12, and Shanny: Feb 21. My mom passed Feb 9. One of the last things she did from her deathbed was plan my baby sister’s 21st birthday party. My cousins carried it on after she passed, and it was heart-wrenching, but beautiful. My Aries takeaway here is, “Just love. Unapologetically. Show love in your actions, in your words. Be love. Literally be the love you wish to see in the world. Don’t take yours for granted. If my life ends sooner than expected, I just want to be known for doing my part in spreading more love — that’s it.”
- Over the last year, she refused to let us end conversations while fighting or without love. Few other things mattered to my mom in her last months. If my siblings, dad, and I bickered over the smallest things, Mama wouldn’t have it. We could not leave an argument on her watch without explicitly showing love to each other. Forgiveness and love was really all that mattered to her at the end of it all. My Aries takeaway here is still “Be love.” You really never know when a conversation will be its last. My family has seen that happen all too often. Life’s too short to hold grudges and harbor pain. Just love. Be love.” To all my friends: My Mom is probably the reason why I have the need and/or habit of communicating, likely overcommunicating, my love and appreciation incessantly. And I love that I inherited that trait from her. It’s one of my many favorites.
II. My Healing Journey
I just turned 27. With a year down since my mom’s passing, I can reflect and affirm that my healing journey has overall been quite positive.
Navigating grief is so hard, and there’s really no timeline for healing. But what I keep saying is that my entire life changed in the last year. I found myself coping and trying to feel connected to Mom in a variety of ways.
The main chapters (or eras, if you will) are:
- Before the Funeral (pre-March 29–30, 2022)
- After the Funeral (post-March 29–30, 2022)
- One Year Death Anniversary (February 9–12, 2023 weekend)
Era I: Before the Funeral
Relevant context I’ll lead with — my mom’s death was unexpected.
Despite being sick, she was actually on an upward trajectory for recovery and passed rather suddenly. She died 43 minutes before my brother’s 28th birthday and 2 days before my 26th birthday. I mentioned earlier that my siblings, Jeremy and Shantelle, and I all share a birthday month. We often joke that mom wanted in on the party. Losing her was tough, but she was such an incredibly mindful and loving mother.
But First: A Party
She kickstarted our healing journey with — in true Aries fashion — a party. Before she passed, she planned my siblings’ and my last joint birthday party at X Lanes, a nearby bowling alley, in Los Angeles. This was my sister’s 21st birthday party. My cousins picked up the planning part after my mom kickstarted the idea.
It was painfully beautiful and kind of a blur for me. I remember very sweet strawberry cocktails, recording the latest trending TikTok for my ate Joy, and a surplus of pizza. I don’t even really remember bowling lol. Anyways, we have some really sweet, teary-eyed photos of my heartbroken siblings and I during the “make a wish part” of the Happy Birthday song. All I remember thinking was, “What can I even wish for?” The only thing I could wish for would be some Jesus resurrection ish. Worth a try.
By the way, don’t expect super chronological logic here. This is not an entirely linear narrative. I write rather stream-of-consciousness. I’m writing this through the course of a week, and I’m currently writing this part on a plane from Los Angeles to Seattle taking advantage of an ADHD hyper focus moment and existential thoughts.
Memorial Fundraiser
As someone who loves to create, I find a lot of healing in building and organizing things to honor my mom. I have a lot of my mom’s leadership and entrepreneurial blood. Making things come to life helps me feel closer to her.
I didn’t think I’d ever re-open my “first” eulogy, but here’s another excerpt that I feel like sums up our co-creating relationship quite well.
“My mom played an integral role in building my confidence as a young girl. I remember coming home from junior high one day and telling her that I was running for student government for the first time. She was so proud of me for wanting to be a leader at an early age, just like she was the class president of the first grade. For my first campaign, she took me to Michaels, our favorite store, and we stayed up all night ironing custom t-shirts. When I came home with news that I won, she always made me feel like she just knew. For my second campaign in the 7th grade, she took my basketball reputation and came up with my slogan “Vote for MVP — Mary for Vice President.” She believed I could do anything and supported me every step of the way.”
I shared earlier that my mom’s childhood dream was to become a doctor. When she couldn’t become a doctor due to her lack of financial means after immigrating, she committed her life to educate the future of healthcare professionals as a professor and nursing educator. Her passion for education, especially girls’ and women’s education, was unmatched. She always carried a deep desire to share the wealth of blessings she accumulated during her life with less privileged girls like her in the Philippines. I mentioned that during her last Christmas (2021), she gifted her first scholarship to girls at her high school alma mater, Stella Maris High School, from her deathbed. After she passed, I, with the help of my family, put together a fundraiser to help amplify her dream and impact.
In short, we set a goal and crushed it.
Most likely thanks to you reading — we were able to bring my mom’s vision to life and likely help send dozens of girls to school over the next few decades. My family is working on the long-term business model, but check this: Last month, in January 2023, my Dad had the opportunity to visit our first Stella Maris High School scholar in the Philippines who dreams of and is working towards becoming a doctor. Don’t we love a beautiful full-circle moment?
From the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who donated to that fundraiser. Y’all are making a difference.
Funeral Planning
My mom’s memorial services were slated for March 29–30, 2022. The last big rock in my early healing journey was planning her funeral.
I have loved event planning and designing things since I was a kid. Growing up, I often accompanied her to various “maker-esque” things, which looking back now, probably helped initiate my love for design and my decision to study and pursue it professionally. A sidebar — I will forever cherish my earliest builder + event planning + experience design core memories with her: selling handmade cards together at arts and crafts fairs, helping my mom organize a “Stroke Symposium,” planning surprise parties for her siblings, and coordinating house parties and games for holiday gatherings. In writing and reflecting on this all, I realized that she was technically my first business partner. I love you, Mom.
In another post, I’ll look to go deeper about the hybrid funeral planning process, itself, but my role in the funeral was to help organize the digital components. I’m an Experience Designer professionally, so I had a lot of fun here. I thought through her Linktree experience, flyer, video, program, memorial bracelet giveaways, and so on.
It was an absolutely beautiful ceremony — again a blur. But I am so grateful to our loved ones who showed up — many of whom I haven’t seen in years, many who traveled far and wide. I am thankful for folks who joined on the live stream. Those who added to her memorial tribute page. I did not have the capacity to get back to everyone at that time, but my family saw and felt all your love — the flowers, the cards, the food, and the gifts. Thank you.
As I wrap up this section, I want to share a special thanks to some real MVPs who showed up for my family during this time. My family is blessed to know you, and thank you for anticipating our needs.
- Thanks to Reann, my brother’s girlfriend, who helped stock the house with groceries as we navigated this madness.
- Thank you to my extended family on both sides who showed up to the hospital as often as you did, especially my Uncle Ernest and Irene who came almost every day and brought us water.
- Thank you to my Kuya Norman and his family for bringing my family Thanksgiving lunch at the hospital during the madness that was the Fall of 2021. That meant a lot.
- Thank you to my mom’s best friend, Ruby, who called me every single day while my mom was in the ICU to ask about my mom’s condition and status. That meant a lot.
- Thank you to my Uncle Ed who really showed up to help my family navigate funeral planning. You had a lot of great ideas.
- Thank you to Shan’s UCSD friends for driving her home the day my mom died. Thank you to Finn for performing with my sister at the services.
- Thanks to Isabel who showed up to help me scan photos for my mom’s video.
- Thank you to Jasmine and Joyzell who accompanied me to Vegas to gather the photos for my mom’s video — especially for driving me home after my exceptionally wild night out lmao.
- Thank you to everyone who sent my family flowers — our security guards thought I had graduated or something. We had a whole garden! It was so beautiful. Special thanks to Chris Lee for hand-delivering your flowers.
- Thank you to everyone who attended my mom’s 9-day prayer novena — especially those in the Philippines.
- Thanks to Sabrina and Hanan for all of your emotional support. I know Gary, Munira, and Mama Aries are all partying it up in heaven together.
- Thanks to all of my best college friends for showing up to my KBBQ birthday dinner. We had an insane amount of soju that I think my body is still recovering from a year later, no cap.
- Thank you to Ari for bringing my Dad and me to the front to watch Hamilton! What a kind gesture.
I know this isn’t everyone, and for those I didn’t thank outright — still thank you. The love was felt deeply and truly.
Era II: After the Funeral
My dad called the time period after the funeral the “quiet period” — the months when we all try to regain a sense of normalcy. During this period, I experienced high highs and low lows. Grief ebbed and flowed, and I still found myself doing a lot of things to feel close to my mom.
During the early months, I just needed distraction. My best friend and I ventured off to Canada. I doubled down on work. I went to Coachella. My Dad and I went to Hawaii. I dug into the books a lot. I searched for my mom in my day-to-day life constantly — often, I found her.
My family loves to share the moments when my mom “shows up” in the wild or “speaks to us” — for a lack of better phrasing. Just this morning before sharing this, I FaceTimed my dad to tell him about my latest supernatural experience.
I’m curious to know how others experience their loved ones after they pass. Let me know in the comments. I remember early on, my dad “saw Mom” at the car wash and through “LOL’s” from Siri that came without any texts. Shan saw Mom around UCSD’s campus with Bruno. I see and hear my Mom in the voices of other people all the time. I feel like she comes to us in the ways that we see, hear, and reciprocate the most. It feels supernatural — like divine intervention even.
Sometimes if we’re mindful enough, we’re able to capture them for “proof to share.” I’ll include a few highlights from the year.
Less than a month after my mom’s passing, I took my brother to an Andy Grammer concert in Anaheim. He and I loved Andy Grammer growing up, and I had bought the nonrefundable tickets in the fall prior. It was a trek to make it from Los Angeles to Orange County during the workweek. I thought about bailing, but we made it all right. My brother and I hadn’t kept up specifically with Andy’s new music, but we were having a normal good time being together and listening to the songs we both knew.
Out of nowhere, Andy Grammer announces “I lost my mom at 25.”
I was a little stunned, but for some reason, I instinctively called out, “Me, too!” as if it were a call and response to the audience. I could feel the sympathetic eyes around me. He went on to play “She’d Say,” a tribute song to his late mother — a song that is still one of my very favorites to this day.
My brother and I listened to every single lyric and began bawling instantaneously. It’s a beautiful song, and I highly encourage you to listen to it. Neither of us knew this song existed at all. It genuinely felt like my mom was speaking to us directly in that moment. Here are the lyrics that strung our hearts to most:
She’d Say Lyrics:
She’d say “You’re beautiful, but don’t you overplay that card”
She’d say “You’re spiritual, so don’t ever forget that part”
She’d say “You are so much stronger than you even think you are
Let your heart, let your heart lead the way”
That’s what she’d say
Ooh woo, ooh woo, ooh woo
That’s what she’d say
Ooh woo, ooh woo, ooh woo hoo hoo
She said, “Take care of your sisters, I mean their whole world
Spend your days tryna lift them other girls
You came with love, a purpose, and your mother’s curls
I’ll be with you every step of the way, ay
Don’t live your life tryna blend in, stick out
Trust your gut and don’t you get into those doubts
Remember God is like the sun, he always comes out
Just when you think the dark’s here to stay”
My dear, you will feel her
In your mind, you will hear her
And if she could use words, use words
She’d say “You’re beautiful, but don’t you overplay that card”
She’d say “You’re spiritual, so don’t ever forget that part”
She’d say “You are so much stronger than you even think you are
Let your heart, let your heart lead the way”
That’s what she’d say
Ooh woo, ooh woo, ooh woo
That’s what she’d say
Ooh woo, ooh woo, ooh woo hoo hoo
She’d say, “Listen to your daddy
In his voice, you will hear me
I know he will sing my song to you
And know that I’m happy
And you’ll always have me
I’m watching everything you do”
If you’re reading this, Andy Grammer, God bless you for real.
More supernatural highlights below.
If you are also trying to make a custom halo wig with real or your own hair, I encourage you to check out Halo Secret Designs, now called Halo Wig Co. Lisa was a virtual sweetheart. For those with cancer looking to cut their hair off soon, it’s worth considering the option of making a wig from your own hair before starting treatments. Their website says “Wigs are usually hot and itchy and hard to make look real.” I recommend them.
There have been so, so, so many more “mom in the wild” moments. Even more recently. These moments are supernatural, and I can’t explain them concretely yet. But it always feels like she’s talking to me. It’s funny because your favorite movie was “Ghost,” and that was one of the last things we watched together.
Some other relatively recent times I saw you:
As a designer, it can be hard sometimes to know when something is “done.” When I was unsure, even hesitant, to finally wrap up and share this blog post, you showed up again to nudge me — twice.
This past weekend, I chatted with a student from Poland looking for a career mentor. She reached out via cold email, and we set up the call over two weeks prior. One of the first things she talked about was her wanting to post a blog, and it felt like you nodding to me to share your story. Just last night, I hopped into a virtual breathwork meditation class. It was a 2-hour class on Zoom, and I really only had 30 minutes I could slot in in order to carve out time to keep writing. There were maybe 9 or 10 people there, and what do you know — “Araceli” was one of them. You don’t even really have a common name. That’s how I knew I had to pick up the pace to share this post ASAP. I heard you and appreciate the nudge, ma.
Just like in the Ed Sheeran song “Visiting Hours”, I sometimes think about what I’d say back to you if we had even just an hour to chat.
For readers, please listen to “Visiting Hours” by Ed Sheeran — if you don’t know what song I’m referring to — before reading on. It’s beautiful. I saw Ed Sheeran open my very first music festival and have felt connected to his music for a long time since he also lost his mother young.
Here’s what I’d share:
The Basics —Mom, I started doing the things I loved again.
- Basketball. You always loved how I played basketball since I was a little girl. You had innumerable analogies about how basketball is just like a life lesson — we navigate defense just like life obstacles, right? Do you remember how I stopped playing basketball for about a year while caregiving? The drive was too hard between all of the hospital visits, and I lost interest after you passed. Well, I started playing again after I moved to Seattle. I see myself coming back to life, and I’d argue I’m still the best shooter in the family. 👀 In Seattle, I started helping skills coach young girls who remind me of myself while I was at St. Lucy’s. It’s quite precious actually — giving full-circle energy again.
- Poker. I still think about how embarrassed I was when you used to brag to your nurses about my poker playing because I felt like low stakes wasn’t “legit” enough — I know winning a poker tournament in Las Vegas is absolutely and objectively legit. You’d be proud of me — I am working on fundamentally reframing my pervasive imposter syndrome and reprogramming my default thinking. I’m working on speaking more kindly to myself like how you would. I want to see myself how you saw me. Today, I definitely own poker playing a lot more, and I even teach ladies' poker nights in Seattle. Slide through sometime? Even though I do miss you hyping me up because there’s nothing like a mother’s pride for her kids — I see myself already going easier on myself and hyping myself up more. My tone towards myself is actively changing. And I think you would love that for me.
- Fitness. I lost and regained my ability to do a pull-up. I still run — slowly, but I run. Jeremy runs, too. He’s training for a marathon. We’re all really proud of him. You know Shan’s always been fit lmao. But she was almost a Soul Cycle or pilates instructor — I’m pretty sure she will be soon. 👀
- Your Kids. Jeremy bought a house. Our baby got two major internships. All of your kids, including Prune, will be co-located in the Pacific Northwest this summer. Brune is still very good and handsome. I still remember the heartbreaking day you left for the hospital for your major surgery and never returned home. Brune stood on his back legs that evening looking for you endlessly. He’s good, but I know he misses you. Do you talk to the pupster, too?
- Your Husband. He still shoots a lot of tres’. It’s awesome and inspiring. Pop is on his own journey, and we’re proud of how he’s been holding up. He’s got some major things going for him — all so amazing.
- Cooking. I cook a lot — a lot of the dishes I made for you while you were sick. They’re not bad either. I even share my aesthetic cooking pictures “publicly” on Instagram. No more bad chef imposter syndrome. The other week I made corn beef just to feel close to you. I even debated with a friend the health benefits of corn beef. It was a questionable debate on my end. The reality is that I make a lot of dishes to feel closer to you. My corn beef is really never as good as yours, but I think it’s because I can’t remember the brand of corn beef you used to buy. @ My Filipinx Readers — My inbox for recommendations is open. I’m not sure, but I don’t think it was Libby’s…
- Tagalog. I still don’t speak Tagalog, but I am trying.
- Speaking slowly. Not there yet. But we’re mindful.
- Doing more of what I love. We’re going for it. More here soon.
Bigger Things — You probably already know all of these next ones, since I’m certain you had a hand in bringing these to life. But worth re-sharing.
- Dreams. Within 8 months of your passing, all of our vision-building dreams came true. Literally everything and more than I could have ever imagined. The drought of blessings in our family passed, and all of us are actually achieving incredible heights. At first, it was hard to accept good news knowing you aren’t around to celebrate with. Getting good news actually triggered a lot of grief and depression. But Dad, Kuya, Shan, and the fam all celebrate me instead. Dad often says you’d be so proud of me and that you’d be dancing in the living room with joy if you were here. More to come, but keep the blessings coming, Mama.
- Sexuality. I do wish you were around when all the sexuality puzzle pieces came together last year. I honestly felt really silly after things ended poorly with the first girl I openly liked. I desperately needed a signature “Ask me if I care” Aries pep talk. I will say though— you married a really incredible man and raised loving siblings who stepped up during your absence. And you and Dad have an incredible extended family who have made me feel so loved and accepted throughout this kinda wild coming out journey. I still wish we could have talked about it together. But realistically, you probably already knew I wasn’t completely straight when I cut half of my long brown hair off (horizontally) when I was 5 or 6 years old “just to see”, when in reality I was already experiencing gender dysphoria and confusion around my sexual orientation. I hid the hair under the couch so you wouldn’t notice. Of course, you noticed, and I will never forget you cutting my hair short to my comfort before first grade pictures. A mentor told me recently, “A mother always knows.” And maybe you did know. I mean everyone else seemed to already know lmao.
Sidebar — but I do think you actually came to me recently to talk about this. It was last week, on February 8th, the night before your one-year death anniversary through a new poker friend. Whenever I have someone witness these uncanny moments with me, I am in complete shock. My friend is a professional poker player, poker instructor, and breast cancer survivor. Things felt slightly supernatural when they first told me at dinner the night we met that their doctors had caught their breast cancer at the same stage as your diagnosis. At first, I thought: that’s a coincidence. We moved on in the conversation. Naturally, queer dating in Seattle came up, and they mentioned that their teenage daughter had recently come out. Cool — we talked about it a bit and moved on to other topics. We had other people at the table with us. No big deal.
I planned to help out at a poker workshop after work the next night, and we planned on me giving them a ride back to their hotel afterward.
After the next night’s poker workshop, this friend and I drove back alone together in the car talking about topics like breast cancer, their story, losing you, and their daughter again in natural conversation. I thought it was so cool that their daughter came out so young — I feel like I had a hunch quite early but never explored my sexuality until last year. My friend shared how proud they were of their daughter because their daughter is essentially a super young LGBTQIA+ advocate who stood up to some bully who was picking on them. I thought it was awesome especially since I’m still quite shy in figuring out my sexuality. More on that another time.
We arrived at the hotel — this whole interaction was about a 10-minute car ride. As I was getting ready to say good-bye, an ominous feeling compelled me to ask what their daughter's name was.
She said: “Aries”
I abruptly and literally replied, “Shut the f*ck up” as I made the connection. Their daughter spells her name differently, but you get the picture. 🤯 My friend and I were so surprised and couldn’t say much outside of laugh and “woahhhh.”
If my mom were alive, she’d say “It’s too good to be true, anak. You can’t make this stuff up, anak.” Before my friend left, they said I think this is your mom saying that gay is okay 😉
Lessons — You were right. About a lot of things.
- Letting go. I got better at not sweating the small stuff. If it depletes, we delete. My manifestation coach challenged me to cut out the leaky energy in my life, and her message reminded me of something you’d say. Now and onwards, we’re focused on love. We’re focused on family and the people who show up for you. No need for drama. We let everything and everyone else go. I think you were good at that — focusing on what and who truly matter. We forgive, forget, and move on. Thank you for this lesson.
Other — Musings and more.
- You’re probably still the best scrabble player in the family. I’m trash, and I think everyone else is trash compared to you.
- I often find myself keeping you alive in menial ways. When I need a little love, I literally go and find the nearest Filipina Tita — seriously. At my work cafeteria, I go to the longer line just to say hi to the 4'11 Filipina cashier named Gloria because her warmth feels like you. The other night, I went to a new QFC — as in one outside of my normal routine. It was well into the evening after a late-night lifting sesh at 24-hour Fitness. Despite the lineless self-checkout lanes, I decided to go and check out with another short sweet-looking Filipina Tita who reminded me of you. I don’t really know if these split-second observations and decisions are conscious or subconscious experiences. They just happen, and I connect the dots later. Some supernatural-feeling experiences feel more obvious than others. When I asked how she was doing, she responded by saying she was not doing very well. She unsolicitedly shared she was feeling down because it was almost her dad’s two-year death anniversary. In my head, I was like —is it me, or do I just give off “My mom just died energy?” I know I’m hyper-friendly and can be easy to talk to about these things…but what a specific thing to bring up right before my mom’s one-year death anniversary. Coincidence? Hm. Of course, I naturally brought you, and we connected for a moment. It was a fleeting but felt beautiful human interaction. I feel like you both would have been friends if you knew her.
- When I listen for signs from you to help me make a decision, sometimes I get it wrong lol. I once went on a second or third date with a boy after your song, “Somewhere over the Rainbow” played during an iffy early date. I thought it may have been a sign from you… but I think I misread that one lmao. The date was in Hawaii, and statistically, it’s not unlikely to hear your song randomly play lol. Anyways… he was a nice boy with a beautiful soul. Eternally grateful for your treating me like an island princess. This thread is to be continued.
Era III: One-Year Death Anniversary (& Delayed Internment)
Woo hoo — readers, we almost made it! How are you doing? Are you still with me?
Fast forward to the present — Last week, Thursday, February 9, 2023, we celebrated Mom’s one-year death anniversary.
TLDR: my mom was cremated during her memorial services in March 2022. The pandemic had delayed my mom’s actual urn internment because her niche wasn’t constructed yet. Construction took so long that by the time the niche was built, my family decided to hold her delayed internment on her one-year death anniversary. In essence, it was a second funeral — truly only you would get two funerals, Mom!
I had been both dreading and looking forward to February 9th, 2023 due to the heavy waves of anticipatory and anniversarial grief I had been experiencing since the holiday season starting approximately October 2022. Now that I have had some space to reflect, I have to say — you were quite clever in how you showed up everywhere that weekend.
Recently, my co-worker helped me reframe your one-year death anniversary as a “Celebration of Life.” And I love that because that’s how it felt. Your loved ones gathered for you one year later to show you and our family how loved you and we all are — and have always been. I’m getting emotional just thinking about it.
Here’s how it all went down.
On Thursday, February 9th, 2023, Brune, my handsome furry son, and I flew home from Seattle at 7 am. (Thank you Ty for the early morning airport ride ♥️) I started this blog post during that incredibly emotional plane ride home. I was a major cry baby. Thankfully, I had the whole row to myself since the plane was basically empty that early.
Then, Abby, my mom’s niece and my cousin, picked Brune and me up from the airport. We joked about making a “My mom’s funeral, but make it fashion” Instagram reel, and well… the Serafin / La Madrids sent it imho 🥵
Check out my amazing viral-worthy family and pup, Bruno Mars Serafin (@brunomars_serafin) on Instagram
My mom’s 1 year death anniversary / internment / celebration of life was truly beautiful. Going in, we all had no idea what to expect.
The interment service was held at Forest Lawn in Covina Hills behind the Great Mausoleum at 3:00 PM. My Serafin + La Madrid extended family unfortunately knows the Forest Lawn map quite well — rest in peace to all our deceased loved ones.
During the funeral service, the priest did his normal ceremonial service thing, and we all readied ourselves to place my mom into her niche. Right before doing so, the Forest Lawn service facilitator asked if anyone would like to say anything about my mom before her urn was placed in its final resting home.
My brother, sister, and I made eye contact — eyes reading, “Are you going to say anything? Uh, we should probably say something, right?”
Internally, I was quite amused because these were essentially “second” eulogies, and it reminded me of the impromptu pop quizzes that you’d give us growing up with math flashcards. It felt like you were still trying to teach us a final lesson — perhaps about healing, letting go, mindfulness, or reflecting on our growth and learning despite life’s trials. You were always such a great guide. I had written about 55% of this post by that point during my secluded emotional crybaby plane ride over, so I had some thoughts generally prepared.
Dad went first and shared his gratitude towards everyone who showed up for you and the family. He shared how you continued to bless him in his career and personal journey. Dad’s a great speaker. Then Jeremy went and talked about his journey and life milestone of buying his first house in Seattle. He bought the house with you in mind—and there’s a room there that was supposed to be yours. That was heartbreaking, and I felt that. Good job, Jer Bear — very well-spoken, too. Way to lead the Serakids’ reflections, Kuya anak.
I went third, and I can’t recall exactly what I shared — things around grief are always such a blur amirite — but I did open with how this past year felt like a test. Someone stop me with these education analogies. Showing up to her Celebration of Life felt like walking into the final exam of a crazy hard, but life-changing course. But the class is pass/fail — with no way of failing. This “second eulogy” was my pop quiz verbal final, and perhaps this post is the final reflection paper lmao.
Anyways, I described how good it felt to be considered your “mini me.”
During your memorial services in 2022, a lot of aunties, family-friends, and people I had never met before or seen in a while called me your “carbon copy.” I joked that it was because I had newly dyed my hair, and it kind of resembled yours. But in reality, I had never consciously thought about being your “mini me” before. I had always looked up to you and felt empowered by you, but to hear externally that people could see you in me — I felt that. It was probably the most empowering thing I could have heard back then.
Sidebar for Mama: Don’t worry — I know I am not you nor do I aspire to be you. No one can be you or replace you. I just do me, which is like doing you, but better 😉
Something I learned from this year without you on earth — is that you didn’t have all the answers. You were imperfect just like any other human. You were indeed a superwoman, but in some ways dealt with your own internal battles. As I craft out my own journey and next steps, I think about how you must have been when you were in my shoes. At my age, even younger, you immigrated from the Philippines and started a new life. You were trying to figure out how to make your dreams of becoming a doctor come true in a whole new country — with no money. Your father died within months of you coming to America. You made yours all on your own. I am so grateful to have taken the time during my work leave of absence to hear all of your stories.
I often think about young 27-year-old Aries — her values and her sense of self. As I work on my next story and making my own big badass dreams come true, I think about how they build on yours. They’re still mine — and I have no intention of living out your dreams. I know that’s not what you would have ever wanted me to do. But your dreams and values undoubtedly influenced my dreams and values from a young age.
I still see you with me on my journey, Mama, every step of the way.
We’re actually full-steam-ahead on the journey — like no looking back. We’re on the “making a truly global impact” journey, and it’s going to be epic. 👀
I am so happy that we started the journey together — technically many years back at the arts and crafts fair selling hand-crafted cards, then later as I developed my confidence through grade school student government and beyond. In college, I am so thankful that I brought you, Dad, and Shan to Davis Women in Business’ first OWN IT Conference despite what I was going through during my college days. I didn’t invite you and Dad to my high school Student Body President farewell speech — something I was immensely proud of. After seeing how proud all of the other officers’ parents were, I realized I experienced subtle but enduring regret. I don’t know why I made the assumption that you guys would not have made the time for something that was so important to me.
During my adolescence, high school, and college years, I definitely (and naturally) had to do some divergent thinking while I was finding myself. I had to do me — work on building my confidence and figure out how I wanted to show up in the world. I have no major major regrets, but this ambiguous trail of thought here is something I am still working through. I am working on being nicer to myself. I did what I could with the information I had at the time. More to come.
Lauv’s Tell My Mama conveys how I feel about my childhood looking back. I encourage readers to take a listen at this point if you haven’t heard it before. Again, if you ever need a good “Missing Mom” playlist, hit my line. I collected all the bops this past year.
I don’t think I ever truly felt distant from you, but in many ways, I wish I pulled you into my journey more. I wish I shared more moments of confusion with you — more of my pain and failures. I know I called you during hard moments but losing you has made me realize how much I fundamentally miss your maternal advice. How I miss your 5'0 “don’t step on me” attitude. How I just miss your hugs. Ugh.
I did a lot of private writing on my Instagram story over the last year (woot woot — we made it public folks. Thanks to my “Mourning / Morning Thoughts” readers over the last year 🤓).
This is one of my favorite pieces:
I miss your maternal advice immensely. But during our first physical year apart, I realized that I have a lot of familial and community maternal advice around me. The first time I had the realization that you speak to me through so many people was when I was later watching my ate Maan caregive for grandma, my dad’s mom. I see and love you ate Maan.
To catch any newcomers up: My family went through a lot of hardships this year. My grandma caught Covid over New Year’s 2022. She fought a hard battle for several months in the ICU. In April, the week after my mom’s memorial services, my Dad and his siblings moved her and my grandpa to Las Vegas for hospice. My eldest cousin ate Maan and her husband Michael selflessly took care of my grandma.
Seven months after losing my Mom, we also lost my grandma Trining on Sunday, September 4, 2022 at 5:55 PM.
My grandparents lived with my family growing up, so it was hard to lose both of the matriarchs of our family in such a short period of time. That’s another story.
To wrap up my Mom’s internment and my second eulogy — in summary, reflecting on a year without Mom publicly was incredibly healing in a lot of ways. The story [my mom’s and mine] continues to unfold. She’s still with me and all around me. I closed my second eulogy by reflecting on how my mom guided me to strive and reach all of the successes I’m now realizing and get to bask in every day. I closed by saying that it felt like I passed the final exam. Poetic, amirite.
Every day is different, and I’m just here to live one day at a time.
Afterward, Shanman shared her second eulogy. Love you Shanny. And finally, after the eulogies, my dad placed my mom’s urn in the niche, and the attendees had a moment to come up and say their goodbyes.
This was my and a lot of my broader family’s first internment. Usually, the Serafin / La Madrids are more open casket and burial funeralists…
A few of the aunties and I talked about how we now also wanted to be cremated and interred. My Kuya Joey joked that even after death, my mom is still setting trends. Our family and friends spent the rest of the day reconnecting and catching up.
Memorials and funerals are weird settings, right? Like everyone is grieving, and it’s a weird balance of “I can’t feel my heart because of all the grief, yet I am simultaneously experiencing so much love and energy from seeing my loved ones again.” That’s my experience at least.
I’m grateful that my family was able to come together to celebrate my mom’s one-year “Celebration of Life.” Thank you again, my family and friends, for coming to honor my mother’s life. She loved seeing all of you there! She loves and misses you, and do let me know if she ever “talks” to you, too.
Afterward, my Dad’s side, the Serafin side, went to visit Grandma, Grandma Cora, and two of my grandma’s deceased children. I mean why not say hi to the whole crew while we’re at it.
Meanwhile, I heard Jer Bear was asking the cousins to gather on in two days on Saturday for a Serakids joint birthday celebration and outing, but little did he know I was one step ahead of him.
This goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyways— I’d definitely vote for myself for the coolest sister award. And honestly, I’m guessing I’d win — sorry, Shan.
The next day, Friday, was my brother’s 29th birthday. Remember my mom died 43 minutes before my brother’s birthday. I threw Jer Bear a surprise birthday party at our Los Angeles Art District go-to bars: Wolf and Crane, Angel City Brewery, and later Resident. At large, it was a joint Serakids birthday party for me and Shan, too.
And it was so much fun. Thank you all so much for coming to this, too! How convenient is it to just have a whole Serafin celebratory bash in one weekend? I loved seeing so many loved ones who I haven’t seen in ages, especially, some of my oldest friends, Annemarie, Celest, Allison, Roland, and his fiance Chelsie. My heart was so, so full.
On behalf of my family, we love you all from the bottom of our hearts.
On Sunday, my birthday, I had planned to run my somewhat annual #HalfMarython for my 27th birthday. I started this trend on my 24th birthday — the last healthy birthday that we had with my Mama.
Prior to coming home, I was very anti-birthday celebration weekend. I didn’t tell many people in Seattle that it was also my birthday weekend because I was so focused on just surviving my final exam.
Anyways, I woke up in the morning ready to roll. Tired — but ready to roll. Kind of.
Sidebar — I don’t usually train so intensely for half marathons. My longest run for my last 3 half marathons is basically 8 miles lol. I mostly run to get over my irrational fear of long-distance running. I’m being serious. At my core, I’m a basketball player and a sprinter at best. I grew up allergic/in awe of long-distance runners ha.
Nevertheless, I rolled on anyways. A fleeting thought came to mind in the morning that said, “If you’re going to run a half marathon, why not raise money for a cause? That’s a thing.” On my way to 8 AM birthday mass at the LA Cathedral, I threw up an Instagram fundraiser to benefit breast cancer research to raise $209, honoring the day Mom passed, just to see what would happen. I grew up attending the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Orange County and picked them as beneficiaries.
By the time mass ended, we had surpassed our goal. Woot woot — I have the raddest Instagram fans and family. We ultimately raised over $850! Thank YOU!
The half-marathon race itself was quite lovely. I held it at Almansor Park in Alhambra, the park that my family frequented to get some movement during my Mom’s battle. There’s a lovely half-mile track, and so I ran around it 26 times. I’m more of a mindless runner so running in circles is preferable for me ha. My beautiful running crew for the year included Sabrina Riley, Tiffany Lin, Richie Chang, and Jin Zhang. And we had an amazing running rail including pop, Brune, Shanman, and Isabel — my platonic (?) LOML.
Thank you all so much for joining me for this beautiful tribute.
During the race, there was a moment around mile 10 or so that didn’t feel so great. In that moment, my friends organically surrounded me, and it felt like a force field pulling me through to finish the race. Like I said, I have never quite identified myself as a long-distance runner, despite having run several half marathons in the past. I knew I’d be able to finish, but there was something special about the intentionality of this race.
Running has always made me feel closer to Mom, but this race was different.
I don’t know what catalyzed what was happening in my brain, but in the later miles, I started to see and hear not your voice, but those of your deceased siblings and relatives while I was running. It may have started due to the increasing amounts of old Asian women who reminded me of grandma or what looked like aunties and kids that reminded me of your siblings. Or even just running by so many middle-aged Asian-passing women with dyed hair that somewhat resembled you.
Some relevant context — my extended family is no stranger to death, grief, or loss. My mom is the 7th of her 10 siblings to die “young” on top of cousins, spouses, grandparents, and more. By 26, I had gone to nearly two dozen funerals. You could call me a funeral subject matter expert… I know, it’s sad to read. If it’s not already apparent, dark humor keeps me sane. My broader extended family, especially on my Mom’s side, is quite close because we all understand the unfortunately familiar pain of prematurely losing a parent or a close loved one.
We first lost my Uncle VG in his early 40s when I was about 11 or 12, and looking back — that really impacted how I viewed the sanctity and unpromised nature of life. The succession of deaths every single year, if not more frequently, really inculcated existential lessons during some of my most formative adolescent years.
I still say that I feel like I will die young. Don’t worry — I don’t truly believe that I will die young. Everyone — including my therapist, psychiatrist, and literally everyone else I tell this to — adamantly calls me out for putting that out into the universe, so I just have to over-clarify that I am not shipping that energy for myself. But I do try to live and love as if I will. It’s just a viewpoint that I picked up, adopted, and internalized while young because my family witnessed and experienced premature death over and over and over again. And I pick up on patterns, ya know?
I’m not trying to get into my “live like you’re dying” perspective of life right here and now, but you and I can def get into it if you hit my line. We can find time here.
Sidebar — I am honestly so grateful for whatever time God gives me. I’m so keen on living this life in alignment that I feel pretty darn good about what I do and how I live and show up every day. If my time on earth does end prematurely —and I don’t want it to happen obviously, but ya know —if it does, it is what it is.
I’d be down to see mommy and the rest of the clan sooner lmao. Damn, writing this out loud sounds like I just need a hug lol.
Back on the ancestral awakenings
I think it started with what looked like an aunt hanging out with her nieces and nephews. It reminded me of your sister, Auntie Estrell, and it made me realize that perhaps I love my nieces and nephews so dearly because of how she loved me. She passed abruptly when I was 18. My mom was heartbroken. My favorite memory was when she took me to get massages and bought flowers to bring to Grandma’s resting place at Forest Lawn. In my head, I saw her knocking and waving behind a glass window trying to tell me something. She had a cute wave and great energy. At a minimum, it felt like she was telling me to reach out and guide my younger cousins, nieces, and nephews more.
I also distinctly felt the presence of Uncle VG and Uncle Rod. While I was running, I could physically feel their love and brotherhood surge through my body. I remember moments of Uncle VG’s funeral so clearly. Uncle Rod saw me with a deck of cards. …I don’t know how or why I was carrying a deck of cards at 12— but foreshadowing? Anyways, he asked for the ace of hearts because they loved to gamble together. Uncle Rod ran to place the card on the casket right as Forest Lawn was beginning the burial and procession processes. I was just 12, but that core memory may have shaped what would later evolve into my value of deep relationships. It felt like a reminder to love my siblings, especially my own brother. Thank you, Uncle Rod, for showing me what deep love and connection looks like. I drew this for you when you passed in 2019.
I also felt the love from an entire La Madrid clan, including your siblings Auntie Lenny, Auntie Marianne, Uncle Francis, and all of our extended loved ones, too. For some reason, I have a visual in my head of you convening the family in our Chino backyard trying to find ways to talk to the rest of the family on earth.
I see you guys speaking into a literal can with a string attached, and I’m on the other side of the string with my own can. The connection is bad, and messages are definitely getting lost in translation. But I’m here for it — trying to listen, discern your message, and write back. It’s possible you speak to me visually in my head and my surrounding environment because I am such a visual communicator — Ngl, it’s also possible I am just hearing and seeing things.
Cue “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers.
Or it’s possible I feel you everywhere like a ghost because Ghost was your favorite movie (and wedding song), and as I mentioned earlier that was one of the last things I wanted to make sure we did together — watch all of your favorite movies. I don’t really watch TV or movies much , but one of the most impressionable movies I did watch relatively recently was Pixars’ Soul, so it’s possible I’m making up all of this in my head because of recency bias.
But regardless, this is just what I see.
I don’t know why I keep feeling supernatural things happen, but I think it means good things are coming — and I’m here for it. And I just want to let everyone else know that good things are coming.
In my backyard, I also see the deceased La Madrids and our friends gathering around and packing Balikbayan Boxes — as if my mom showed them how to cash out on the unrealized blessings that were supposed to be theirs on earth, and now they’re making care packages that will soon drop onto their loved ones through more green Mario Party pipes.
Good things are coming, my loves.
Mom, a special request. I have an old friend named Joshua Zapanta up there. You may remember them. We met on one of the first family Carnival cruises we took. They passed ten years ago on April 30th, 2013. I’ve always generally understood their impact on my life. But with these recent reflections, I am realizing just how much their death truly impacted me. Can you say hi to them? I am so curious about how they are doing, too. Also, lol not me still super-connecting in the afterlife.
By the way — my lovely readers: Do you want to take a quick water break or bio break as we head into my closing thoughts?
Thank you so much for reading. I love you.
Then I jetted home after my race to get back to my day-to-day working life in Seattle. (Thank you, Isabel, my LOML, for the ride to the airport and for just being in my life. I love you.) On the plane ride home, I got this blog post to 77%.
I kept saying to myself that this weekend felt like I went on an adult Kairos or St. Paul the Apostle Catholic Church retreat again. We experienced the highest highs and low lows. Emotions were felt, and breakthroughs were made. Also, me to me again: that’s amazing because “breakthrough” is literally my word of the year. Good for you, Mary. Neat.
To recap: We flew home feeling low from anticipatory grief, navigated the internment, celebrated my sibling’s birthdays with all of our loved ones, and then ran a tribute half marathon. Sunday, my birthday, was the day to “Live the Fourth.”
What a time.
The main literal “Running thought” I had while I was running that I wanted to include in this section is that you can make a difference in small ways.
You really don’t need to do something big or grandiose to change the world. Despite what it may look like in this story and online, I don’t fundamentally believe that. It starts with presence, love, and intention. I deeply believe in using whatever gifts you have as a means to serve. Whether that be time, money, connections, or information — use your gifts to help bring others up.
You don’t need to start a scholarship fund for girls’ education. You can run at a park with friends and create a 5-minute fundraiser over a cause you care about on Instagram.
You really don’t need to run a half marathon for breast cancer research to change the world. You can encourage your mom to go to the doctor if something doesn’t feel right with her health. That’s really what I wish I did.
Honestly, just showing up to life is enough to change the world. Show up for yourself. Live the life you want for yourself. I mean we might die young anyways… Show up for your friends. Checking in on friends both in general during calm periods and during tough times is making a difference. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who still showed me love when I went through tough times — mentally and emotionally. Navigating the last three years was hard. Many of my friends know I quietly left social media from 2019–2021 cold turkey. It wasn’t some dramatic departure. I just wanted more control over my what I allowed my brain to consume. With mom’s sickness and the lack of social connection during the pandemic, without realizing it — I isolated myself. I developed severe clinical depression and anxiety. I had no idea how to start over. Thank you for loving me anyways. You loved me enough to see me get through the other side of the endless, endless dark tunnel.
And lastly, be like Aries — Be love, love yours, and love yourself.
As simple as it sounds, I’m still working on this all. But that’s the goal.
Live the life you want for yourself. I mean we might die young anyways…
III. Closing Thoughts
My mom’s story should (and maybe one day will) be a movie.
Aries was selfless, angelic, and love. I don’t want to improperly place her on a pedestal. She was still human.
Recently, I found myself wondering if my Mom died knowing she was a good mother. It was an emotionally revealing experience to reflect on this topic, and I just hope to God that she knew she was.
She was the best mother. I am all that I am because of her.
Here’s the closing from my “first” eulogy that still reflects what you mean to me, Mom.
“Mom, thank you for molding me and for being there for me. For staying up late to help make my art projects more 3D. For saving your lunch money for me. For sneaking me drinks at casinos. For sewing my ASB costumes in high school. For dancing zumba on cruise ships. For leading “the boat is sinking” at family parties. For cooking the over-the-top holiday meals — just because the family was finally together again. For always apologizing first whenever I got upset. For bragging about me to other nurses to the point of my embarrassment. They always let me know how much you loved me. Thank you for throwing your kids a birthday party while on your deathbed. I’ll always remember you as someone who despite it all, thought of others’ happiness before your own.
In the last year and months of my mom’s life, she never ceased to be the strong, empowering woman I knew her to be. Before her passing, I was privileged to take several months off from work to spend more time with her. I’ll forever cherish the time we spent watching Filipino rom-coms all day, playing scrabble (my mom’s specialty), or just cooking Filipino food for her.
Mom, I hope in your final months, that I made you feel loved and cared for. You empowered me to strive. To live a life unafraid. To be generous. To love with your whole being. I’ll make you proud. Sleep na.”
I don’t know what final thoughts you had on your deathbed, Mom. But I think I recently heard you through a stranger the other day. This angel in passing affirmed to me that you did rest knowing you were a good mother.
You are the best mom ever. You left behind the best children, family, and legacy. You created an outsized impact for your 5'0 body. I am so, so blessed to have been loved by you, known you, and been raised by you.
Still — today and forever, thank you for everything, Mama.
The only real takeaway I want to impart to whoever is still reading is: if you still can, call your mother — regularly. Slow down on life and love yours while you still have them in your life.
As I continue to move on into my next era, I’ll still try to understand what the bigger role this experience of loving, losing, and caring for Mom might turn into in the grand scheme of things.
I’m just here showing up.
For the time being, I have a lot of ideas around topics that I might write about that could be helpful to others, such as:
- Caregiving for a parent: finding balance, navigating systems, finding time to care for yourself
- Advocating for yourself at work when you’re junior, going through a tough time, and struggling to ask for help
- Giving yourself grace through healing
- Organizing a kick-ass hybrid funeral and virtual memorial
- Caregiving for a cancer patient: bedside nursing, patient resources, hyper-accessible design
If you’d like to read about any of these topics or another perspective that I may be able to share, let me know in the comments. If you read this far, thank you so much. It means a lot — this has been a vulnerable look back and share from the treasure trove that was this past year of love and loss — beautiful in its own way despite the misfortunes.
Thank you. I appreciate you. I love you. I see you.
With love,
Mary Serafin
Cue my closing walk back song: “Say” by John Mayer*
A few more belated, but well-meaning thank you’s:
- A huge thank you to my Accenture family for being a safe space for me throughout the years. Since my mom held her journey very close to her, my co-workers were some of the only people I could turn to for a long time. Thank you for being safe spaces, especially Andy H., Natalie N., Gwatoh K., Laura K., Jen M., Francois T., Kirsten G., Amanda F., Jeff G., Javi S., Steve B., and all of Growth & Business Design in Fjord.
- Thank you Andy and Natalie for being a gentle ear when I first learned the news.
- Thank you Gwatoh for sharing your mom’s cancer journey and pulling me aside when you saw me crying at the office in public.
- Thank you Laura and Jeff for advocating for me throughout the years. I am forever grateful. Thank you Jeff for always letting me know what my options for support were and for helping build my confidence through out the years. Thank you Laura for just everything.
- Thank you Kirsten for unsolicitedly reaching out to a junior analyst like me to share your cancer story. That really meant a lot.
- Thank you Francois and Amanda for supporting me at the beginning of my caregiving journey — whether you realized it or not. I had no idea what I was in for, and your natural kindness went a long way.
- Thanks Steve for just seeing me. Your dad’s love emanates from you.
- Thank you to the entire Growth & Business Design team that just really showed up for me. You have no idea how your random acts of kindness impacted me when I went on an LOA. I saw all of it. Thank you so, so much.
- Thanks Jay for helping cook soup for my mom.
Links
- If you’d like to learn more about my Mama, here are the links to her memorial video and tribute page.
- For caregivers: I am genuinely always happy to share my experience with those going through a similar situation, or would be honored to even be an ear to just listen. We can find time here,
- If you like my writing, please let me know. I’ve wanted to publish content for probably 10 years, and this is my first post. Well, second. This is actually my hidden first post on my website from college lol. My goal is to share more writing soon and onwards.
- Want to connect? Feel free to reach out at mary.c.serafin@gmail.com or on Instagram at @marycserafin. Stay connected for more of my updates at my website www.marycserafin.com.
Gallery
Thank you for stopping by. I hope you have the best day of your life.
