I blew out the thirty candles on my cake. I knew it was not going to be a good birthday, as just in the afternoon, I had to accompany my mother, Andrea to have an MRI, as she had been having a lot of migraines and frequent vomiting episodes. I had never been so scared.

We arrived at the door, and we were greeted by a nurse. She took my mom into a room to take the test. Meanwhile, I sat in the armchairs in the waiting room.

The next day, the doctor called me to meet him in his office.

I see the office light and the orange bottles filled with pills. He informs us that he has a brain tumor, and his life expectancy was no more than six months. Terrified by the news, I hugged her tightly and my pupils became sea.

Then the doctor decided to admit her to the hospital. We went into a room where there was a stretcher. A hospital gown was placed on her, and IVs were placed in her arms. I knew she was not going to win this fight, even though she was a very strong person. She took my hand and told me that everything would be okay.

I didn't want her to be alone, even though I knew she wouldn't last long. So, I also decided to go to the hospital to support her and be with her as long as possible, until her life was over.

Months went by, and in April, specifically on the 13th of that month, she took a drastic turn for the worse. The blood test came out quite altered, and the doctor confirmed that she probably would not last the night.

Desperate and saddened by the situation, I had no choice but to pray to God and sit in front of the stretcher of the person who gave me life. She was pale and very weak. I grabbed her wrist, looked into her eyes, and suddenly her heart stopped beating. A code blue was activated, the doctors brought a crash cart to revive her, but she was already gone.

Afterwards, I gave her a beautiful funeral. I honestly didn't want to go, but I would have felt deep regret for not being there.

Now that a year has passed since the loss, the pain still eats at my insides. I still choke back my own tears and hold back what I can.