As the fall season progresses and Halloween draws near, I find myself feeling haunted.

An all-too-familar, but nonetheless unpleasant occurrence in my life over the past several years.

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This Halloween season, I will not be haunted by scary stories, horror films, or children in creative costumes playing pranks.

Instead, I'll be haunted by memories, both happy and sad, of a life ended rather abruptly, and prematurely. I'll be haunted by "what ifs", and thoughts of what might have been. I'll be haunted by guilt, regret, and sorrow.

Halloween marks the beginning of the "holiday season", based on the culture and customs I was raised with. Indeed, this time of year once brought me excitement, comfort, and joy. But for the past decade, it has instead brought me emptiness, loneliness, and despair.

Why is this the case?

In order to explain that, I'll have to go back to the summer of 2006.

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I was 15 years old; had my share of teenage angst and rebellion, but overall was content and well-rounded. I was fortunate to have had my basic needs met, thanks to my mom, a hard-working, deeply religious, friendly, and kind-hearted immigrant to the United States from the Philippines. She and my father had been divorced since I was five, and I was an only child. I lived with her full time, so it had just been the two of us since the divorce. Needless to say, we had a very close bond. I never really felt close to other members of my family, not even my dad. This fact would prove to be a curse.

Around June or July of 2006, my mom started noticing some unusual symptoms. She felt that food and medicine pills were getting stuck in her throat, and started getting persistent headaches. She went to her doctor about these symptoms, and was essentially told it was some minor thing or another. She was even given a sample of antidepressants, because her headaches could be due to "stress".

She went to doctors about these symptoms several times between July and October of that year, including an ear, nose, and throat specialist. None of the things they suggested seemed to help.

As the months went on, her symptoms got worse, and she began to have trouble breathing. In the last week of October, she went to the emergency room due to trouble breathing. They kept her for one night, told her she had bronchitis, and gave her a prescription for an inhaler.

She seemed okay for a few days after that, glad that she finally knew what the problem was.

So she thought.

One of those few days happened to be Halloween. We greeted costumed kids and gave out candy together. I remember enjoying that day.

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It would turn out to be the last holiday I got to spend with her; the last holiday that filled me with warmth and joy, instead of pain and grief.

In the first week of November 2006, my mom went to the emergency room again, because she, once again, could not breathe.

It was then that doctors finally did scans, and learned that no, she did not have bronchitis. She actually had a large thyroid tumor cutting off her windpipe, necessitating she be intubated just so her lungs could get oxygen. And that the cancer had already spread throughout her body, and there was nothing else they could do.

My mom died just a couple of weeks later, hooked up to machines in the intensive care unit. She was in her early fifties.

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These are the events that I have relived every time the end of the year rolls around.

Holidays that used to be a time for fun, togetherness, and good cheer --in no small part due to my mom's incredible passion and genuine love for all holidays-- have now become a reminder of all that I've lost. A reminder of the way my entire world, and everything I thought I knew, was so quickly and mercilessly dismantled before my very eyes.

I'm left to wonder what might have been if my mom's doctors had done more from the beginning.

Would she have survived?
Would she be one of those people with a miraculous story of defeating cancer against all odds?
Would I be decorating and making plans for Halloween with her, instead of being alone, in the darkness, surrounded by empty bottles of whiskey?
What would I have been hoping for during holiday seasons, over the past decade, instead of spending 99% of those times wishing I were dead?
Would I have been able to properly tell her how much I appreciate her, and everything she's done for me?

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These are the things that haunt me now. I wish I had the ability to simply "move on" and exorcise myself of these demons. Instead, I am stuck in my own, personal horror story. A nightmare from which I will never awaken.

My own memories provide me with the scariest tale I could ever have imagined.

All that's missing is the lights and the camera.

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