My mother died in July 2001 due to a flash flood caused by a typhoon. She was a tourist guide in our province and one of her duties was to bring tourists to see the famous caves of Sagada. Unfortunately, she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was 15 then and in high school.

My mother and I lived apart. I lived in Baguio City and she in Sagada, Mt. Province. I never got to see her after she died, before she was buried. After more than five years from the time she passed away, I finally got a chance to see the cave where she died.

It was my first time to enter one of the notable caves in Sagada. With a guide, Mr. Abraham Lorenzo, Joshua Infantado, Chekhov Agayo and I hiked from the main road to the opening of the cave. As we neared the dark, huge opening of the cave, “Balik na tayo [Let’s go back],” I said to my companions, as a joke but with a tinge of fear. I felt my heart beat faster. “Do I really want to know what my mother went through before she died? And do I really want to know where her body was found dead?” I asked myself. I took a few deep breaths as I usually do when I feel nervous, looked straight forward and put a smile on my face even though I felt that I wanted to cry. But there was no use turning back, and, yes, I wanted my questions answered.

I’ve seen a lot of pictures of how the caves look inside but I hadn’t really known how it looked like as a whole. A lamp was prepared to serve as our only source of light. I watched how our guide did it, thinking that my mother also had done those things before. And as we followed Mr. Wilbert, our guide, inside the cave, all I could think of was that my mother had been there before so many times. I felt every step I took as though I was walking on the footsteps of my mother.

You hear bats when you enter the cave; there are so many of them. The pathway down is very rocky and slippery. We were told to hold on to the rocks as much as possible and to be careful not to slip. We removed our slippers at a point just below the entrance because they are no longer needed. The smooth, sloping rocks look slippery in the pictures but when you set your bare foot on them, there is enough friction for you to move carefully down them.

I felt every moment inside. Memories of my mother were on my mind. She could have been with us if she were alive. We went deeper and deeper into the cave. We saw various rock formations—beautiful, a feast for the eyes. Truly, how wonderfully made by our Creator. We played in the crystal-clear water. There were several pools of it, at least one of which was big enough to swim in. Some of the men thoroughly enjoyed a swim, though the water was chillingly cold.

We moved on. The light showed where we should tread on and revealed wonders for us to behold. Beyond the pale light was a deep gloom, particularly where I felt there were steep drops and some openings leading to other parts of the subterranean.

You cannot go in and come out dry; getting wet is part of the experience. You also get a free foot scrub since you go barefoot most of the tour.

The guide could not help but show me where my mother was found; I took a few glances. I could not help but imagine things so I looked quickly away each time. But I will never forget the exact place. I will not cry, I told myself earlier. I did not want the others to be affected. The visit had to be entirely a joy to them, I didn’t want to ruin it by crying.

I no longer wondered how she died when the flash flood rushed into the cave. Her head must have hit hard against the rocks and she lost consciousness, then drowned. She was physically a very strong woman, but, come to think of it, even the strongest man in the world would not have survived what my mother went through. Having seen the place where she died and learning how it could have happened does help in the acceptance of her death.

The fun had to end sometime. But even the journey back up to where the sun shone was also exciting. We didn’t go up the same path we used going down. But we still came to the point where we left our slippers. We heard the bats again as we climbed the path approaching the mouth of the cave. We were all damp so we decided to take a shower before visiting other places in Sagada.

Death is a part of life. Years after my mother died, I realize that knowing there’s an end helps us appreciate our lives more. Knowing that the people around us would not be here forever is a constant reminder for us to value them more. There is an unexplainable comfort when you still have both parents with you, something many kids take for granted.

Because of the trials we go through we grow stronger and better each time. Time, it is said, is a great healer. Emotional balance returns little by little, like the healing of a physical wound.