My mother was a warrior of the light. A demon slayer, and a protector of the truth. She fought demons, and falsities wherever she could find them. She stood up to blasphemy, profanity, and all shapes and forms of immorality; every chance she had. I say every chance she had, by which I mean every single time she encountered the slightest trace, or signs of them. She would not miss a chance to stand up for what is right. Even if it cost her the love of people around her. Even if it cost her her job, her money, and several once in a lifetime opportunities. Oh she lost a lot of people along the way. Friends. Family members. Coworkers. Business partners. They all seem to abandon her soon enough.

Not everyone has the courage to stand up for what is right, and fight for the light. But my mother could. And by god she did. She could smell a demon from a mile away. She could spot a sinner among a thousand saints. And she could never miss falsities, even if she wanted to, for she had a regurgitative allergic reaction to them. As soon as anyone would start producing the slightest hint of bull feces she would commence to throw up, then call them out on it. Even when it was harmless. Even when it was necessary to save an awkward situation. And sometimes even when they were not necessarily false.

People would ask my mother why is it so important to her to always make sure that the truth is seen, and she would say that she just can’t help it. People would try to explain to her that sometimes there are several truths to something, but she would always insist that there was only one truth to everything, and that anything other than that was falsities being maliciously presented as truths. Until today no one knows how she could tell which truths were true and which were false. There were many times when she was the only one who could see the truth. There were many times when the truth she saw did not make sense. Matter of fact, now a day’s most of her truths don’t make sense. Actually, coming to think about it, most of her old truths, the ones I remember at least, don’t make much sense anymore. 

I guess that as we grew up the demons of this inferior life must have corrupted our eyes with falsities, and spread immorality into our heart. Maybe we are so far gone that we cannot even feel it festering inside us. At least that is what she tells us. It was inevitable she says. See! When we were young my mother used to beat the demons out of us. She used to scare the falsities and instruments of immorality out of us. Oh she was scary alright. In fact most of my memories of her from childhood, where of her in her demon form. That is the form she would take when the forces of evil managed to infiltrate our home. She would turn into a pale corpse like demon, and scream with the sound of a thousand sirens. She would break and shake the house, and when the demons would tell us to hide from her, she would break doors and walls to get to us, and cleanse us from them through fear and pain.

Even when my father was possessed by demons and tried to stop her, or take us away from her, she would rage even harder, and rattle, and battle until she got to us. There were times when he, in his mentally corrupt state, succeeded in taking the battle elsewhere, away from us, but he and the demons which possessed him would never win, she would always come back and make sure that we were cleansed. I always wondered why the forces of evil managed to infiltrate our home so often.

My mother would say that it was because my father’s family were warriors of the dark. They were the ones always poisoning us with falsities, binding us with demons, and subtly accelerating our descent towards immorality. They were the reason she had to cleanse us almost every day. They were the reason there were so many battles in our home. It is funny, however, how the forces of evil work. All I remember from my days with my father’s family are warm, sunny, happy hallmark moments. They were the only family like moments I remember from my childhood. Too bad they were not real.

Recently my mother has been feeling more and more guilt about having had to cleanse us as often as she did when we were kids. I mean she still maintains that it is the only option my father’s family left her, but she feels guilty about us not enjoying a normal childhood. Like the one you see in a kinder surprise commercial. Like the one normal people had. I don’t know if it is age, or some demon finally got to her, but she seems to be filling up with sorrow by the day.

Don’t worry though, she is still adamant in her fight against the forces of evil. Her sorrow is only fueling her rage and determination! She is well into her fifties now, and still losing jobs, friends, family members, and even neighbors; over demons, falsities, and instruments of immorality that she just couldn’t turn a blind eye to. Even when she was quarantined in our house back home. Alone. She still managed to find demons in people. As soon as they call her on the phone. Or not call her for a while. Sometimes even through chat. Or the lack there of. Sometimes without them having to contact her at all. She could sense it. She could sense the forces of evil taking over their minds, and turning them against her, and it would torture her. All the friends who turned on her because of demon possession, all the family member she lost, along the years. Even the closest ones.

The demons spared no tricks, and showed no mercy. They turned the closest people to her against her. They even got to her parents at some points. Even when forced to hide by the quarantine, they made sure to let her know of their existence. Sometimes I wonder if my mother could ever be isolated enough, somewhere where they could not reach her. I wonder if there is a place on earth where my mother can finally not see demons. I wonder if the demons are just in her head. I don’t think such a place exists. I said in the beginning that my mother was a warrior. Well, warriors tend to die fighting.

I used to hope that there would come a day when she would retire. Become happy. Enjoy the company of her grandchildren without seeing the demons in them. Without worrying about falsities creeping into their little minds. Without worrying about their slow but inevitable descent into immorality. Just be happy. Loved. Grandma. But from the looks of it my mother is not slowing down any time soon, and will be fighting demons till the day she dies. My only hope is that they leave her alone when she dies, and hopefully she might find happiness on the other side.