One summer day in August, my mom and I were both lying flat on our bellies, browsing through the internet on my laptop. As she was getting up, she said she felt a lump in her left breast. I still remember her face, full of alarm and concern. I reassured her that it would be nothing as she was routinely checked for breast cancer.

Shortly after, I went on a trip with friends and was in an accident. The injury itself wasn’t serious but I ended up taking a few weeks off with a concussion. That injury distracted the family from the really urgent lump in my mom’s breast. After I recovered and she finally flew home to get checked, we heard devastating news. My mom had a stage IIIB tumor growing in her left breast. The doctor repeatedly said we should have gotten her checked sooner.

Through multiple surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation sessions, I remembered thinking back to the moment I had told her it would be alright. I remembered reassuring her that since we had never had anyone diagnosed with cancer in the family, it would just be a benign lump. I hated myself. I so desperately wanted to rewind time.

In my 25 years of living, there are many moments I wanted to cherish. The moments were so precious that I didn’t want to forget them. But no matter how much I tried, my memory didn’t stand strong against time. Unfortunately, this applied more for the most difficult memories.

I still remember that day, each moment, each feeling and each expression clearly. Spring of this year, my mom began getting major headaches. Unlike last time, I insisted we get her checked just in case. I was standing by her side in the emergency room. The doctor looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I’m afraid it’s spread to her brain.”

I couldn’t look my mom in the eyes. It felt like the walls and ceiling were all closing in on me, pushing me into the ground. I couldn’t feel any part of my body, just a pounding in my head. We met the neurosurgeon and he told us we had about 1-2 years. I remember getting on my knees and begging him to save her. My world fell apart but there was nothing I could do.

Like many other folks my age, I had assumed I would have decades left with my mom. Even when she was diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago, I wanted to hope for the best. Every moment I had spent working towards a long and successful life, going to university abroad, being away from her, felt selfish and useless. Nothing mattered.

If I could choose to go back to any moment in my past, which moment could change the present? I asked myself everyday, multiple times a day. That moment when I reassured her the lump would be nothing? That moment I decided to go on that trip with friends? Or those many moments in the four years when I should have done more to make sure she wouldn’t relapse? Or maybe even before that. I looked back to every moment I had upset, disappointed and let her down. I took it one step further and began thinking of the times I had treated people poorly or was selfish. I told myself I was being punished. But why not me? Why punish my mom? Perhaps because watching the person you love most suffer is more painful than going through it yourself. I wished it was me. I prayed to God that he would take me instead.

I do not know how much time I have left with my mom. It’ll most likely be shorter than many others. I made those choices assuming I had more time left with her. I wish more than anyone to go back to certain moments. But if there is one lesson that came out of this experience, it’s that the time we have now is too precious to spend reflecting on the past.

I will not be making the same mistake again. No particular moment can guarantee any outcome. So before another moment passes us by, all we can do is change the moments we have left.