Remembering Mama

Two days from now we start nine days of prayer before her death anniversary. In this house where all that’s left are my grandmother, my nephew and his mom, and a whole lot of my own mother’s mementos, I try my very best to manage.

The past week had been particularly hard- my 83 year-old grandmother noticed a lump on her right breast, and after a particularly anxious fine needle aspiration biopsy, it was revealed she had tumor cells. Deciding to go ahead with the operation was a whole new ordeal altogether. She told me she once had a friend her age who underwent an operation, and later died. She never really stated the obvious; it was clear from the look on her eyes she was afraid of what her own fate would be.

Hours before the procedure, I was dressed in my scrubs. My cousin agreed to have me present until her induction, but the lab results and her blood pressure readings were too high that the anesthesiologist did not give clearance. Finally, we decided to postpone the procedure until her vital signs stabilize.

On the same day of her discharge my nephew was rushed to the hospital for fever and vomiting. Now the little tyke is ok, but now our trusty household help became ill. For most of the afternoon I monitored her temperature, giving medication every four hours, and taught her how to do tepid sponge bath to her lower her temperature. For now, I’m the one to serve her food, prepare dinner with Nanay, gather my uniform for tomorrow, and do the dishes.

I’ve never imagined myself to be so domestic, and I’ve never seen myself quite content with what I did.

When my Mom passed away, it was not only a huge emotional loss, but our finances changed drastically as well. My father’s salary was only but a fraction of what my Mom earned as a nurse in the US, and what he sent seemed wanting to cover the bills and living expenses. As the months passed bills kept piling. Once, the electric bill soared to 5,900 because of indiscriminate use of airconditioners. I tried to control the escalating living expenses, but it was hard to put your foot down when people refuse to cooperate.

Then one day things just went from bad to worse: I got into another big fight with my father again. He wanted me to work in Saudi after Nursing school, while I maintained my desire to continue to Med School. With his financial support gone, this household balanced precariously, and was unexpectedly rescued by my younger brother who once wanted to abandon his plans of going back to the US so he could stay here in Tacloban with his son.

With this support, and the support of my partner, this household gets to live another day. We’re slowly atoning for our financial mistakes by making small sacrifices now- no more aircon use, turning the ref off at night if there’s not much food stored, minimizing the use of the water pump…

Suddenly, I know the weight on my shoulder is the price I have to pay for the choices I’ve made. I can be taught the definitions of fortitude, sacrifice, and caring, but I find none more effective learning than the circumstances I am in at present.

I will forever miss a mother's touch; how my Mom always seemed to handle even the most delicate situation equitably and justly. How she chided me and my brothers when we did something wrong, yet I knew deep inside she secretly rooted for us all the way- encouraging us to stand back up when we trip and fall. She was always untiring, and never conditional loving us.

Oh Ma, it’s hard growing through this crisis, but I think you would have been proud of how we turned out. Your sons miss you. We all do, actually. And if the role that I play now, which involves running the household you once ran, turn out to be too difficult- I’ll just remember to take it a day at a time. These are, after all, very big shoes to fill.

Last Trip to Marabut

I’m the kind of guy you’d see at the bus terminal at dawn, holding a cup of instant coffee, standing uncomfortably beside chicken crates and dry goods, waiting for the first bus to arrive. I don’t really mind traveling alone, in fact, I find it sometimes to be particularly soothing.

I’ve had this love affair with Samar since I first laid eyes on its pristine coves coyly hidden by forests, and well, I’m not too keen with sharing this parcel of paradise with just about anyone. And because of Samar’s distance (and perhaps hushed rumors of leftist armies) few people brave the four hour trip to visit the towns of Guiuan and Borongan. That leaves die hard travel fanatics like myself to revel in the unspoiled beauty of the place.

This wayfarer however, has not set foot in one of those rickety buses for some time. Partly because of schedule, and partly because, I think I’ve lost that rash impulsiveness that came with youth. I’m exaggerating- I’m still in my twenties, but have considerably mellowed down so I no longer hop on a bus unplanned, unscheduled, and hoping to arrive back home in one piece.

Last summer, before Mama and Ted left for the States, I urged them to take a trip with me. I insisted on tiptoeing while everyone was still asleep so by the time everyone was up, we were already on a bus, safe from last minute “Sama ako!!” pleas from relatives. If you want to enjoy a very relaxing weekend, I told them, then we go secretly.

It was great to feel the wind whipping my face again. The bus was crowded and noisy, and Mama, used to the comforts of a private car, grumbled all the way. When we finally arrived in Marabut, we hopped on to one of the floating cottages and had food delivered by banca. The entire weekend slipped by placidly, and we were bronzed and content by the time we headed back to Tacloban the following Monday.

Maybe I ought to take one of those impulsive trips one of these days. I bet Samar would be just as I remembered it, and just as I remembered Mama- vibrant, lively, and ever so beautiful.

To Heaven and Back

It must have been a dream because you died yesterday.

You faced the ocean and the pink sky, fiddling with your camera. The pink t-shirt and pants were the ones you wore on our last trip to Marabut. You glanced at me and waved.

“Mama...”

The cold of the dawn bit my face, and the hair on my arms stood. It was my idea to wake up at 5am to take pictures of the sea at sunrise. As I walked towards you, I felt the sands shift beneath my feet.


My feet hurt from walking around the hospital in uncomfortable white shoes. My clinical uniform was dirty, and 30 minutes before time off I wanted to scream. I had been in school since 8:00am, and now it was very late in the evening.

A thousand miles away, Mama was at the ICU with IV and heparin drip. When we spoke over the phone last night, she sounded weak as ever. She coughed a lot, and everytime she did, I closed my eyes and prayed.

“Please God, please.”

I tried to sound cheerful. I got 90% on my Cord Care PRS. Not bad Ma, right?

You said you were going to get better. You said they were going to move you to a regular room later that day.

Oh Ma, it hurts to see you like this.


Ted was also up, his hair unruly. My brother was shirtless despite the cold. He walked barefoot on the sand.

The surge of the tide washed gently on the shore. You were looking at the horizon, your face glowing from first rays of the sun.

“You never left, haven’t you?”

You turn to look at me and smile.

“Of course not.”

“I miss you.” I said, my voice breaking.

“I’m always here.”

The world seemed so silent, with only the sound of the waves in the background. My Mom was smiling at me. The kind of delight that lights up her eyes, much like a child whose arms are outstretched and face eager as she is about to be picked up by her parent.


The phone call. I knew what it was after the first ring. My heart pounded as I rushed to the living room.

“Hello?”

Silence, then I heard someone breathing.

“Hello?”

“Kuya…”

It was my brother, and he was crying so hard I could understand his words.

I sat on the couch. My brother said something but I didn’t hear anything. Tears welled up. So this was it- I never even got a chance to say how much I loved her.

Hours later, I would still be unable to move from the couch.


Then I was filled with grief, for I will never see you again in the waking world.

You wiped my tears with your hand.

“I am never gone because I’m always in the hearts of whom I love.”

You smoothed my hair, like you always did when I was very young. You always wanted us to be neat and clean, and people always remarked how well behaved we were.

“I had wanted to call you again after my duty, but I was so tired. I thought you’d be better. I have so much I need to say-”

For a moment I felt your hand, warm against my face. And you started to walk away. You turned and gave me a smile.

I looked for a trace of sadness in your eyes, but there was none.

"If tears could build a stairway, And memories a lane, I'd walk right up to Heaven And bring you home again." ~Author Unknown