WHEN I wrote an article to honor my late father, little did I know that some of my readers, including my siblings, were waiting for a piece about my mother. I cannot blame them because people who really know me are aware that I was and will always be the typical youngest child in a closely-knit Kapampangan family – palak at makaba iki.
I just found the most opportune time to write about my mother as we celebrate Mother’s Day this May 14. Although it is celebrated around the world on different dates, it is celebrated on the second Sunday of May in most countries including the Philippines and United States, where it was initiated in 1908 by Anna Jarvis and officially recognized in 1914.
Like my tatang, my mother and her family had humble beginnings. She never made it past the second grade but after the war, she decided to enroll in the local vocational school where she studied dressmaking. She was one of the neighborhood modistas who accepted various jobs – from making custom-made dresses to repairing any clothing item. Growing up, my brother Noel and I would take our afternoon naps to the melody of her singing Mass songs and kundimans, combined with the humming of her sewing machine. Despite not being able to finish even her elementary education, she taught me how to read using a little black book containing Kapampangan prayers and that iconic reading book of every Filipino child during the 60s and the 70s – Pepe and Pilar.
She always taught us the value of education. She would always use herself as a perfect example and a constant reminder that if we wanted a life better than what she and her siblings experienced, we had to study hard despite the many limitations and constant struggles we face as a family. No hard core and lofty sermonizing in there, just plain and simple motherly advice that reverberated with so much truth. This must have struck a significant chord in my being that I made it a point to really do well in my studies. But she was never a stage parent. She was never present in any of my recognition rites. That was typical of her not to take the spotlight and simply asked one of my siblings to join me on stage. In fact, I only remember her attending two important highlights in my life – my college graduation and my installation as the first lay school director of the St. Nicholas Academy: CCEI.
When my father passed away in 2002, my mother asked me if I would still be assigned in other provincial branches of the universal bank I was working for. She never asked me to give up my banking career or turn down the scholarship I got from an Asian university, but I knew right there and there that she was longing for me to stay by her side. Looking back, it was one of the best decisions I made in my life.
It was during this particular period that I bonded with my mother on a different level. We ate breakfast together, and then she would remind me to go home for lunch because she would cook my favorite dish. I took my power naps beside her while she hummed her kundimans. She was my constant prayer warrior. I would always ask her to offer varied prayer intentions – good weather during our intramurals or foundation week, victory for my students during their inter-school competitions, safe travels whenever I had to make an out-of-town or out-of-the-country trip, and discernment whenever I had to make important school-related and even life decisions.
The ‘ber’ months meant giving in to her requested motif for the Christmas decorations in our house. She always wanted me to start sprucing up the house as early as the last week of October. And when I was done with the Christmas tree, it was time for her obligatory pose and pictorial in her inalmirol a pink daster and super red lips. In a way the rest of the family looked forward to it because once posted on our respective social media accounts, everyone knew that we were ready for Christmas.
During the last time that she was hospitalized, I was with her in the ICU. After we prayed, she told me that she already felt better and she wanted to go home. I knew deep in my heart that what she truly meant was that she wanted to be with my tatang and go home in peace with the Father. She left us in June 2019, a day before she turned 94.
My mother lived a full life. We may have not given her the most comfortable life complemented by a string of properties and other possessions. But we gave her the life she wanted and deserved, and made sure she enjoyed and valued every single day of that life. I would like to believe that she saw the fulfilment of her many dreams in her children and grandchildren. We have made her happy and proud while she was with us; and we intend to do so for the rest of our lives.
