We Are, Because You Were — What do I do Nau?

"The death of a mother is the first sorrow wept without her." — Author Unknown

My mother passed away on December 21, 2020, the day of the great Jupiter and Saturn conjunction or the Christmas Star. It was a celestial event nothing short of spectacular, occurring only once every 800 years. I think no exit was more fitting for the exceptional human being that she was.

Although it was a grand exit, her transition did not come without much suffering. Mommy’s end-of-life journey was long and difficult. She had been in the hospital for five consecutive months because of several health issues that were coming to a head. Aside from her delicate physical condition, her time was marked by loneliness, feelings of abandonment, fear and uncertainty because of the pandemic. She had no visitors for the first four months. All she had that kept her going were the thought that one day she would be well enough to go home; and the daily long distance phone calls from her daughters, her only contact with the outside world. Although the lockdown prevented family from being with her, I must mention that the wonderful nurses at Bridgepoint Hospital in Toronto took good care of her. Eventually, she was able to go home with my youngest sister, Ying. While this was a prayer answered, it came with the bitter realization that the time had come when she could no longer live by herself.

A few more trips to the ER and hospitalizations followed. At the last confinement she finally made the decision, in consultation with her doctors, to stop all treatment and transition to end-of-life palliative care.

By some miracle, (it can only be called that because Canadian borders were closed) my sisters and I were able to go to Toronto through a small window that allowed entry based on compassionate grounds – to provide care for a sick family member; and to attend a funeral.

My family was extremely lucky to have been able to spend time with Mommy, an opportunity not afforded to many who lost their loved ones in 2020. Many brought their loved ones to the hospital and never saw them again, making their loss so much more heartbreaking and devastating. It was such a blessing and an honor to have been able to care for Mom as she spent her last days here on earth.

I was on night duty with my sister, Evie, and there were some nights when the meds did not seem to take effect and Mommy would not sleep and talk all night long instead. To us, her words did not make sense for most of the time. They just seemed like the nattering of a woman in a hydromorphone-induced haze. But the more we listened, we realized that it was as if all the files in her memory bank had started downloading precious bits and pieces of information about her. Throughout all this, she was lucid and never forgot who we were.

I never realized that there were yet so many things I could learn about my Mom in my adult life. Back in January 2019, when she stayed with my family in Phoenix for six weeks, I had the pleasure of listening to so many of her stories about her childhood, youth, family, suitors, meeting my Dad, etc. that I had never heard before. I wish I had recorded those moments as well as the conversations during those long nights sitting by her bed in semi-darkness.

But even if my memory should dim in the coming years and I would be unable to recall everything about her, I will always remember her as someone who was kind, passionate, hard working, a pillar of strength and loyalty to my Dad and our family, and one who never wavered in the face of difficulties.

Mommy was born on May 4, 1933 to a family of two girls and six boys. At the age of 9, she lost her father, a member of the United States Navy and a casualty of the infamous Bataan Death March during World War II. She experienced death and grief so early in life when she did not even understand what they were. Little did she know that her life would be punctuated by the many losses of the people she loved – her parents, siblings, husband, and the hardest of all, her only son, before her own time was up.

Click on the photos to see the gallery.

She was beautiful. She had many suitors vying for her attention but she chose my Dad who was a law student at the Jesuit-run Ateneo de Manila University at the time. They fell in love and eloped. She was 20 and he, 25. They wed on May 16, 1953. They had their first child, Gerry, on May 28, 1954, a couple of months after she graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Pharmacy at the University of Santo Tomas. I can’t imagine cramming for finals and graduation, poring through Pharmacology textbooks while suffering all the myriad discomforts of pregnancy. But she persevered. Not long after, came Liz, Maite, Robin, Evie, me, Bambi, Patti, and Ying.

She was a woman of profound faith who instructed her children in the knowledge and love of God. She was a woman of prayer and great devotion, especially the Holy Rosary. It was in prayer that God grew her faith, and no matter what life brought her, she found her courage, strength, peace, and reassurance in her personal relationship with Christ. Every day, Mommy prayed for the health, happiness, and success of each of her children and grandchildren by name, and many others who needed divine intervention. So it is with this same faith that we find consolation amid our grief. We know that she is not lost to us but is now at rest and has heard those words from Our Lord: “Well done, Monica, my good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

She was kind and generous both with her time and resources. Growing up, we would find, on quite a few occasions, a bedraggled stranger sitting at our dining table eating a piece of bread and drinking coffee or whatever was on hand that she could offer. She always told us to be kind to the poor because what we do to them, we do to Christ. That was how I saw her faith in action.

Mommy encouraged four of my sisters to be nurses and the rest of us to choose careers that would serve humanity in some way. She often told them to see the face of Jesus in each of their patients so that they could care for them with love and compassion. To this day, the four of them have done just that and have turned their careers into a ministry of healing the sickest of the sick. To all of us, she would remind us to always offer our work for the greater glory of God.

My Mom and Dad served their church community devotedly for many years. Many times, we would call and Mom would be elbow-deep in sandwich makings or cooking spaghetti for 100-200 people for a church function. Together, she and Daddy started a humble fundraiser they called Pennies for Life and raised over ten thousand dollars for the church’s charity work.

She was very independent. Mommy would do things single-handedly and would not wait for Daddy or Gerry to do the “manly” jobs. She laid down flooring, did tile work and painted rooms all by herself. I came home from school one day to see her standing on a chair on top of the dining table installing a 6 ft. long fluorescent light bulb. She always said that if you wanted to have something done right or when you wanted it done, do it yourself. She always told us girls of the importance of having an education and learning a skill. So that, God forbid, if our marriages did not go on forever and we found ourselves alone, we would be able to stand on our own feet. She was so right!

All the way before she got very ill, she went to her doctor appointments and did her errands all by herself. She lived alone for 13 years after my Dad died. There were times when she was sick and warranted her going to the hospital. She insisted on calling 911 herself but not before taking a shower and putting herself together.

She had an excellent sense of style, projecting an easy elegance in whatever she wore. She took shopping seriously. Don’t tag along unless you do too or you’d be bored or exhausted. Mommy was all about looking her best at all times. Even in her last days, she was always bathed, her hair done, with a little make up on and definitely lipstick, with manicure and pedicure to boot. She would also spritz on her favorite Miss Dior perfume.

She always reminded us of proper behavior – be ladylike in the way we talked, the way we walked, and especially the way we laughed. Every time all of us girls would get together, we all talked at the same time and laughed at the highest decibel levels. She would always give us “the look” and tell us we sounded like a pack of hyenas which made us screech all the more. And she would just shake her head as in defeat. Growing up, if we ever dared to chat during Mass, there was always that painful pinch to the side that told us to stop. We never knew how her arm managed to extend so far as to get all of us.

She was genuine and honest. She could not tolerate artifice, deceptive appearance or false impressions. She expected the people around her to present in a way they actually were. Many of our suitors did not even pass muster because she saw right through them. No one could bullshit their way around her. She was friendly with everyone but had only a couple of her true ride-or-die best friends whom she allowed to visit in her last days.

She was very protective like a lioness when guarding her cubs. She was a force to be reckoned with if she felt that her children were being treated unjustly. At the same token, if we were at fault, she expected us to be honest and forthright with her so she could defend us accordingly.

My Mom was not a paragon of virtue. She was not a saint. She was very human, and thus, flawed like all of us. When provoked, she had a temper and language to go with it that would make a sailor blush. We learned the art of ducking so we would not be in the path of the flying slipper or whatever missile she launched. Most of those times, we surely deserved her wrath. She was able to overlook certain indiscretions but she brooked no disrespect and outright defiance. But after everything was said and done, she was humble enough to ask for forgiveness.

She and I did have a chance to say goodbye. The last time I saw her in person, I told her I loved her and was lucky to be her daughter. There was nothing broken or left unsaid between us. I gave her my permission to go and be with God and all her loved ones who had gone before her when the time came.

I thanked her for giving me life; for giving me her faith and teaching me God’s ways; for giving me a sense of family to remember where I came from and to be proud of it; for giving up a career to take care of me; for staying with Dad even when times were tough; for her love, commitment, honesty, patience, kindness, and fortitude which shone as inspiration for my own marriage; for sharing my happiest times and being there for my hardest days; for loving her grandchildren and traveling many miles to be with them and helping with their care; and for all her sacrifices for me – clothing me, feeding me, teaching me to walk and talk, spending sleepless nights when I was sick, providing me with a great education, and showing me the right path that I may grow up to be a decent human being. Then multiply that by nine.

She was a beautiful person inside and out and I miss her. I miss her soft skin that I caressed each night to help her sleep. I miss her sense of humor and sarcastic comments that made all of us shriek in laughter. I miss her funny way of making up words of endearment like “spraketibimbols,” or “dalmugi” for spanking. I miss her strength and pragmatic outlook in life that helped me pull myself from the bootstraps each morning to face another day without Tim. I miss her guidance and pearls of wisdom. I miss her reassuring presence. I miss everything about her.

All these things I will always remember about my Mom. But most of all, I will always remember when she said “I love you” and kissed my cheek that last night before my sisters and I were to head back home. To know that this special woman loved me and my siblings with all her heart was the greatest feeling and memory of all.

Mommy, we love you and will miss you every day of our lives until we see you again.

We are, because you were. Thank you for everything!