How INA came about

I’m supposed to do the concluding part of my report on GMA 7’s (and ABS-CBN’s, too) weekend extravaganza in Cebu, but since it‘s Mother’s Day tomorrow, I have decided to allot this space to INA (acronym for Inang Naulila sa Anak), a foundation whose mission statement is "to provide psycho-social support to its members and other mothers who have also lost their children through projects and programs aimed at helping them move on from a place of grief to a place of hope – empowering them to reach out to others."

Among INA’s incorporators are Dolores Liwanag, Rosella Lagdameo, Asuncion Yu, Catherine Guballa, Jean Margaret Goulbourne, Ali Sotto and Gina de Venecia.

This group is still being formalized and its office has yet to be set up. Meanwhile, I would like to turn my space over to my dear, dear friend Ali Sotto so that she may discuss further what INA is all about and how it came to be.

The ringing of the phone jarred me awake that fateful morning. Butch Francisco was the bearer of bad news. Fire had razed the home of Speaker Joe and Manay Gina de Venecia, and their beautiful 16-year-old daughter KC perished. I was stunned beyond belief. Only a couple of days earlier, I had a chance encounter with the couple at FPJ’s wake at the Arlington Chapel in Pasig. Among the throngs of people who were there, we found ourselves pushed to a corner. Manay Gina was her usual solicitous self, very much concerned with how I was coping with the death of my son Miko. Sensing her genuine desire to listen, I opened my heart enough for her to catch a glimpse of my pain, not knowing that soon after, she too will experience what is every mother’s worst fear and nightmare.

In the news coverage of the tragedy, Manay Gina appeared bewildered and dazed. I felt compelled to go to KC’s wake to lend her comfort, just as she did back when my own child lay in state. At the end of a long line of people extending their condolences, she appeared calm and collected, shaking their hands and thanking them for their sympathy. The moment she saw me and looked into my eyes, she saw her pain mirrored in mine, and she broke down and wept.

Thus began a singular relationship between two women joined by a mother’s horrific grief. Over long lunches over endless cups of coffee and tearful conversations deep into the night, we grappled with tortuous emotions. I saw myself where I was a year earlier, going through gut-wrenching, heart-rending feelings of sorrow, anger, guilt. And the questions, many to be left unanswered. "Why MY child, Lord? Did I not pray enough to keep my child out of harm‘s way, Lord?"; "Will this stabbing pain ever go away, or am I to live the rest of life like this?"

Manay Gina became my ward of sorts; I became her "Ate." At first I was afraid that in ministering to her I would be giving strength to cope which I hardly had myself. But I soon realized that it was just as healing for me. Coming to the knowledge that "I am not the only one", was a soothing salve to my wounded soul.

Soon after, I heard of a mother whose son died in an accidental fall from a high-rise condo and who also donated her son’s corneas to the Eye Bank. She had asked for me through a mutual friend but I was out of the country. As soon as I got back I sought her out and began texting and calling her up. She greatly appreciated the prayers and the counseling. Others followed as Manay Gina also began a crusade to comfort grieving mothers. We approached them with some hesitation at first, afraid we would intrude into their private grief. But the response was overwhelmingly positive and we began to sense a calling to fill a void.

"We need to form a support group," Manay Gina and I agreed as our list grew. We felt the urgency to unite with kindred spirits who fully understand what we were going through. We want others to listen when we want to incessantly talk about our children and lend an ear when we want to unburden ourselves. We want to find comfort in knowing the other KNOWS my pain. We can look into each other‘s faces and see our pain staring right back. We want to minister and be ministered to because in this symbiotic relationship, the givers of strength and hope are fortified in return.

Last March 16, about 15 mothers "orphaned" by their children gathered for the first time and INA (Inang Naulila sa Anak) was born. That afternoon, each one recounted the story of her child and we all listened and cried unabashedly.

We brought pictures of our beloved angels so we’ll have faces to go with the names of the children we light candles for.

It was a highly-emotional time. The deluge of tears washed some of our hurt away. Mothers who more recently lost their sons or daughters found solace in meeting those who have suffered the unspeakable torture far longer than they have.

The pain and suffering was so palpable but was tempered by the wise counsel of Dr. Honey Carandang, a practicing psychologist who lent her professional voice during our session.

At the end of that meeting, I left comforted by the fact that now I was not alone anymore. When I speak from a place of grief, I had them standing right where I am. And in time, by God’s grace, we can all rise to a place of hope and share with other bereaved mothers through their darkest hours.

At the recent wake for Ciara Abalos, Congressman Ben-Hur Abalos and his wife Menchie’s 18-year-old daughter, Manay Gina de Venecia and I were told: "I hope I never need you guys ... Oh, God, yes! If He could only answer the prayer that no other mother suffers the loss of her child."

Last Tuesday, the incorporators of INA met and tentative plans were made to formally launch the group. Apart from regular meetings, outreach programs (Bohol, where about 28 schoolchildren died of food poisoning, was mentioned) and projects (an alliance with the DSWD will make possible the training of grief counselors nationwide) were discussed.

I’ve always believed that the brightest lights that can be seen from heaven are a mother’s prayer for her child. Now, I think those of a bereaved mother‘s shine much brighter because she blinds the heavens with a mother’s love that transcends even death. Life ends, but love lives on.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of us mothers, mother of children here, mothers of children in the thereafter.