A mother's heartwarming letter

You see much more of your children once they leave home. — Lucille Ball

If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much. — Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

My good friend Nini Santos Borja’s (Nini is one of our Bottomliners on my political show The Bottomline that airs every Saturday after Banana Split on ABS CBN and Tuesdays on Studio 23) only son lawyer Karl recently married girlfriend lawyer Jill Gerodias. I was one of the principal sponsors. It was a beautiful wedding set in the divine beaches of Boracay and attended by family, friends and well-wishers of both Karl and Jill. Nini tried to hold back her tears as she marched down the aisle with her son. Here is Nini’s letter to me talking about that eventful day of Jan. 17, the day her son Karl wed. It is so heartwarming, I could not not share this with Direct Line readers. Read on.

“Who doesn’t love a wedding? The marriage of Karl to Jill had a vibrant character all its own. Both had family and friends living abroad, and they’d have to contend with the peak season in Boracay. It didn’t seem practical, do-able, but they all insisted on coming.

“Guests excitedly trooped to Asya Premier Suites, holding its first wedding event ever. The three-day celebration (a private church wedding preceded the beach festivities) became a form of spiritual entertainment, a combination of victory and surrender. The couple led everyone in an ecstatic dance, letting their outrageous happiness shine out for all to see. The toasts, the music, the frank goodwill and support of people dearest to them- it was a celebration of love, family and deep friendships.

 “A few lurking issues though, like a complex, restraining corset, had to be dealt with. That I was able to remain emotionally present through the whole thing proves that I have accepted it in good character....

“Our garden is home to an itinerant flock of shrill-sounding partridges — plump, short birds with white and gray stripes on the sides of their bodies. On a summer morning, I noticed one that had a deeper hue, black outlines on her wings, the mother of the brood. The birds pass swiftly from one point to the other, tirelessly carrying wisps of dry grass and leaves on their beaks. I follow the trail with intense curiosity, and as if eavesdropping, I discover a nest atop our tallest narra tree. The younger ones are demanding, always hungry, sounding like brats, eternally yearning for action. Mother partridge is unfazed, and blessed with avian wisdom, she knows that this stage will not last for long. She knows what needs to be done and instinct guides her through the rigors of parenthood.

 “Family is the nest in which the soul is born, nurtured, and released into life,” a New Age author writes. As I look back on those first days, weeks, years from when my son, Karl, was born, I suddenly realize that a great deal of these moments will now take a backseat in his life forever. My role as a mother has ostensibly changed. I am called to be less of a nurturer now, but simply as a witness to my own child’s breathtaking choice to fly on his own, to heed his calling and ultimately, of paying it forward. My days of cradling a small, tender head in my hands; of reading him to sleep; of cuddling a tired boy from school; of wiping bottoms and walking large pet dogs are over. And don’t let me get to the part of loving music to the hilt, our library transformed into a veritable Virgin Records store in its heyday. I miss them already, miss being needed that much, missing the confidence of knowing what I should be doing from one moment to the next.

“I remember the nights when I lay in bed paralyzed with unreasonable fear, until I hear the house gates open, signaling my teenager is home. Or the playful times with a son who disarms you with his mischievous grin and a charming set of dimples. Now I know that the desire to seize life in a freeze-frame would go against a person’s own natural instincts: To grow up, to live, to fulfill their own destinies on this earth. Our children are also our teachers, they push at all our fixed ideas, they teach some of the hardest lessons we, as parents, ought to learn. To love them is always to let them go, little by little, bit by halting bit, day after day.

 “The last strains of January are over and the nest atop the narra tree is empty. So soon! I whisper. It’s about time! The partridge with the black-outlined wings shrieks out to me.

“It still feels sweetly new and scary to see my son married, touching on the raw, open mortal place of a mother’s sentiments. But I like to sear my tongue with its intensity. The wedding unlocked a capacity of affirmation that lay dormant until I made it real. Affirming a mother’s love, loving the life we have, emancipating myself in the process.”

Nini, it’s time to be young again! A new sense of fun is about to begin. Face it with bravura, as you’ve always done in your life!