My hero, my son

I wanted a girl for my first born but if there were any feelings of regret, they quickly disappeared at the first sight and the first touch I exchanged with my newborn son. "His head is no bigger than my fist!" I thought. He was premature, weighed only five pounds and there was a plastic tube that was inserted through a vein on his head. It horrified me and I felt a stab that pierced down to the soles of my feet. Was that a mother’s first taste of pain? He was too weak and had to be placed in an incubator. "When he’s a bit stronger, you also need to have him circumcised." No way! But he would be too young to remember the pain and it is recommended for hygienic reasons. I yielded on condition that I sat next to the surgery theater, just in case. Months passed and his "homecoming" was a big celebration matched only by our enthusiasm to finally have him with us. One card I received promised that there would be "warm mornings, soft smiles and gentle care." We had that and more.

In my circle of friends, we all had sons as firstborns so aside from the official prognoses that I received from my pediatrician, I had bonafide mothers who were only too glad to share little nursery myths that were really hit-and-miss even if tried-and-tested first-hand! "When your baby gets the hiccups, wet a piece of cotton and stick it on his forehead and voila, hiccups gone." I tried it and it worked. The second time, it didn’t!

A mother can have fun with a son except in the choice of clothes. The color wheel spins only in three directions: fatigue green, ho-hum blue or yucky khaki – colors that relentlessly suggest that boys are "genetically" linked to snails, frogs and puppy dog tails! But mine was nowhere near those slimy and moist-nosed creatures. He was cuddly, sweet and huggable. He went through several stages where he was my little shadow and my pillow. His favorite words were "why" and "no." He squirmed when he was smothered in public. He insisted on being dropped off a few feet from the school gates lest his classmates see that we packed the entire household in our little car. He worried because he was shorter than the girls but that was quickly fixed when he reached puberty. First shave, first crush, first plane ride, boarding school then on to college, first paying job, postgraduate studies and finally, well, on his way to fulfilling his dreams. When he became "unspank-able," meaning he reached the "Mom-I-know-what-I’m-doing" stage and lived away from home, my blood still flowed backwards whenever the phone rang. Instinctively I would ask, "Are you all right?"

Mothers can’t seem to relax. There is no time out and we fret and agonize over our children, no matter what age. But when children call, when they visit, when they fuss and turn the table around, our hearts are filled with indescribable joy. They do us proud, much like Jesus to Mama Mary, during His mortal life.

But there is one sorrow that all mothers would rather not think about or even dare imagine. The loss of a son. It has often been said that to lose a child is far more painful than to lose a parent. It even cuts deeper when one has to bury a son in the prime of his life. Recently, two of my friends went through this agonizing experience. Ironically, the circumstances in which they both lost their sons run a parallel course. Both their sons graduated in San Francisco and had found careers in the States that gave them fulfillment and security. They remained Filipinos at heart and never forgot their mother country. They married the love of their lives, they were devoted to family and siblings, they were great to know and work with and both kept a deep and special bond with their mothers.

Jose Luis "Albert" Nelle Camus: Martha, his wife, wrote the following:

"Albert lived by his values and principles. As a teen, he was working in the underground fighting against the Marcos dictatorship. He paid a high price. He was exiled away from his family to the United States. He had many accomplishments, including graduating at the top of his class in high school at 13. He graduated summa cum laude from the University of San Francisco; he won a writing contest at 17 for a masters scholarship in creative writing at Stanford University and held national power-lifting titles in the Philippines. He was a pioneer and early expert in desktop publishing and was the youngest managing editor of the biggest computer magazine, The PC World. Albert didn’t want to be remembered for his accomplishments. He wanted to be remembered for his treatment of people with dignity, respect and love. He was an inspiration. He had so much to give to the world."

Albert succumbed to colon cancer.

Eduardo "Jody" Valencia Gueco: Jody was the ever-smiling, full of fun, life and laughter son, husband, brother, classmate and friend. He held his grandfather in high regard and always dreamed of following in his footsteps as a top gun or an ace pilot. But he was sidetracked by the equal passion he had for cooking and baking, a talent he inherited and shared with his mother and older brother. When he graduated from the California Culinary Academy in San Francisco, Jody became the third professional cook in their bustling kitchen. He was happiest when whipping up sinful desserts for his mother’s friends who were too weak-willed to resist. While working as a pastry chef in the "W" Hotel in New York, Jody witnessed the horror of the Sept. 11 bombing of the World Trade Center. That was a turning point. His one, burning desire to be a soldier was revived. He consulted his wife Paula and called up his mother and older brother in Manila. "Follow your heart, Jody," they all advised, and he quickly enlisted in the US Army. Barely two weeks in the boot camp, he succumbed to cardiac arrest. He was buried with full military honors. Jody died pursuing his dreams.

Albert and Jody are not your average heroes. They did not save or rescue anyone from tall buildings or from the depths of the sea. They never made it to the front page of any newspaper or magazine. They were simply honest and true – to themselves especially and made every moment of their lives special and unique. Because they brought out the best in themselves, the magic rubbed off on those around them. They were the finest sons that two grateful mothers, Dotty and Jopee, were privileged to raise.

A mother can never tell what lies ahead for her son. She tries to instill in him the same values and principles that she was raised with, praying that he would grow up to be a fine, confident, happy and decent man. If he turns out to be more than she prayed for, her cup truly runneth over. Whether he’s an achiever or an under-achiever, one thing is constant: In his mother’s heart, he will always be her champion, her hero.

Let us make every day a "hero’s day." Go ahead, hug your mother. Go ahead, hug your son... before time runs out.

* * *

For comments and suggestions, e-mail the author at momtazz@hotmail.com.