Hugs to last a lifetime
SYDNEY, Australia — When my older daughter and her husband moved their family to Australia in 2004, I thought it was the end of the world as I knew it.With them went my two grandsons, then aged five and almost two, and the joys of grandparenthood that I had only just begun to experience.
I knew that they had applied for emigration to Australia, but I still cried my eyes out when Monica informed me via a joyful text message in June 2004 that they had been approved for immigration to a country they’d never been to, and that they would have to leave by September, just three months away. But I was not going to allow my breaking heart to stand in the way of their future. I helped them in every way I could, doing errands, helping them pack boxes of their belongings that would be shipped separately, and assisting them in selling their sentimental junk in a garage sale.
When they left, I wrote my older grandson, Diego, a sentimental letter telling him about the family and the country he came from, and how he and his brother Luis would always remain in my heart. I told him rather dramatically that that if he ever missed me, all he had to do was look at the moon which would be the very same one I would be gazing at, thinking of him, his brother and their parents.
At the time, I felt so abandoned, as if I would never see them again. But as it turned out, Sydney isn’t that far away. It’s only an eight-hour direct flight from Manila on Philippine Airlines. And now Australia is part of my life.
I have been to Australia perhaps 10 times in the 10 years they have been here. My first trip was in fulfillment of a promise to attend Diego’s sixth birthday, in March 2005. My younger daughter Glory and I bought party favors in Divisoria, and entered Sydney with meter-long chewing gum, tiny tubes of plastic balloons and toys in our luggage.
Then came Christmas 2005, the hottest holiday season I have ever encountered. If I recall correctly, New Year’s Day of 2006 was the hottest in Sydney in something like 60 years! I’ve seen Australia in every season, and it is always beautiful. But after my first Christmas summer here, I swore never to return during the holidays. I’ve been back, however, unable to keep away in the happiest season of all.
Four years ago, I took a special trip to witness the birth of my third grandchild, Maya and preside over her first bath, as I did the first two when they were born in Manila.
With half of my immediate family in Australia, I, who hardly ever took a formal scheduled vacation, now make it a point to have one every year. We don’t do anything particularly spectacular. We take the train to Sydney Harbor, drive to the beach, visit parks, take long walks, shop. We go to the Blue Mountains and explore the gardens in Leura. Twice we rented a beach house in Forster, a four-hour drive away. We did the tour of Hunter Valley, the wine country. The only other big city I’ve been to here is Canberra, where we visit the Floriade in the spring.
But mostly I’m at home alone, a unique pleasure in itself, where I inexplicably enjoy the domesticity of cooking, doing the laundry and hanging it up to dry under the clearest, bluest skies I’ve seen anywhere, and the quiet time in a very quiet house where you can hear the dog breathe and a pin drop.
The fun begins when they get home. After dinner, we sit around the dining table exchanging stories, jokes, puzzles, or playing word games. Luis often tries to get me to help him clear the table by declaring his undying love for me, Diego dutifully does the dishes with his earphones on, and Maya gets an adult to read or watch a video with her before bedtime.
Until a couple of years ago, Luis would demand that I tell him a “family story” at bedtime. Usually, I related an embarrassing episode in the life of a family member that would put him in stitches. To my consternation, I found out that he shared these private unexpurgated stories with other people we were not related to!
Mornings has Maya opening the door of the room I share with Glory and running to the bed to give us hugs and kisses and saying that we should stay in her house “forever and ever.” This morning, at breakfast, seeing his sons warmly hugging me and Glory, my son-in-law remarked approvingly about the spontaneous display of affection from his teen and pre-teenage boys.
The therapeutic value of a good hug (and hearty laughter), two things I get plenty of here, has been proven to heal illness, stress, anxiety and depression. This is why I come to Sydney, to bask in the love so freely and openly expressed by my grandchildren and eradicate the stress and anxiety of living in Manila, if only for a few weeks.
The other day, after I told him what I vaguely remember having read somewhere that a hug of a few seconds has the lasting effect of so many days of good feelings, 12-year-old Luis said, “I’m giving you enough hugs to last you a lifetime.”
May this never change, even as they grow in age and grace.
