She showed the first symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease: spaced-out look and memory lapses of current events, but not of the distant past. She would forever be misplacing things like keys, credit cards, and even dentures. There was a time when she would sleep endlessly throughout the day.
Next came the hallucination,.inability to sit up straight, gradual loss of sense of humor, and speech impairment. No more smiles. Change of personality, violent behavior, incontinence, loss of appetite, and difficulty of swallowing. And when she had a stroke, we were in for the long haul.
Enduring the final hours at the hospital was quite an ordeal. As both sad and joyful moments with her flashed through my mind, I longed for that one last chance to hold her silken hand, to feel her tight embrace, to thank her for everything she was to me. If I could only turn back time for that one last family Christmas photo opportunity, that New Year get-together. If I could only ask my daughter Karla to sing or play the piano for her just one last time.
Somehow, in the last eight years, I was too embroiled with the daily travails of life that I became too busy. To read to her. To speak to her. To do things I’ve always wanted to do with her, like wheel her out into the garden for some sunlight. Or take her out for a ride … oh, that we did together, in an ambulance, one last time.
I remember my mom as a beautiful, glamourous, and elegant lady, always well-dressed, well-coiffed and well-manicured. She was vivacious, gracious, kind-hearted and had a great PR. She was strong-willed and aggressive, well-organized and disciplined.
But in my eyes, there is only one word that best describes Mom – perfect. She was a perfect mom to us her five children. A perfect and loving wife to my dad. As a wife, it was always "Dad first" for Mom. This was, perhaps, the secret behind their 55 years of togetherness. Dad describes her as serbisyal and maasikaso. She attended to all of Dad’s needs before leaving the house and treated him with great respect. Life with Dad was romance-filled. She was a jealous wife, but there was nothing wrong with that for she truly loved Dad and only Dad till the end. Once, a medium asked why she was still holding on. She managed to communicate that it was because she wanted to continue taking care of Dad.
Dad jokingly used to call her "Kissinger" because even if Dad had the business acumen, it was Mom who always clinched the deal. Mom, on the other hand, called herself "Imelda the Great" because she knew she could do any impossible mission. Her secret weapon? She had a hotline to heaven.
As a mother, she taught me everything I needed to know in life, not just my ABCs. Everything I needed to learn about the restaurant business I learned from Mom. She taught me how to entertain and organize parties when event organizing was still not in fashion. She taught me how to be generous, kind, how to be thoughtful and naturally bring joy to others. How to care, how to laugh, how to love. But more importantly, she taught me how to pray.
Each of us her five children and even her grandchildren have a little bit of her in our looks and our attitudes. We each also had our own relationship with her.
My relationship with Mom was unique. She called me her "Lucky Star." She was always very possessive of me. She never really liked any of my boyfriends, they were never good enough for her. Or she might have known that I would one day have to take care of her.
Taking care of her was a great honor, privilege, and pleasure for me. Our roles had actually been reversed. She was my baby and I was her "Mamu."
Shortly before her stroke in 1999, I vividly recall how she beckoned me to her bed just to say "Millie, I love you." Those were the last words I heard her say.
Since Mom suffered a stroke, she was bed-ridden and her speech was impaired. She was never to utter a word again. But though she could not express herself verbally, we knew she could hear. It was only through some sounds or the look in her eyes that she tried to communicate with us … that she was in some pain or discomfort … or that she loved us.
Mom died a happy death, exactly the way she would have wanted to go. Seeing her off at the restricted departure area was the entire family, bonded together, to wish her well and bid her adieu.
She struggled a bit, wanting to stay with us, but as she stared towards the light, she saw Mama Mary and Jesus reaching out to embrace her … and then she ran home.
She came to me one night in my sleep. I felt a chill and woke up. The cold air stayed above me. I knew it was her. The presence was soft, so tender, like a mother’s sweet touch. As she lay down beside me, I cried silently, realizing how much I missed her. I began to speak to her aloud, expressing my innermost desires and wishes. I knew she came to tuck me in bed one last time … brushing my eyebrows until I fell asleep and gently kissing my cheek as she left.
Now that she is up there, I know that she is watching over me and I finally have my own hotline to heaven!