Eighty-five
My mother Sonia Reyes Mayor turns 85 today. She has plans of flying to Japan for a wedding in late February, then to the United States, her second home, in mid-year.
They say to comb gray hair is a privilege — but Mom always hides that “privilege” with hair color. A metaphor for how she sees life — in bright colors, not grays.
To her, age is truly just a number. She’s had four Caesarian surgeries in her twenties, and bone surgery in her seventies. She’s still up and about, and when I assist her while she’s walking, she shrugs me off with a chuckle, saying, “Mas lampa ka pa sa akin.” Then she walks on.
She is not without health issues, to be sure. But each time she has one, she hurdles it. Love, the best medical care and her attitude towards life always win the day for her.
Maybe because she remembers very clearly the day the Philippines was liberated by forces led by the Americans in 1944. In her hometown of Bongabon, Oriental Mindoro, which had also been in the grip of Japanese forces, freedom dawned one day when American-led soldiers landed on the beach, MacArthur-style. My grandfather Igmedio Reyes Sr., according to my mother, saw the approaching liberators from the second floor window of their riverside house. “Sama ako,” she recalls telling her Tatay when he said he was headed for the beach. He quickly took her by the hand and on his other arm, he carried his eldest son Pedrito. They walked to the beach and they watched history wash up on the sandy banks of their town.
Thus, my mother grew up not only looking up to American heroes (she eventually married my dad Frank, an American mestizo and faithfully watched the war series Combat starring Vic Morrow on their black and white TV set), but always believing in liberators, in new days, in solutions to problems. Though her parents were not particularly religious, she always has been a devout Catholic. Her education at St. Scholastica’s College in Manila further buttressed her faith.
“Mom is always full of positive energy, the kind that will give you the extra lift you need on a bad day. She looks at the brighter side of things and always makes you feel better,” affirms my youngest sister Valerie Sotto.
I remember during the pandemic, I confided in my mother that I was worried about a business my son had invested in, but was not allowed to operate, during the lockdown. And no one knew how long the lockdown would last. Mom told me, “Your children are more resilient than you think they are. They have ways of coping with crisis, sometimes even better ways of coping than you. Marunong sila.” True. And that particular business is in full-swing again.
“Auntie Sonia is always a breath of fresh air, a voice of optimism and positivity,” agrees my cousin Aimee Ferrer. “She always gives me hope and inspiration to look at the bright side of life and endure challenges. And I needed to listen to her as I am a natural worrywart!”
Another cousin Gillian Caballero, who is also my mom’s goddaughter, shares, “I am always greeted by Auntie Sonia not just with a warm smile but also with happy eyes.”
Gillian recently lost her father Pedrito, my mom’s younger brother (who was with her when the American forces landed on Bongabon beach). They always exchange stories and anecdotes about him. “Always heartwarming when we talk, especially when my dad was sick and even more so when he passed away. She is good vibes personified.”
My mom’s other goddaughter, my cousin Karen Parungo, found in my mom a soft shoulder to cry on and an emotional rock to lean on. Recently, Karen’s husband underwent a health challenge (and has since recovered!), and since Mom took care of my late Dad when he was sick, she (Mom) knew whereof she spoke when she comforted her goddaughter.
“Auntie Sonia has always been supportive. Always asking how my family is, how my husband Manny was during treatment. She gave me the support I needed so much during my weakest since she also experienced it during Uncle Frank’s time. It was so good since she could actually share how she fought the battle. She was both there in my happiest and saddest times to support and lift me up!” says Karen gratefully. “She would say, ‘Kaya mo yan...ikaw pa’!”
There is this oft-told line that “friends are family that you choose.” One of our family’s tightest bonds are those with the Castro family, who were once neighbors of my parents.
“Sonia is the sister I never had,” declares Didit Castro. “She’s always pleasant, gracious, caring and kind. I love how she loves my children, too, especially my only daughter, Denise, whom she treats as her fifth daughter.” True! When Didit was hospitalized when Denise was an infant, my mom took care of Denise, who is now a pediatrician.
My sister Geraldine, a psychiatrist, once shared, “Because of my profession, I have encountered many adults wounded by what their parents said or did to them. It made me realize how fortunate and blessed I am that my mother never said anything to hurt my feelings or make me feel bad about myself or my actions. My mother is kind and never cruel. To have that kind of peace in my life is the best gift a mother can ever give her child.”
Mary Mae, who was born after me, encapsulates the feeling we get when our mother is around — from our schooldays when she would welcome us at the gate when we arrived home from school, to now: “(I love) the feeling of security she always gives me.”
Happy 85th, Mommy! We love you!
You may e-mail me at [email protected]. Follow me on Instagram @joanneraeramirez.
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