Therese

Fr. Rolly Agustin, our parish priest at the Presentation of the Child Jesus parish in BF Homes, said that last Sunday (Jan. 16), the Feast of the Infant Jesus, marked the end of the Christmas Season. I thought it ended with the Feast of the Three Kings, and so I had weaned myself away from all the joy and festivity I associate with the Christmas Season much earlier than it ended. But his homily last Sunday was a beautiful punctuation for Christmas.

Father Rolly’s homily was all about children, and how being like children makes us better persons, and certainly, better candidates, for heaven.

Children have simple joys, he said. They are happy with balloons and ice cream. Adults are more complicated. I guess it is when we become insatiable in our wants — for material wealth, power or even sex — that we get into trouble.

Children forgive and forget easily, Father Rolly pointed out. Observe them at play. They could be fighting one minute, and then giggling and holding hands the next, as if nothing had happened. I guess that means children don’t keep a scorecard of wrongs, only a tally sheet of happy times shared.

And finally, the good priest, whose homilies I always look forward to, said children trust completely, the way we adults should have an unshakeable trust in God. He told the story of a mother and son who had to cross a flooded street. The mother tells the son to hold on to her. The young boy shakes his head and pleads, “No, Mama, you please hold on to me because I know that if it is you who is holding on, you’ll never let go.” 

How many rescue scenarios have we seen when babies survive because they are still locked in the loving embrace of their mother?

* * *

Father Rolly’s homily came to mind when entrepreneur Wawel Mercado, who wrote in this space last week of the 15th anniversary of his wedding to former ad executive and ballet dancer Mila, sent me an essay, this time about his daughter Therese.

Because her mother fell into a coma after she was born, and has been paralyzed since then, Therese has never been cradled, fed or bathed by her mom, accompanied to the classroom on her first day of school, given motherly advice on pimples and crushes. Mila and Therese have never been able to do together what mothers and their children normally do and take for granted.

But thanks to a “village” as her dad Wawel puts it, Therese has grown up with the love and support of several surrogate mothers.

“She is turning out to be such a wonderful person,” Wawel says. “I am very proud of her. Yet, I know that I cannot claim sole credit for how she turned out. Many people have participated in her care and upbringing, loving her in a special way because of their love for Mila. Her grandparents, her aunts, her yaya, her teachers, Mila’s caregivers, friends, etc. all gave Therese a special place in their hearts.  Truly, it takes a village to raise a child.”

Wawel and Mila Mercado with their daughter Therese in their 2011 family portrait.

We know how Mila has changed the life of Wawel for the better (see People, Jan. 11), but how about Therese? How is she taking her situation in life, the only one she has known since birth?

Wawel, this time, is sharing an essay penned by no less than Therese. I share it with you, especially those who feel they have been shortchanged in life, and by life.

 “I know that an entire village will celebrate to see Therese’s essay to honor her Mom published,” says Wawel.

So here it is:

My Story.  My Mom.

By Therese Mercado

16 January 2011

I was born on the 20th of October 1996. I am an only child and the first born apo of my Mercado side. Growing up as a little girl I always thought that nothing was wrong with my family. You know, nothing strange? Everything felt normal to me. But to others, my family is not what they call “normal.” After my mom gave birth to me she fell into a deep coma. After the long coma she woke up paralyzed. She is unable to talk, walk, or move her arms and hands... Ever since then she has been on a wheelchair or laying down on her bed.

From a very young age, it did not affect me as much or at all. I didn’t find it strange. I didn’t find it weird at all. I found it normal. My perspective of normal may be different from what others see. We mostly think that a family is composed of a mom, dad, and a child. All normal, all can talk, walk, and move around. But nothing really is normal? Every family has a different story. Every family has its pros and cons. And there is no such thing as a “perfect” family.

As I got older, that’s when I realized that my mom’s condition isn’t “normal.” When I’d change into schools all the more people would ask. Classmates asking me if I have a mom, what happened to her, and why? Being a young girl, I simply just knew that my mom gave birth to me, fell asleep, and woke up from a bad dream that’s why she’s like that. That’s what I thought when I was four to six years old. And that’s what I told my classmates and friends. But by the age of eight I knew more about what happened to my mom. My mom got a brain injury after falling into a coma. And from then on, that’s what I’ve told people who asked.

I am not ashamed of my mom. Not at all. Sometimes I would get really shy when people from school would see her. I was afraid of being judged and treated as a loser. But now, I know better. I know that people should accept me for who I am. And my mom is part of who I am. So they should all accept that.

For the longest time, every time I spoke about my mom I would end up crying. Or I would not speak of her condition at all. I wouldn’t cry because I was upset, I would tear up only because I felt my dad’s pain and sometimes my wish of having her normal. And I wouldn’t be so open about talking about her. It was a very private matter to me. That all changed. Yesterday, I bravely did my first interview in front of the camera about my mom. The questions were not difficult for me to answer. It was more of me realizing new things about myself every time I answered each question. I did not cry at the interview because I wanted to stay strong. I would feel tears about to fall but I did not give in.

 The questions were what I expected from an interview like that.“Did you ever want a normal mom?” I admittedly said yes. But I also said that it would be hard for me to imagine. Without my mom’s condition I would not have such respect and sympathy for people with disabilities. And I wouldn’t be able to easily understand others’ feelings despite their physical appearances. Now, I have such great respect for those with physical disabilities and for those who are less fortunate than I am. And I most honestly say, that now I try to not judge people for what they look like and what they do. I try to understand and respect them for who they are.

The next question was “Did you ever feel like something was missing?” I quickly answered, “No, I don’t and didn’t feel like may kulang ako.” I explained my answer. I don’t feel like may kulang ako sa pagmamahal because I have a lot of love from my dad, my family, and my friends. I have my dad as my protector and my guide. I have my titas who give me the motherly care that I need. I have my friends for all the support and care that I need. But sometimes, I do wish my mom could talk back at me to give me advice about friends, boys, clothes. Things that my dad tries not to talk to me about. But I’m alright.

The most difficult question: “What if sometime soon your mom passes away? Would you be ready?” Surprisingly, I am ready. 50/50. Not entirely ready. But ready for her to move to another life. When that day comes, I would be upset but it would also be a big relief that she is no longer in pain. No longer stuck in a frozen body where all she can simply do is listen. I love my mom. I really do. I do not expressively show it through words, but through actions. When she and I are alone. I rant to her. And I tell her everything.

Although I never got to completely know my mom, I can definitely say that I am a lot like her in many ways. That’s what my dad and a lot of people who knew her well say. And somehow, I can feel it. I can feel a mutual bond between us mother and daughter. It’s like a language only both of us can speak but we don’t use words. I can easily tell that she can feel my pain when I’m sad. She can feel my joy when I’m happy. Simply, me and my mom can communicate with each other.

Without my mom’s condition. I would not have such great understanding about others. I would not be as strong as who I am. And I would not be so hopeful and brave. I don’t think that my mom’s condition is a curse or malas, I think of it as a blessing in disguise. Without her condition, I would not be as gentle, caring, and understanding towards others. And I would not be who I am today.. I would simply not be Mary Therese MILAGROS Ann Mercado…