My mother, my best friend

It’s part of Filipino culture that if one’s mother is widowed, someone in the family has to live with her. I suppose I was that someone. I lived with my mother all my life with the exception of the two years I spent in Boston and New York studying. But I never considered it a burden. It was a privilege. In a way she was my security blanket, a reassuring presence I hoped I would have all my life. She was someone you could always run to or speak to about anything. I don’t think she ever turned anyone away. Even when she didn’t have any answers to the problems or questions I was facing, it was good just to be able to have her near, to listen as she always did. When Cesar and I got married, we continued to live with her. But she made it a point never to meddle in our affairs. As we got older, the relationship between us was not just a mother-daughter relationship. We grew to become best friends – magkabarkada. We would travel everywhere together. Once every two years, we would fly to San Francisco for a few months vacation. She always seemed to enjoy these trips, although by the time she reached eighty, I knew that she was making the trips more for me than for herself.

When the children came, she took pleasure in each new birth and played the role of the doting grandmother, always bringing little gifts for her apos. When I had my third child, I was hoping for a girl, but when the baby turned out to be a boy, she said, "Good. Another boy." We named him Gabriel and that completed my set of angels: Raphael, Michael and Gabriel.

Eventually, we found out that Gabriel had been born with severe cerebral palsy. This was painful at first, and in order to help me deal with the situation, some people thought I should get a diversion, a hobby to help me cope and avoid depression. That’s how I got involved with the hotel industry, eventually working for the Peninsula Manila (it was just starting up at that time) for 25 years. Gabriel drew our family closer together. Each one did their share to make sure he was properly cared for. But Mama was like a general marshalling the troops in battle. She really poured her whole heart into the care of our littlest one. Every afternoon, he’d be in her bedroom, receiving therapy while she spoke to him, played with him, kissed him, whispered to him even though he couldn’t understand. She was always hoping for a miracle in his case. The doctors told us that in cases of cerebral palsy this severe, the child rarely lives beyond seven or eight years of age. Gabriel died at fourteen. The doctors told us that the fact that he lived as long as he did was a tribute to the quality of care he received at home. Mama provided a lot of that. She was with him at the emergency room of Cardinal Santos when he died.

Mama helped see us through a lot of tragedies. She was always a strong person. I never saw her give way to self-pity. When my father died she had to provide for us, but she never complained or worried in front of us. She was a person of great faith and she trusted my father when he told her, "Don’t worry. If anything happens to me, our friends will take care of you." But when my elder sister Teresita died, that gave me a chance to comfort her. She later told me that the two most painful incidents in her life were the death of her husband and the death of her eldest child. But even though she mourned deeply, Mama always bore these trials with dignity and grace.

It didn’t take very much to please her. She enjoyed simple things – gardening, trading stories with the numerous friends who came to visit. She took a lot of pride in the accomplishments of the family – she was especially proud that my brother Jun had chosen to follow his father in public service. While not wanting to get involved in politics herself, she threw her full support behind him whenever he chose to run, first for congressman, then as senator. She was pleased with the accomplishments of her grandchildren – Ralph, the doctor who cared for her these past few years; Malu, an MBA graduate and professional in the US; Mike, a De La Salle Brother; Paco, an accomplished businessman in the telecommunications industry. Her great joy even later in life was her great-grandchildren by Jun’s children, Paco and Marga. She always had a special place in her heart for RJ, Teresita’s eldest son who was born a "special child" and who lived with her ever since his mother’s death in 1977.

Mama had a day-to-day goodness and kindness that came naturally to her. She never refused a request for help, be it from a sweepstakes vendor at the parish church, a former Huk rebel, a delivery boy at Oceanic (who would still come to the house even after he was well-retired), a priest needing money to build a church – she never turned anyone away. It was amazing that she always found something to give them since she was never rich.

Where did my mother get her strength? From prayer of course. She would spend an hour in her prayer room each day, saying the rosary or doing her novena. But I think she also drew a lot of strength from the people around her. When my father died, she was overwhelmed and deeply moved by how the whole country was mourning with her. I think that was the first time she discovered how deeply he had been loved by the Filipino people, how much he was a part of their lives as much as hers, and that she wasn’t mourning alone. I think she always felt grateful for that.

I will always remember her for all she taught me growing up and for her unselfish love.