“HOW does God come to me as I listen to the word? Where do I discern the healing hand of God touching me through the word? How are my sadness, my grief, and my mourning being transformed at this very moment? Do I sense the fire of God’s love purifying my heart and giving me new life? These questions lead me to the sacrament of the word, the sacred place of God’s real presence.” ––Henri J. M. Nouwen
‘Pak.’ ‘Slap.’ That marked the very first and last time you got mad at me, Mom.
Elegant, dignified and smiling are the words my friends use to describe you. And you are, but for one moment.
Justifiably so, I was 18 years old, about to throw my future away.
“What is this?!?,” you said pointing to the luggage I packed to the brim.
“I am going up to the mountains,“ I boldly answered.
More like defiant, and you knew it. That was the early 1970s.
Mountains were for the activists, havens from military pursuit, for patriotic citizens who were fighting for democracy and freedom in the Philippines . C ertainly not for adventure trails, as they are known for now.
Months from finishing my bachelor of science degree, you knew I had to be stopped.
Standing in the hallway and with a raised voice, ‘pak,’ ‘slap,’ your hands landed on both of my cheeks — the very first time, to stop my heartfelt passion to join the movement.
Nevermind that I never lived in the provinces. Nevermind that I was chauffeured by a driver to go to college. Nevermind that I did not even know how to pitch a tent, yet I was determined.
With tears in your eyes, “No,” you exclaimed. That was the very first time and the very last time I experienced your anger, physically and emotionally, as you always showed me your love and concern. I am certain I made you mad many more times, yet you had the enormous self-restraint to show me, as you knew how sensitive I was.
Legacy of love and care
When you got married, it was months after Japan officially surrendered aboard the USS Missouri, and after 100,000 were killed in Manila, in 1945. What trauma you must have felt, bodies abound, running to escape Japanese soldiers.
Yet, amidst the trauma, the conflict, and deaths you saw, you bravely took on a new chapter . It was when you met the love of your life, Eleazar. What excitement you must have felt, when you married him in 1946 and gave birth to my older sister “ Ate “ Rose in 1948?
While you took care of Ate Rose in a one – room apartment on Matimyas, Street in Sampaloc, Manila, you felt the sting of poverty, a life you were not used to.
Yet, you shouldered on and finished your bachelor’s degree in education from Far Eastern University with Tita Remy.
A year after you graduated, you gave birth to me in 1952; four months after, your dad died.
Mom, I now imagine how broken-hearted you must have felt losing
your father and with your post-pregnancy blues, how did you even manage to start your teaching career?
Yet, you gave me loving care, and kept us all together as a family.
By 1958, you and dad had saved enough to build a house that did not get flooded. I remember the happy days in that house near Central Market.
But not just happy memories, of laughing, story telling and eating lechon, lanzones, and fresh fish bought at the wet market. But also, happy memories in school.
I remember your face lit up when you pinned the valedictorian medal on Ate Rose, onstage at Saint Rita College. I wanted your smiles too, imagining you pinning a medal on me, so I dreamt I would graduate valedictorian.
I wanted to be the best student in arithmetic, not knowing I was following your footsteps as a math and science teacher. And then the day came, you pinned the medal on me, and I had the biggest smiles, plus a mom so pleased.
Remember when I got to go to the prom, with my crush, the president of the UP Student Council, as my escort? Ate Rose, through her friends, asked him, and he agreed. Even then, roles were reversed for me, I was not asked.
I could not contain my joy. You had a prom dress fashionably made for me, with white pinafore lace, pleats and ribbons. I felt like a queen wearing it. You persuaded Dad to let me go, and he did, but with a chaperone.
That was one of my cherished gifts from your heart!
As you kept our family together, you dreamt a better future for us. Then, I only knew I missed my mother and I was lonely. Now, I fully appreciate the depths of your personal sacrifices.
Travel to seek better life: Broken hearts abound
“The relative ease and comfort in life were procured upon the broken heart of a mother who suffered separation from her beloved children precisely to secure for them a better future…When I understand in that intimate sense what it took for my mother to sever her ties from our small town, from our immediate presence to forge a better future for all of us, I experience a broken heart myself.” – Claire Navarro Espina
Claire said it best, capturing my sentiments.
In 1967 – four years after you gave birth to your youngest in 1963 – you went to New York.
I can imagine in the depths of your loneliness, you felt the cold snowstorms of New York and the harsh stings of being discriminated.
You came back two weeks later, and we were all so happy. I kept praying it would be permanent, that you would not leave again, but your dream had to be actualized.
Five years later, on August 1, 1968, you took Ate Rose — my support in college — with you to become your support in America. You also had a safety net with the Lazaro and Taguiam families.
But, even when you left, we all seemed to remember that the Ruby Towers collapsed during an earthquake in the Philippines.
Why, it seemed to be the metaphor of our lives. While we had food on the table, balikbayan boxes we got excited about (personally, for me it was the Betty Crocker cake mix, food technology books on sensory evaluation and shoes), we were all scared that our family felt like it was falling apart.
We felt the void of not having you, Mom, the heart and soul of our family, a mom whom I confided in, a mom who shared her wisdom.
We all felt lost, yet I was in college. No wonder I was ready to throw it all away.
In 1970, you came back to Manila to bury your youngest brother, and you stayed. I appreciated having you back.
Two years after, in 1972, Ate Rose petitioned you, and you then petitioned us all; in 1975, we were all reunited. I can just imagine what Ate Rose had to sacrifice, three years without you, yet she kept her wits about her, holding onto hope that she will see all of us again.
How happy you must have felt when you had all of us, all five girls around the dining table, with you and Dad, happily exchanging stories, after a day’s work.
Yes, we were cramped, seven folks in a two-bedroom apartment, yet we came home to happy meal times.
I felt how happy you were then, with smiles all the time. But when I met the love of my life, Enrique, all hell broke loose. When I decided to live with him, Dad banned me from the house for two years, however, you took the bus to meet me and to reassure me I was still loved and that I am still your daughter. I am just now beginning to understand the depths of your sacrifices for me to feel loved and to have a better life. When I got married, the embargo to see the family was lifted for me and we were reunited again.
I loved our telephone conversations, which I looked forward to because I got to know you more. Sometimes, my timing was off and you would simply say, “I am eating lunch now, may I eat, I love you.” I would laugh and say, “I will call you back, Mom.”
That was cool, as it was you, Mom, functionally focused, but also loving.
Remember when you sensed I was in danger and you had Sion come to my rescue? Your mother’s instincts were so spot on! Thank you for being my solid anchor then — it felt so special to get your handwritten cards, affirming me for my personal strengths because I felt like a spiritual millionaire.
I heard from one of my sisters that you missed my calls, especially when I went camping with Enrique because I could not call. When I returned, you smiled at my Instagram photos, admiring the places I have been to, including your biggest smile, when I showed you I covered Pope Francis at the White House. You whispered, “We did not travel much.”
Most of all, you enjoyed seeing what my grandchild was up to, and in your soft, gentle voice, “Ay, naku she makes me laugh and smile, she is so amiable.” In your last months, my nephew said that he shared my Instagram account to show you the latest photos of my apo, which elicited a smile from you.
When I took your hand on your last day on earth, you looked into my eyes, when I said, “I love you, Mom. Thank you for all your sacrifices.” You nodded.
You sat up to acknowledge me, even if sitting was difficult for you. “Mom, you gave us all a better life here in America, you are a good mother, you are a good grandmother, you were a good teacher and you were a good wife.” You smiled.
Mom, you have given us a great legacy, a fortitude and a determination I personally may not have. A focus that you will sacrifice to give your family a better life. A life of exemplary excellence, undeterred by personal challenges. You did not drive a car, yet you got to every graduation of every family member, even if you ha d to ride four buses because you insisted that you want to get there by yourself.
Now that you are in heaven, you are no longer by yourself, you are now reunited with your mom, your dad, your brother, and most of all, the love of your life.
Mom, thank you for allowing me the space to make my mistakes, for giving me unconditional love, forgiveness for all the hurts I caused you and making me feel loved, even when shunned. I wish I made more visits, but I know you will not hear of that now, as you always said, “keep moving forward!”
Thank you so much for being a strong woman and a feminist, although you will not use that word. Thank you for the most powerful example of a woman, who chased her dreams and made them come true!
You gave us new lives, anchored in God’s word and America!
P.S. I know, if you were alive, you would balk reading about this. Please forgive me, Mom, as this is my way of grieving you and the loss of your heart and soul in our family! May we stay united, as orphans!
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Prosy Abarquez-Delacruz, J.D. writes a weekly column for Asian Journal, called “Rhizomes.” She has been writing for AJ Press for 9 years now. She contributes to Balikbayan Magazine. Her training and experiences are in science, food technology, law and community volunteerism for 4 decades. She holds a B.S. degree from the University of the Philippines, a law degree from Whittier College School of Law in California and a certificate on 21st Century Leadership from Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government. She has been a participant in NVM Writing Workshops taught by Prof. Peter Bacho for 4 years and Prof. Russell Leong. She has travelled to France, Holland, Belgium, Japan, Mexico and 22 national parks in the US, in pursuit of her love for arts.