A Mother-less Mothers' Day
Instead of screaming and cheering with our neighbors and my mom as they watched Manny Pacquiao’s most anticipated fight with Shane Mosley today, I sat by the threshold of the our main door and enjoyed the chilliness brought by the light drizzle. There’s something about this rainy day that makes me feel a bit pensive.
May 2010. It was a hot and humid Mother’s Day.
A lot has been happening in the family-Auntie has cancer, Papa's contract at work abroad has just ended, and the house is noisy. It was too much for a congested house. Trying to be stoic, I pretended to see nothing, hear nothing, and feel nothing. Just keeping quiet, keeping calm. I let my mind absorb all of it; I let it think, reason out, and mull over. Then suddenly, I had this urge to do some kind of philanthropy.
I just had finished my summer job when I thought of preparing something for Mama, Auntie, and Nanay. It was Mother’s day the following day after all. And I wasn’t contented with a mere greeting, which was the only thing we did during Mother’s Day; I had the money and I wanted to make them feel special.
So the next day, together with my cousin Nene, I went to Goldilocks, and upon arriving was greeted by very long line by the counter. I never knew people could be that sweet to their moms. Or maybe because it was my family who never did such a thing until I came up with the idea. As I patiently waited for my turn, I thought of buying a card for my cousins to fill it up with messages addressed to their Mama, too. Auntie has been suffering a lot due to cancer, and I wanted to make her feel that she has kids that love her so much no matter how she yelled at them whenever she’s annoyed.
With that big box of cake and the card, I went home fighting the urge to cry. Maybe I was feeling a bit childish that the plan seemed too thoughtful or too kind for the situation we had. We could hardly have peace in our house but I had this feeling that somehow this piece of cake will bring one. Besides, I felt awkward in a way, too. Doing genial acts like the one I was doing rarely occurs in the family. It’s not our custom to do such things.
It was lunchtime when we reached home. When they saw me with the cake, everyone was delighted. It was the dessert that afternoon. So after we ate, we opened the box and Mama happily took pictures of it and Auntie’s family as well.
The cake
Auntie with her two kids and her husband
Auntie and Nene
Auntie and a smiling Gelo
Nene and her younger brother Gelo then gave their card, which they wrote on earlier, to their Mama. Auntie read the card aloud. “Mama, Happy Mother’s Day. Sana ‘wag ka na parati magalit at mang-away. We love you. Gelo and Nene.”
I heard a chuckle from Gelo, probably a bit embarrassed that his Mama had read what his real thoughts were. Oh, I just knew it was real. Because I’d sometimes ask them on what they think when their Mama and Papa would have their usual bickering. They didn’t like it, of course. Who would?
There was a moment of silence as Auntie read the card again. Then she finally spoke. “Hindi na, hindi na sisigaw si Mama.” Auntie said as she kissed and hugged her kids.
The mirthful and heart-warming atmosphere the idea has caused enveloped me, and perhaps everyone in the house, too. For a few minutes, we felt that life wasn’t really bad, that hope hasn’t left us. That someday, whatever it was that’s challenging our family right then will be won over. Everything was going smoothly until Auntie yelled at her husband again telling him how dumb he was to not understand her instructions.
On September 29, 2010, Auntie lost her battle to cancer.
For months, we hoped Auntie would get well. Mama gave everything Auntie needed to bear the pain even if we do not have enough money to sustain all of it. Auntie herself fervently prayed for miracles to happen. In my case, I was silly to hope for a Felix Felicis that might have given us a big chance of winning the lottery so that we could buy all the medicines and pay for the treatments she needed. But she gave up. The pain she had to endure everyday then must be excruciating that she gave up. Who would have thought that that Mother’s Day would be the last time my cousins were able to celebrate it with their Mama alive?
Dealing with the loss will definitely not be an easy task particularly to my cousins. They lost a mother, the person who should be there while they're growing up. Imagine the pain these kids try to endure when they see some commercials that show a mom snuggling her child or a complete family blissfully enjoying each other’s company. Imagine how ardent their yearning for a mom would be when they see their playmates calling their mama for help when they get booboos. Imagine Nene, who’s nearing the teenage stage now, having to deal with her first puberty pangs without a Mom by her side. It might be difficult. No, it MUST be difficult. Because when I imagined myself being in their shoes, just the thought of it makes me shed tears.
Auntie was second mother to me. When I was younger, she took care of me while Mama and Papa were at work. She can be a bit nasty sometimes, a nagger, and an expert hurler of invective. Nevertheless, she cared for me, even treated me like her own daughter.
But during those times when she desired for love from those whom she cared for, I treated her in a bad way. She became the nettlesome person in the house. The cause of all the unrest. I shouted at her. Became infuriated with her non-stop bad-mouthing. Considered her a nuisance. I wasn’t nice to her most of the time.
I should have understood her. No, I did understand her situation but what did I do? During that moment of our lives, I inappropriately became stupid and narrow-minded. I should have done better. I should have.
I didn’t cry during her wake. I was too ashamed to cry. But just because I didn’t cry it doesn’t mean I didn’t lament. No, I did and I still do. Suppressing the sadness doesn’t assure me that it won’t ever strike again, though. It will. And it had when I thought that I’m done with moving on.
Last week, I was cleaning my room when I came across Auntie’s things. It was inevitable; she used my room when she was sick. I saw her ointments she used to apply to her sores, lotions and eye drops. I also saw her numerous medicines she was not able to consume, rosaries, and a little prayer book. Then suddenly, memories of her agonizing struggle to win the fight against cancer poured.
It upset me to see Auntie’s stuffs and pictures. The things that reminded me of her. And how unkind I was with her when she still lived. I suddenly flinched. My heart ached. It seemed like there was a hollow part inside me. I could not contain the grief anymore and eventually wept for the loss of a mother.
And it looks like I’m not the only one eschewing anything that has to do with Auntie.
I tried to show Nene a passport of her mama, then taped at the side of my closet surreptitiously. I asked her to look at the young photo of Auntie and I was quite startled when she refused and pushed the passport away. She's clearly avoiding anything that can remind her of her Mom. She also usually seemed uncomfortable whenever Mama and I mention Auntie. She acts a bit fidgety and fazed. I couldn’t blame her. Avoiding something that may remind you of that someone you’ve lost is the effective way to ease the pain.
I can’t help calling Death a ruthless faggot.
But, no matter how cruel Death might be, it caused us something good, too. Did Auntie see this coming? Or perhaps, it’s life after all? You have to lose something in hand so that you get a better one. Either way, it just proves that you have to accept any melancholy that might come in your way. Because just like truth, sacrifices and losses hurt. A lot.
Pacquiao has then again brought home the bacon. The rain has stopped. But my pensiveness goes on as life slowly unfolds right before me.