I Call Her Mommy
Saturday, February 04, 2017
As a child, I was called Nanay, a Filipino informal for mother, coined by the people around me who thought I was a domineering, audacious, blustering little 5-year old. Mama conceived me in her katipunera temperament after all and one cannot help but own up to it. Perhaps, I really was a domineering, audacious, blustering little 5-year old. How my five-year old self easily managed to get away with it was solely because of my grandma who had my back at all times, no matter how domineering, audacious, blustering little 5-year old I was. Growing up, I've always felt like she was this gigantic force in my life, that one thing I just cannot do without. My writing can never sum up the depth of the beauty, the selflessness and the encouragement that she really was to me, try as I may. It's been five years since the awful pneumonia took her from us. Five years feels like five lifetimes and of all the things that's been going on with my life right now, missing her is still the hardest. Sometimes, I'd close my eyes and find myself silently smiling at all my memories of her from long ago... experiences ever so indelibly etched into my recollections that seems to be the only comfort I have.
Mommy, as we fondly called her, was a nurturer through and through, taking in too much energy from her family and fulfilling our needs. Even on her ailing bed, she would continually instruct us to feed the dogs, to check the cooking rice on the stovetop and while nursing her in the wee hours of the night she would still insist that I, too, should get a sleep. Even pneumonia wouldn’t stop the nurturer in her. On Mommy’s better days, she did everything for us and always with love at the core of every effort. She was always affectionate, loving and dedicated but just like someone who’s already buckled up onto a seat ready to embark on the beginning of a journey, she was greatly sorry to be leaving us. I cannot think of a sadder day in my life than the day I had to part with her.
Mommy was my Mathematical Constant… that fixed value in my life. Silly as my mind would sometimes think, I've always pictured her ever present until I turn eighty, telling me, pushing me (actually) to always do what is right. In my hard-headedness, Mommy was my constant shield from Papa and Mama’s wrath, err, any case of disciplining, my forever ally against a sibling clash, the unswerving intercessor and my first real-life embodiment of a strong feminist. When circumstance caused Papa and Mama to be away from home in order to provide for us, Mommy did her very best so that we would never missed out on any parental love through her thoughtful encouragement, sincere guidance and countless sacrifices. When I think of my childhood and what it was made of, I can only think of her. SHE WAS MY CHILDHOOD: the lullabies on my afternoon nap, the consoling back rub in my discomfort, my truest fan whenever I pull off a BJ-Thomas-spectacle, the person behind my spotless and wrinkle-free school uniform all throughout my high school and a remarkable empath like no other. She was all these and so much more. She had been an effective mouthpiece of the Lord because she spoke so well of His love and truth to me. God handpicked the best person to minister to me as a child that made me put a great deal of value on family, faith and life in its entirety.
She was my first big loss, my first heartbreak and my first true love. Every tender-hearted and affectionate part of me was first a part of her. Five years feels like five lifetimes and in this life, she’s still my favorite part.
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