I wasn’t surprised when I saw two missed calls from Papa that morning. I thought Mama, who often uses Papa’s phone to call us, probably just wanted to talk to the kids and find out how we are. It just seemed a little strange that she did not just send me a text message instead. But I had no worries. It’s almost New Year and I only have space for happy thoughts.
I called Mama’s phone, there was no answer. I called Papa but there was no answer too. A few minutes later, Papa called to break the news. Our grandmother passed away that previous night.
The forever young lola whom we fondly called Mommy was now forever gone.
Since we were among the first grandkids, Kuya and I spent a lot of time in Mommy’s house in Manila. From old baby pictures, I could see how happy Mommy and Lolo Iren were to have us at their home. I was closer to Lolo but he died when I was around 5. I vaguely remember crying in class because I missed him. It was the first time I learned about death and loved ones going to heaven.
A couple of years after Lolo died, Mommy flew to Italy to work as a caregiver. Upon Mama’s request, I would often write her letters about things I did in school and news about the family. Mama would slip some photos of family events and achievements we siblings had in school. I remember freaking Mommy out one time when I wrote to her about doomsday predictions before 2000. I think I told her then that she should come home soon.
When Mommy did come home for Christmas, it would always be a grand event. Mommy was like Mrs. Clause sitting in the middle of the brightly lit living room giving gifts to everyone around her.
Three generations of Caliwag women (June 2006). From left to right (clockwise): Tita Espie, Diane, Tita Evelyn, Ate Meryl (with son Miggy), Mommy, Mama and me.
There would be boxes upon boxes of every pasalubong imaginable. Imported clothes, leather shoes, and designer bags were always part of the mix. There would be detergents, shampoos, conditioners, lotions and bath soaps all too fragrant and with names that I can’t pronounce. The box I would always look forward to was the one containing all the chocolates.
I loved receiving our family’s share of Nesquik and Nutella. In my eyes, these were precious food items that we consumed ever so sparingly since it would take another year before we could have them again.
I do remember getting my share of jewelry, bags and shoes during one of those homecomings. But the ones I would remember the most are the jewelry boxes Mommy would bring home from Italy. These were the jewelry boxes of my childhood dreams, musical boxes with mirrors and a dainty ballerina doll dancing in the middle.
The first one I received was a small pink jewelry box with two porcelain ballerina dolls dancing in a circle. I loved looking at it and making the ballerinas dance over and over. Mommy sent me more beautiful jewelry boxes after.
Mommy was the reason Italy is on my must-travel destinations list. She used to show us photos of the places she visited there and I thought it was all so beautiful and grand. She would even proudly say that when she traveled, most Italianos would mistake her for an Italiana because she looked and spoke the part. They couldn’t have guessed that she was a caregiver. And how could they?
When I looked at her photos, Mommy looked like a seasoned traveler. Even when she was home in Manila, Mommy always looked beautiful and elegant. Her curly light brown hair would always be styled and she would always wear pretty dresses. Though she hardly used make – up, her nails were always done and she would always wear gold jewelry to accent her look.
During her her peak as an overseas worker, Mommy was always generous to everyone. Even though she probably knew some of them visited her just because she had a lot of stuff to give away, she still gave anyway. She was even more generous to us. She would always remember our birthdays and she was always ready to assist during family emergencies.
When Mommy retired from working abroad, it was only then that the toll of all the hard work she did became obvious. Her age finally caught up with her and the various aches and pains had started to show up. Visits to the hospital became a bit frequent and everyone became more diligent to guard her health.
But every time we came for a visit, Mommy was always cheerful. She would often comment that my husband Kernan is such a good – looking guy. She would always tell me to bring the kids over more often so that they would be less shy around her. Jamaine called her “Mommy Puti” because Mommy refused to be called “lola” or even “lola sa tuhod.”
Mommy’s Granchildren (June 2006). From left to right (clockwise): Cyrus, Christian, Emman, Vin, Ron (photoframe), Kuya, me, Noel, Ate Meryl, Miggy, Mommy and Diane
Last Christmas, we attended the annual family reunion of my mom’s clan at my ninang’s home but Mommy didn’t make it. Little did we know that we won’t be able to spend New Year with her either.
I can’t say that I was able to spend a very memorable day with Mommy before she died. And that’s the sad thing about it because I realized how people pass by our lives and we always think we will see them another time. Sometimes we don’t.
After I learned of her death, I was shocked but I didn’t cry. In fact, I still went to work and went about my day as usual. It’s like a part of me denied her death.
While we made our way to Manila, I still felt like we were just coming for a visit and Mommy would be there to welcome us home.
And she did.
Whe I saw her there in the middle of the brightly lit living room, wearing her beautiful yellow dress, lying in a white casket, it finally hit me.
Mommy was truly gone.
Mama and Tita Espie were beside her when she died at the hospital. They said Mommy’s diabetes had some complications and she suffered from low blood. It was a heart attack that finally took her life away. She passed away peacefully.
I looked at Mommy’s face and I saw no sign of pain or sadness. Instead, there was a trace of a smile, perhaps the last thing she managed to do as she drew her final breath.
I imagined Lolo must have embraced her, taken her hand and walked with her through that tunnel of light.
And though there’s an ache in my heart and a small tear at the corner of my eye, I want to think I can smile too as I tell Mommy goodbye.
I want to thank God instead for blessing us with her life, for letting her be our mother. And now for freeing her from pain, suffering, worry and fear forever.
Even if I am sad that we won’t see her ever again, I want to be happy because I know that Mommy is much happier where she is now — with Lolo Iren in heaven.
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