When her heartburn episodes became more frequent, I convinced Mom to share my tiny bedroom. This way, I could readily respond to her nights. Never mind if I had to forego my own bed in favor of a cot that was only taken out at night when it was time for me to sleep.
Since she became blind, we made sure that at least one of us was around the moment she woke up – Raul my brother, his wife Ellen, their son Dodo, my daughter Jenny, one of our helpers or me. Just to watch her move around and to assist her only when she asked as she preferred to find her way around the house -- she had a fantastic recall of the layout and the furniture.I would bathe her except when I was away on travel or on workdays during which a trusted helper took over. In the beginning, it was a chore. With the setting up alone, I would be exhausted even before we started. Looking back, it was really more from the fear of not doing it well or that I might not be able to do anything in case she slips. Soon though, I began to enjoy it. Then I realized it was something we both looked forward to. Those times were special. “Ang sarap” she would gush, as I scrubbed her back.
But there was a gap in my relationship with my Mom.
Before I started schooling, she often took me along to the School for the Deaf and The Blind in Pasay City. She taught rhythm there, a subject with nothing to do with family planning and responsible parenthood then. For the hearing-impaired, it was and is still considered a major factor in their ability to respond to the world around them. In the 40 years teaching rhythm, she helped hundreds of Filipino deaf children, endearing herself to their parents as well. Her hearing-impaired orchestra graced many a school program, bringing the audience, not just the parents, close to tears. Her pupils never failed to be gushed over everytime they "recited" short poems during convocations.
For a long time she was the only rhythm teacher in the country. Because of her fear of flying, she turned down a couple of scholarships abroad for further specialization. That she had her work at heart led to some funny incidents at home. She would sometimes scold my siblings and me in sign language. That never failed to hasten forgiveness for the offense and had everyone laughing in no time.
Everyone in the school knew me – her co-teachers, her pupils, the janitors, the canteen staff, the gardeners, etc. I was especially close to the students including those older than me, exchanging Christmas gifts with some of them and receiving candies, ribbons, etc. from time to time for no reason at all. A number of them continued to write me long after they graduated. I know that I was dear to them because of the love and respect they had for my Mom, and her love and devotion to them.
I remember vividly when in the mid-fifties we moved to Quezon City but I had to complete the school year at Nazareth School in Sampaloc. She would wash me up, do my pigtails and dress me up at 5 in the morning because I was the first to be picked up by the school bus. And how she would rush to meet me as I alighted from the same bus at 6 pm, being the last to be brought home.
But as I grew older, we sort of drifted apart. It was years after my father died at the age of 59 that we became close again. More so, when I had Jenny, and even much closer still after Jenny and I went home to her for good when Jenny was barely 2.
Fast forward to that Saturday afternoon. I was working on one of my paper tole projects. She was in her rocking chair. Playing in the background was one of my worship music tapes. She suddenly blurted out, “Ang ganda” referring to the praise music playing. That was something not only because she was a real music enthusiast (she studied voice, played and taught the piano and the marimba, sang to the soundtrack of Sound of Music which she watched more than a hundred times -- according to her notes which I found recently). It was significant to me because a praise song had indeed gotten her approval.
I became really excited but didn't show it, when I heard her say, “Pagpwede na ako, sama mo ko sa Bread of Life.” (Bread of Life is the full Bible-based Christian fellowship I have been attending since the late 80's.) That told me loads! Since I accepted the Lord, my constant prayer was that my Mom and the rest of the family would likewise get to have a personal relationship with the Lord Jesus.
Starting that Saturday night, and each and every night I was home, we prayed together, praising God and thanking Him for everything.
Mom died the day before I came home from a workshop in Sagada. In the 90's, communication in that part of the country was very poor and cellphones were practically unheard of. Thus I was clueless about her passing until Jenny told me the evening I arrived home.
I last spoke with Mom four days earlier when I called before leaving Baguio for Sagada. She said to bring her fruits, as usual, if I see some really nice ones when I asked her what pasalubong she wanted.
At the mortuary, I could only cry why she couldn’t wait for me. Then by grace it was one of our lazy afternoon chats again, it was one of those bathroom encounters again, it was our good night prayers time again. These fragments in my mind brought me peace so overpowering it washed away my regrets -- at not being able to care for her on her last days, not being able to say goodbye, not being able to pray with her as she passed on.
I know the Lord heard her wish to join me in worship. She must have already been singing praises right before the Lord, as I was just leaving Sagada for home. And I know she knew how I held on to her fruits oh so carefully during that long bumpy bus ride.
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