My Mother Likes Flowers

It started with the picture of the lotus I have on my work IM. On seeing it, someone commented on the lotus, and on flowers in general. Then I remembered how much my mother likes flowers. Suddenly I was struck with this melancholy and realized how much I miss her.

Nanay passed away in May 1988 – over 18 years ago. It's funny how the pain is still there. Somehow I still ache in my heart. Somehow I still cry. I don't think the pain will ever go away. I don't think I want it to go away.

It happened very fast. My sisters called me one night to say they took her to the hospital. The following morning, she was gone. I was not able to see her or attend her funeral. I was here in LA and was providing emotional support to my sick brother and his family. My brother and I grieved for Nanay with our relatives and friends in LA. We celebrated her life with joy and pain.

She was the local nightingale. Her peers were awed with her musical talent. Nanay was the toast of the barrio and was invited to sing on most local occasions. They were all surprised when she married my father. They thought she would go with a more flamboyant local boy. It's just that my father was faster. And he LOVED her more. One kiss and she was his.

She said she did not love my father, but you'll never know with the way she treated him. She never admitted it, but we think she learned to love him. He was kind, he was a good father. He made all of us, most of all my mother, laugh and take things lightly. We knew she had the brains in the family, but she made Tatay and all of us feel like all the important decisions were his. We just realized the "deception" when we grew up and got to understand life better. It's like how all the eight of us all thought we were each her favorite. Oh, she played us so well!

She was one of the smartest women I know. She only had a third grade education, but oh, she was so bright. She could have been anything she wanted to be if she had the opportunity. She had this astonishing calculator in her brain. When any of us kids accompanied her to the market, we all went home amazed at how quickly she could compute in her mind her mark up on merchandise for our little store. She would haggle with the vendors already knowing the price she was going for and how much profit she would make. She had this uncommon common sense that guided her and our family to emotional and eventual financial stability.

When I was learning to write poetry in school, we were asked to write a poem about our parents. All of my classmates wrote about their mothers. I wrote about my father. You see, this was during the time I was getting a lot of "discipline" from her, and I did not like it very much.

I was a precocious child. I was curious, I was active, I was all over the place, and yes, was always in trouble. Trouble kept finding me. I could be just standing still and things would happen next to me and I would react, and get in trouble. I was not a bad kid -- just different. My interests even then were not the norm. I had to learn how to handle the karitela (horse-drawn cart – local transportation before the dawning of the tricycles http://www.answers.com/topic/kalesa) so I sneaked in while the "kutsero" (cart-driver) left his vehicle to pee – trouble. I was curious why the ice-cream cart was dripping so I slid under the cart to find out what was causing it -- trouble. It was so hot and humid that I jumped at the ice-delivery truck to get cool but ended up scraping my knees because I wasn’t fast enough. I was hurt, but was still in trouble. I was such a handful that my parents probably did not know how to handle me. My mother was the family disciplinarian and I did get a lot of spanking from her. There's even a 1/2 x 2 x 12 just for me. Looking back, that was how everyone was dealt with, except I had a lot more than any of my siblings. You see, even then, I was "special."

I was about 12 when I saw my mother crying while doing laundry one day, and I asked her why. She said she was praying. She did not like spanking me and she wished I would not give her a reason to do so. I remember the two of us crying together and I promised her I would try to be a good girl and I would not give her a reason to spank me from then on. That was it. I am not sure if it was because I really behaved or if I just got a lot smarter (and just did not get caught). Anyway, I lived up to my part of the deal - I did not give her a reason to spank from then on.

She was so proud of me when I was chosen for the RP-CWY Exchange Program and traveled to Canada. I wrote her everyday and described everything I saw and experienced in my letters. She looked forward to receiving those letters. She loved the fact that I kept her “company” throughout my travels. She would have loved to travel herself if she had the chance.

My family was eventually able to afford to buy a jeepney. (http://www.traveladventures.org/continents/asia/jeepney.shtml) That was to help with the family income. The night it was delivered, I took it out with our friend Rolly and promptly drove that vehicle into a tree. We came home and I told my mother about it. I asked her to not say a word as I have already said everything she would say to me myself. I felt so stupid and irresponsible and I could just kick myself! To my surprise, she listened to me and did not say anything. She actually treated me as an adult! The irony is, it happened when I was being so juvenile!

With my two older sisters' stable financial support, we were able to convince Nanay to close the store and to take it easy. She did so with trepidations. It took a mild stoke to convince her it was time to hang up her market basket. One side of her face was paralyzed and it scared all of us. She was also telling us of her dreams about her mother and aunt (who were her closest friends, both deceased) calling her to join them. She told us of how she would tell them not yet. She wasn’t ready.

This was also the time when we decided it was time for me to be a full time student. It was my last semester in college (it took me almost 9 years) and my sisters supported me with tuition and allowance. I kept Nanay company when I did not have a class. I took her to the doctor and helped with her medications and treatments. Eventually, her face went back to normal.

When I worked in Bataan, she visited with me one weekend. She was pleasantly surprised when I actually cooked a meal for her. You see, between her, my father, my two older sisters and my youngest sister, Gigi cooking at home, I never really bothered in the kitchen. But I have (obviously) always loved to eat and I knew the tastes I was going for so when I moved to Bataan, I actually cooked pretty well, and enjoyed it. That was a wonderful weekend. I took her to the neighborhoods, the Vietnamese cafes and the Buddhist temples where she loved the gardens and the flowers the Monks kept. I took pictures of her surrounded by flowers.

Before I left for the US, she asked me what I wanted to take with me. I asked for her gold ring. It was the first piece of jewelry she ever owned. It was old and had been repaired a couple of times, but it was special to her. For as long as I can remember, she has always worn it. She took it from her finger and put it in mine, and again, we both cried.

Nanay taught us directly and indirectly many invaluable lessons. Be kind. Be nice. Save money. Wear clean clothes. Take a bath. Study hard. Keep on trying. Be responsible. Behave yourself. Be yourself. Respect others. Try again. Be patient. Pray. Be careful. Don’t spend money you don’t have. Have faith. Pray some more. Be of service when you can. Treat everyone like they are special. They are.

I miss my mother. I miss her soothing touch, her healing voice, her tender love, her knowing looks, her loving presence. I’m glad flowers remind me of her.

My mother likes flowers.