Mama

On the second Sunday of May, the world will honor all the mothers. I do not wish to wait for the 13th of May to honor this special woman in my life. I am doing it now and not waste time..

Mother. Mommy. Mum. Mama. We call her in many ways. In the Philippines, we call her Nanay. Nanang. Inang. Inay. Mama. Mamay. Mamang. Inah. 

In our family, we call our very own mother in more colorful ways. Mother Goose (I thought she invented the once-upon-a-time thing). Mother Hen or Mama Bear (She is over-protective.) Mother Nature (She has a green thumb and the schoolteacher that she was, encouraged her pupils to go into vegetable garden in little plots behind the school house). Mudra (our playful endearment to her). But she is officially Mama to us.

Her name is Corazon, meaning heart in Spanish. And her heart is bigger than her name. And when I was born, I was named after her. I am Corazon Junior. But my heart is not as big as hers.

Mama was an indispensable figure in my tender life. I could not imagine life without her. And when I offended her a great deal, I would be reduced to a nervous being when she declared, "You are going to kill me with your attitude. Wait if I died, your father would re-marry a wicked woman." I was so scared of losing her. So I was careful not to displease her.

I remember that during a clan gathering when I was much younger, the cousins had a family game where we were drawing cards with a question. And we were to answer on what comes first into our mind. Mine was: If there was a person in your life who would not die, who would it be? And I answered without batting an eyelash: "œMama!"

I saw Dad from the corner of my eyes withdrawing to the background wanting to shrink into forever. He did not speak to me for a couple of days and I realized that I committed a mortal sin.

Dad was the undemonstrative one or should I say, he loved us from a distance without us knowing it. He raised us with the proverbial rod. Offending him meant whipping. Where Dad lacked in affection, Mama fully compensated it without condition. And we grew up believing that only Mama Bear loved the children bear, and Papa Bear was out of the picture when it came to hugging and loving. She was there when I was sick. Graduation. Birthdays. And other important milestones of my life. When I went to high school and university, I studied so far away from home. I wrote her a lot of letters and she wrote back, longer and more frequent ones. I loved getting her letters, which I now stored in one huge box, and I could write a book on them.

I admire her from a distance and she did not know it. I wrote a lot of poetry about her and she got little surprises in her life when she rummaged through my things and found published poems of her. (Now I know I got this affection-from-a-distance from Papa Bear as well as the passion for writing although he wrote mainly in the Spanish language.)

Mama Bear was a former school teacher. And she was my first teacher. She taught me how to read and write before I entered formal school. She taught me how to be independent. At a tender age of eight, she sent me alone to another province to see her parents. I never saw her worried. In my time, it was still perfectly safe to talk to strangers. At the age of 15, I already considered myself a seasoned local traveler, embarking on inter-island travels, even reaching to far regions of the country. (The Philippines has 7,101 islands.)

When children left home to marry, she is the cohesive instrument that kept us together. "Come home for Papa's birthday." "Let my grandson spend his birthday with us, we are going to throw a big party for him." "Everyone's coming home for Christmas and you should not miss that." "On New Year's Day will be our 38th wedding anniversary, please make it a point to be here." And when the children were home with her, we all followed her around the house, whether she was cooking, cleaning, or relaxing. We never run of out of stories and laughter.

Two years ago while I was on a sea travel, the waves were so huge that the sea craft almost went down. And I absent-mindedly screamed for mama. Later, I would realize how in my sub-conscious mind, I am still dependent on her for strength. I still call on her..

She displayed tremendous strength when Papa Bear died. She never showed us that she was as broken as the children. She was a strong pillar for us to lean on and we found an unbreakable refuge in the fold of her arms. She continued being Mother Hen. During the wake, her humor was never lost. At a family conference of who takes care of what task (church service program, food, cortege flow, police force leading the flow, transportation, hotel accommodations for the sympathizers, etc.), she absent-mindedly said: "Where is Papa? He has not yet come to the conference table." Forgetting that he was laying in the casket in the family room.

She still continues to be the unifying factor of the family. "Please come home for Christmas so that your brothers could see you. You have been missing for eons." "Be sure to be around for Papa's death anniversary. Everyone is coming." "Your sibling will come home from the Middle East on Lola's birthday, please mark the date for a family lunch."

Now in her twilight years, we never knew how many more years we will have of Mama Bear. In these remaining years, she has put everything in order: her life insurance, the properties already partitioned (I got a farm land and a residential lot), settling a sibling in peaceful married life, and the family business to be taken cared of by the oldest child. But I still could not imagine life without her.

And I guess, when Mama Bear will finally go to join Papa Bear in heaven, I would read a big part of this blog in her honor before the church congregation. 

Until now, the childhood question that cost me Papa's hurt still rings in my ear. If there was a person in your life who would not die, who would it be? My answer would still be the same...

(Reposted: May 2, 2007)