Saturday, May 2, 2020
EULOGY FOR MY MOMMY
by Joy Albea
Death was a common visitor in our house. It took the shape of a loved one , shifting into a distant memory only Mommy could revisit.
Every night, Mommy would be trapped in a grip of longing , her face in anguish, begging for him to come but just as it came uninvited, Death would leave again.
Every night, Mommy couldn’t recognize any of us and as the sun stumbled out of her widow, we said goodnight to her as strangers.
There is no heroism in caregiving. It leaves a person a new personality : broken and unemotional.
The year was 2005. Hurricane Katrina had knocked out the power supply. It was their 50th Wedding Anniversary, our house was busting at the seams with family.
But dinner was too salty. Mommy had been adding too much salt into her cooking and even Daddy who favored fish sauce had noticed it. We didn’t know what was happening so we did what we do best in our family and teased her about it.
Mommy was 7 years younger than Daddy. She cooked for us, cleaned the house for us and brought home Employee of the Month plaques from Walgreens, Morrowe’s Chocolatier , 7- Eleven and Wendy’s where she worked. She did the laundry , prepared Daddy’s meals and handed him his vitamins everyday. Mommy rarely got sick and when she did, she never called out from work even when it was storming outside.
After this, she burned the chicken , set the electric cooker on fire and picked up the TV remote every time the phone rang.
Growing up, I was used to seeing her donning bright colored clothes. Red was her favorite. Her wardrobe was loud yet fashionable.
Daddy said the first time he took her home to Santor, the bumpkins in his hometown gawked at the intricate embroidery of her stockinged legs.
He said, Mommy had always been beautiful.
They dated for 5 years and when it was finally allowed to take her to the movies, she refused to go home. This was a huge problem back then. She told daddy that she was afraid that her mother would scold her for good for being so late.
So that night, the 2 love birds eloped. Daddy took her home to his staunch Catholic mother and a wedding was soon set.
She gave birth to Nonie at home. I once asked her why bear 7 kids, is she nuts? Her answer was a mere shrug of her shoulders as if I’ve trespassed something sacred.
Because I was number 7, I spent most of my childhood years in the company of many katulongs, sleeping in their quarters in the basement of our house, learning to speak in Ilokano and Visayan accents, falling prey to the lull of the drama soaps on the radio which was a hit amongst our maids during ,the 70’s.
I didn’t grow up gracefully like my sisters, I even remember being mistaken for a boy when I was a kid.
Mommy was more focused on Car and Benji , took them shopping , went with them to the hair salons for the latest hairstyles and got heir eyebrows plucked. Mommy traveled to the Tokyo , Hong Kong and the US with Tito Ben.
It was Daddy who took me to the barber while mommy was away on trips.
When I was a teenager, they migrated to the States and left Benji in charge while they find fortune overseas. They banked on a dream that they would have us follow then in a matter of months. But it took 10 years later, 10 Christmases to be exact.
This was an era before Skype, Face Time and WhatsApp.
I knew Mommy through costly collect calls. She was someone who visited us twice a year bringing home Balikbayan boxes filled with brand names, electronics and the latest Nike shoes.
3 weeks. This was how long they stayed each time. Within those 3 weeks, I had to compete with my brothers, my sister, my nephews, for Mommy’s attention.
I don’t know what this has done to benji, but it consumed me beyond words.
I never shared jokes with Mommy, thinking that she wouldn’t find them funny anyway. Wit was reserved for Daddy who truly understood me.
Nevertheless, I grew up needing to please Mommy.
When Daddy passed away, it felt like someone pulled the earth from under my feet. I lost the only person who truly saw me.
I hated Mommy for being old, weak, sick. But because it was expected, I took care of her, mastering the routine, tweaking the blueprints, developing a system so efficient that any deviation from it set me off into a nervous breakdown.
One day I was screaming at her because she started crying. She was refusing me to clean her after she had soiled herself. The longer she cried, the louder I screamed. She called Car and Benji and like adding fuel to fire, that enraged me even more.
Did she think I was going to hurt her?
What I was really angry about was that in my heart, my mother did not love me. I have allowed this mistake to change me into this monster who treated Mommy nothing more than an obligation, like iron shackles on my feet, a burden. I saw my reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.
I was angry at mommy for being sick. I was angry because I knew she was not going to get better. I was angry because time was running out.
Mommy was not the touchy feely type. having to hold her hand while we waited for her medications to take effect was like stepping into undiscovered territory , a world yet to be explored.
There’s so much written about Alzheimer’s , the push to diagnose early, the race for the cure... but there is very little attention given to the experience of the disease.
Alzheimer’s lives in my DNA and like some nosy relative , it might one day show up uninvited at my doorstep. It had tipped our world into a standstill, it gave me the time that was lost and the space to heal. It took her memories away and in its place gave me the memory of my mother holding my hand tightly as she whispered “ I love you “ to me. Because of this, Alzheimer’s is both an enemy and ally.
Time had been kind. In a space of a heartbeat, after many years of not belonging, in a time when she was least capable of anything, was the moment I finally became my mother’s daughter.
I once saw a movie that said something like this:
“Even if you cannot stand her sometimes, even if you think you hate her and thought that she was ruining your life, there’s something about your mother. Some power, some romance. And when she’s gone, your world will be flat, too simple, to fair, too reasonable. “
I think we should cherish the little things we think we won’t miss like the smell of your mother’s kitchen on your clothes. I think, our mothers miss us more than we can ever realize because you know, childhood rushes by.
Thank you, mommy from me, from all of us. I love you most, you are my Lotto Jackpot, until we meet again.
First written on Mother’s day may 18, 2018
Revised for my darling divine Mommy
For her Eulogy May2nd 2020
Sent from my iPad