Living alone without Mom & Dad

MANILA, Philippines - For the many years of my life, it had always been my mother, Susan, my father, Cito and me, their only child. These summers were the perfect ones — my parents were strong and supple, able and alive. But all summers — present, past and future — have come to pass.

My mother left me March of 2009 because of cancer. It was “crazy” painful because she was my best friend. My mother had this ability to “stretch” her patience to understand my quirks and her kindness to provide for my needs. Other people would abandon me, but she would patiently accompany me and guide me in my every personal struggle and personal endeavor.

That’s why when she breathed her last at 5 a.m. on a Sunday, I feared what tomorrow would be like to me. Was it time that stood still? Or was it my brain that stopped confronting the reality? I was caught by surprise at this sudden turn of events. I was simply appalled. Nothing of that mental preparation of “I should do this” and “I should do that” worked.

My mother’s passing away has left a lifetime pain in my heart. To make it bearable each passing day, I just cling to my memories of her — my best friend. I miss her hearty laughter whenever she watched Willie Revillame show and sang along with its opening song. I miss her kare-kare, adobo, sinigang na baboy at isda, spaghetti Pinoy style and pancit. I miss our late-night merienda and talks. I miss her pag-aasikaso. I miss the prayer meetings in the house. I miss her calm voice and words of wisdom. I miss us attending the Sunday Mass and walking hand and hand in the mall. I miss kissing her on the cheek and taking a glance at her before leaving for work. I just adore my mother.

Four years after her death, my father, a stroke patient, followed suit. It was first week of May, a Tuesday night. Since I witnessed how my mother’s health deteriorate in a span of two weeks, I thought seeing my father taking the same fate was bearable. I was wrong. Having experienced death in the family will not make one prepare to see another death. I was again appalled. I didn’t shed much tears but my heart was crushed. I became numbed by the thought of being alone — parentless. No mother, no father to turn to.

My father’s passing away added another pain in my heart. My memories of him make it bearable. I miss the frankness of my dad, no beating around the bush. It kept me on the right track. I miss seeing my dad planting plants and cooking simple Ilokano vegetable dishes. I miss our conversations about Filipino heroes and God. I miss him singing in the videoke out of tune. I miss those rare moments of serious talking and him tightly embracing me because I felt my father’s love and sincerity. I just adore my father.

If there’s one thing that I truly miss about my parents, it’s their love that they generously gave me. I’m forever grateful because in spite of my shortcomings as their son, they shared life with me selflessly. I’m also grateful to God for gifting me such parents and allowing me to appreciate life more through this inevitable reality.

I’m also lucky to have my aunties, uncles and cousins from the Dedicatoria and Donato sides, and friends who have become my second family. 

I know in my heart, my Mommy Susan and Daddy Cito are in a better place and in a good company with my sister Jane, Lola Ding and Lolo Dick, cousin Aye and Tito Isko. Your family loves you from “here to eternity.”

There’s a scene in the film The Mirror Has Two Faces and the mother says, “I raised two daughters, I buried a husband.”

Yes, I buried my parents, but I will never bury their memories in the abyss of my mind because these memories keep me alive.