My earliest recollection of my grandmother was in the form of Hallmark greeting cards, which I unfailingly received every birthday, Christmas, and sometimes Valentine’s Day from the States where she and my grandfather lived for most of my early childhood. True to the Hallmark tradition, "to a sweet granddaughter" or "to a loving grandchild," would be printed boldly in frilly font on the front of each card, with an illustration of a chubby, blond girl in pigtails clutching a puppy or lollipop. I looked forward to these occasions, not so much because of the rhymes these cards contained, which admittedly I never read, but because green bills would fall out when I opened them. I was fascinated by the fact that, according to my mother, one green bill could buy me a Barbie doll. Thus at the age of six, I formed my very first opinion of my grandmother. I thought she was the world’s richest woman.
When I was a teenager, Angkong and Amimi came home from the US. At this time, I always saw them together. They were a unit – buy one, take one – like Sonny and Cher before their divorce. Unlike, say John Lennon and Yoko Ono, however, who, in spite of perennial couplehood managed to remain unique, even in eccentricity. Angkong and Amimi always seemed to me to be Mr. and Mrs. Go Puan Seng. Angkong had top billing and Amimi played the supporting role. Nobody talked about Amimi without talking about Angkong. He was the megastar and she was his unassuming wife. I was in high school then, with visions of stirring the feminist movement to political supremacy. Thus, in spite of my recognition of Amimi’s many virtues, like her unwavering faith, fidelity and dependability, she was admittedly not my role model then. When Angkong passed away in 1988, I was afraid Amimi would fade away soon after like a lovebird whose mate had perished. But I was wrong. Amimi became a new woman. She went to work, nurtured her social life, grew healthier and, to my mind, rounder, and became more masterful of her role as the Go family matriarch. In the light of this transformation, I saw her devotion to my Angkong in the form of weekly visits to the cemetery, not as a manifestation of submission, but as a sign of empowerment and conviction. For the first time, my Amimi seemed to me a profound and multi-dimensional character.
It was not until my mother had acquired a terminal illness, however, that I began to really fathom the woman that my Amimi truly was. Every day, while my mother lay in bed, and my father and I were reduced to jelly at the site of her condition, Amimi would calmly whisper words of encouragement into my mother’s ears. She would patiently sit at the bedside of an otherwise strong and dynamic woman who was slowly and tempestuously coming to grips with the reality of her situation. As I, my mother’s daughter, was busy asking and analyzing the existential questions that I now realize must have only frustrated my mother further, my Amimi was the rock upon which my mother leaned for support, comfort and respite. She was an unwavering source of strength and a limitless well of hope for my mom. Indeed, it is only in hindsight that I realize how much courage, steadfastness and faith one must have in order to continuously be strong for one’s dying child.
Years later, when she herself began to suffer ill health, Amimi was the personification of quiet dignity. She never drew attention to herself, never burdened others, never whined or complained. As far as I know, she never made tampo, and never spoke unpleasantly of us, her family, even when we failed in our familial duties, due to sometimes a misguided sense of priorities. She was grace, class and elegance epitomized. In the last few years, Amimi’s condition deteriorated and on many occasions, we thought she would go. But she never did until last Sunday. She kept bouncing back to life. With spunk, she fought. Members of the family would assure her that she could let go and join God and Angkong, but she seemed so stubborn. I often ask myself why she would not give up her spirit, for that is the only way I choose to see it. Many perfectly healthy individuals, it has been recorded, who have lost the reason and will to live, can simply wither and die within days. But Amimi did not surrender her soul for years even when the body was weak. And now I think I know why. I see the answer when Uncle Andrew, Isa, Ninang Elsie and Miguel play badminton in QC Sports Club. I see the answer when Dad and my uncle and aunts try a new restaurant on Tomas Morato. I see the answer when Uncle David explains the rudiments of golf to me, or when Uncle Lu translates a Chinese archaelogy book for me. I see the answer when great-grandkids Paolo, Hannah and Louise sing tunes and play musical instruments for their grandma Cecily and Auntie Ruth. I see the answer when my aunts and uncle sleep in the same bedroom, when we watch another pirated DVD together, when we laugh over our daily lunch of steamed fish and tofu with Auntie Gracie rushing over from her nearby home to join us.
Due to circumstances, many families no longer have the luxury of spending much time together because their members all live in different countries and time zones, and mine is no exception. Yet through Amimi’s illness, we were all given the opportunity to be together, to rediscover each other, to understand what makes one another tick, to empathize with one another, to become closer to one another. We also got the chance to commune with God together. Angkong and Amimi went through tough times during the Second World War so that they may see their family survive into a new era. Amimi stayed alive through ill health to fight for family togetherness once more. To Amimi, family and God mattered most. And she was resolute in her commitment to God and family to the end. Indeed, she only gave up her spirit, that tough and unwavering spirit, when she saw her bedroom filled to the rafters with the people she loved.
We, the members of the Go family, are not grieving. Only wasted lives are to be grieved. But lives lived in virtue should be celebrated. And my grandmother was a virtuous woman. A friend once told me there should only be one reason to live, and that is to be an inspiration to others, and indeed my grandma can be rest assured that she has been an inspiration to me. I hope that when circumstances demand, I will have the courage of my grandma. I will have her fighting spirit. I will have her grace. I will have her humility. I will have her resilience. My mother Betty Go-Belmonte inherited all these traits. I am proud to say that I have the blood of two great women running through my veins, and I now look forward to living a life of meaning and inspiration to others, just as they did.