Once a year, my husband gathers his five girls to America to accompany him for his Stanford Hospital medical check-up. This year he brought with him his daughters – without their husbands and boyfriends – all of them to himself like it used to be. My son-in-law Noel calls this trip a "reprogramming of the five girls." It’s also a rewinding for me of the past and even an examination of conscience. Did I decipher correctly their innuendos, the intensity in their eyes, their body language? Did my intuition lead me to ask the correct questions to unburden their fears? Did my perception bring them relief? Did my advice lighten their doubts? Here was another chance to give all that a try.
Peering into their adjoining rooms, I hear them comparing thigh measurements and work experiences. A few are arranging doctors’ appointments and bills. One is making shower and bathroom reservations(!) while soothing crying children on the phone in Manila. Each mommy reassures the kids she’ll be home in 14 days, 10 days, 5 days...
Mikee’s son Robbie says the funniest thing: "How tagal naman Mommy. Ma-traffic ba in the sky? Tell the plane to make busina so you can hurry up." Three days left to go for some. Soon the cabinet drawers will be empty and the rooms silent with a reunion over and shopping lists accomplished. There’s 70 hours more to go as one complete enduring and loving family, then off goes another daughter to Europe.
Every moment is essential for catching up as a mother so that even as I nonchalantly leaf through Vanity Fair at the doctor’s waiting room, I listen intently to Mai-Mai’s recollection: "I think I was six years old, you bought me my first designer dress. It was a Dior black and white dress with a red bow on the waist – a children’s party dress. I remember feeling like a princess in that dress. My cousins and sisters used to ask (tease!) me saying, ‘Where did you get that dress?’ And head down, arms behind, looking up with a smile, I’d say, ‘Dior.’"
I hug her and kiss her on the neck, tickling her.
Mikee offers to join, reminiscing with this anecdote, "My most favorite material possessions as a young child were my Gloria Vanderbilt pastel striped shirt with matching lavender shorts, my Dad’s big scissors, my Voltes 5 robot, and my pillow."
Except for the Gloria Vanderbilt, I had forgotten the rest. As I steal time from the clock at the waiting room, I know it’s measured time I’m living on. I have a deadline of two weeks to learn facets of my children’s metamorphosis with a self-promise that their openness would be without fear of rebuke.
"I was five," she continues, "Mom, and you were working at Wrangler and I’d hang out at your office. Shopping after work and walking with my yaya we bumped into your acquaintance, who looked at me and said. ‘Wow! You’re so cute! So young and wearing Gloria Vanderbilt already!’ I remember saying ‘Thank you! It’s my outfit when I go out, so I don’t use it when I climb our big kalachuchi tree!’" We holds hands and laugh.
"Ay, I remember you bought China, Mai and me that empire cut velvet dress. Mai’s was navy blue, mine was maroon and China’s was dark green. We would all make pasyal together and everytime Ate Pin would see us she say, ‘Yuck, pangit your dresses! It’s the same tela on the seats of the Opel!’"
Back then, teasing like that would elicit tears or a dash to tell Mommy. Now it’s so funny. Seldom do I act as a referee among my girls now. More of a peacemaker for perceived details, explaining why each sister says one thing or another from what I know of their "character profile."
"Oh, Mom, those scissors. I loved them because I’d use them to ‘perfect’ my clothes. You gave nice clothes, except for one problem. They all had lace at the ends of the sleeves. I refused to wear them! One day I decided to take Dad’s scissors and cut the lace off. After that, my clothes were just the way I liked them."
I review the years of yore – of baths the kids would take with me, the Barbie dolls, Voltes 5 and Matchbox cars, and their special pillows.
Liaa and Pin each had their favorite pillows that flattened through their teen years, and their yaya kept these from me upon their instructions lest I threw them away. China remembers hers from grade school. A regular sized pillow. What’s left of it is the size of a throw pillow with bits and pieces of bulging foam ruined from the washing machine. China says: "One day, I got home from school to find my Mom had cleaned up my room. The first thing I did was to run to the bed and check on my pillow to make sure Mom didn’t change its covers. She did worse! The pillow was gone. My eyes filled with tears from rage and pain, I checked the maids’ rooms and found it but I never told Mom because it would cause an argument again. I love my pillow. When I cry I hug it. When I’m happy it keeps me company. While praying, it’s beside me. I would even spray Mommy’s perfume on it so I wouldn’t miss her too much on my out-of-the-country trips."
"And my pillow," says Mikee, "has been used by both Robbie and Rafael. It’s back with me and Dodot always teases me he’s going to throw it away when I’m not looking!"
I realize, too, that quality time is difficult to come by. Fewer years are spent with our children under our wing. At 11, they’re making their own schedules already. And soon enough we have to let go of them to school days so they build up their own defenses and personalities. Then all too soon they leave home to earn a living, marry and spend the rest of their lives with their spouses more than with us parents.
A month in a year, or two weeks in one year is very little time for bonding. Take advantage of every opportunity to re-live what used to be and feel revitalized by the love that flows within that special unit – the family – that stands together through thick and thin.
"No," I say, it is I who is more grateful. "I felt your love and know you all better." As my heart is reduced to pieces, I watch them walk past security, until I see just little dots in the distance. Those were the heads I stroked every night, every day then, and two weeks ago.