My mother Conchita was married at a very young age. As a child, she seemed to me to be the epitome of beauty and charm. She was the youngest of the famed LaO sisters, noted for their exceptional beauty and grace. My grandfather on my mother’s side (whom I unfortunately never met) was the dean of the law school at UST.
My mother is turning 79 on May 5 and I marvel at her wit and her youthful energy. She still plays tennis five times a week, does Pilates, plays the piano and — oh, my goodness — you should see her ski down a snowy mountain! She also has a Christian meditation group that has been meeting at her house for over 10 years now!
I have a distinct childhood memory of walking down the streets of Forbes Park with her and we happened to see a bloodied man lying near a bicycle. He seemed to have fallen off. I remember that we went over and attended to him as he struggled to get back on his feet.
I really can’t think of Mom without the piano and tennis. She was a music major so to me, up until now, her skills continue to floor me — especially since I’ve had several years of piano lessons and am nowhere near her level.
But what I will always admire and treasure most about her is the way she thinks: the way she processes information. There is a refinement and wisdom in the way she perceives the world. She is part of the Old School yet her perceptions are wise and intuitive. There are no rules with her; just an intuitive sense of what is right.
She is a joy to be with. Watching the Pacquiao fight last weekend, she was on the same energy level as the youngest in the room. In Walgreens as I was browsing through the aisles I caught her swaying and humming to the beat of the music.
Cool mom, huh?
She weathered all of that. And she still has the energy to girlishly dance to the music at Walgreens?
Life wasn’t easy for her. She was swept off her feet by this dashing young man. I also know that right after the marriage there was no honeymoon. She went right off to accompany my dad at Harvard Business School. And I don’t relish the thought of what it must have been like: a young, beautiful, romantic lass; her husband sucked into the rigors of academic life. It must have been tough. Then, back in Manila, Dad wanted to make his mark. He was put at the helm of major business ventures.
She stuck it out, though. Her faith decreed loyalty and she was loyal till the end.
Last night she was sharing with me the stories of this woman who was held hostage by the Abu Sayyaf for 65 days. She told me how this woman survived, and the songs she loved. It was about finding God in the darkest night, in the deepest hour. It is my great fortune to have a mother who so loves God. And genuinely so.
And God loved her back. At 68 years old she fell in love with Dick Taylor. Sixty-eight? Who falls in love at this age? And theirs was the passion of adolescence.
I remember when I first heard the news. My siblings told me: “Guess what? Mom’s in love and she is forgetting her car keys everywhere!” “What?!” I was incredulous.
I marvel at how perfect they are for each other. He is a year older, just a little taller, and he actually looks like a LaO, with his Spanish mestizo looks.
Oh, how Dick takes care of her! Meeting Dick at the twilight of her life was perfect!! He cooks for her, serves her breakfast in bed. But Dick is like that. There are some people that feel joy in serving. Dick is like that. She says that being with him is a slice of heaven.
They have such an idyllic life together: quiet and simple. Every Sunday they go off to a different church. They attend retreats together. She is a Democrat, he a Republican. But their love continues to bloom.
Yes, in the twilight of their lives, it’s payback time for them both. Over the kitchen table I reflected with her and noted how God gave her two wonderful men, seven children who love her, her sisters, her committed circle of friends. Love abounds. We tease her, saying she is even the favored ex-mother-in-law, getting along with all the exes long after the relationship has passed.
My mom was saying what a relief it was for her that her kids came out well. I know she loves each and every one of the seven of us. She loves our children, feeling an empathy with each and every one. And she is enamored to no end with her first great grandchild. It is to her credit that her grandchildren — some of them five decades younger — are still in awe of her.
The lesson? At the end of the day, the life well-led is the one that is true. And for whatever ups and downs my mother might have had one thing can be said: she is genuine. You know? Not plastic. Just really true.
And that is the gift she gives her children: the gift of genuine love. The gift of a life led and which continues to be led with compassion.