Among the stars

My Lola Nora passed away last June. Forty days later, Lola Carmel died. Lola Nora was my mother’s mom, a beautiful woman with an innate sense of style. Mom said she wondered about the depth of her love for Lolo. Lola was hot, and Lolo was, well, smart.

My Lola Nora was a great believer in the superiority of strategy in the face of force. When my mom was a teenager, her younger brother Tito Mawie came home one day after losing a fist-fight with one of the neighborhood kids. Lola took him aside, and instructed him on the best way to overcome his foe. "Suntukin mo nang malakas, pagkatapos tumakbo ka nang mabilis!"

Lola also had a fine appreciation for art, as manifested by her extensive collection of x-rated Betamax tapes. Her favorite movie was Autobiography of a Flea, detailing the observations of a flea that found its way into the nether regions of a woman’s body. Lola Nora had a mouth that could sweetly tell green jokes and utter curses the likes of which even a hardened tavern brawler would cringe at. We loved her.

Mom said that when Dad’s parents met hers for the pamamanhikan before they got married, Lola Nora prepared food enough to feed a small army. When asked why she cooked so much for six people, she said, "Hay naku, naninigurado lang at baka magbago ng isip ng mga balae ko."

Lola’s practical tips on flirting have become something of a family tradition. My mother passed them on to me, especially since she sees me as something of a failure in that regard. She claims that she had already gone through 26 boyfriends by the time she was engaged – something she says I can’t possibly dream of beating at the rate I’m going (I’m a card-carrying member of the NBSB club – No Boyfriend Since Birth). I like to say I’m a late bloomer.

Lola Carmel – she lived in Carmel II subdivision, and the name stuck – was Dad’s mom. He said that when he filled out the "Mother’s Occupation" part for his school forms, he always wrote down "plain housewife." It’s true; Lola Carmel never worked in her life–at least, most people’s perception of work.

She’d buy pandesal, tear them into bite-sized pieces, and painstakingly butter every piece, ready to be dipped into cups of coffee. She dealt with everything necessary to bring up three boys, a girl, and most importantly, a husband.

Every day at noon she would go to the boys’ elementary school with their lunches. There she would wait while they ate, working at her perpetual crochet. She would then proceed to St. Paul, where my aunt studied. My uncles say that if you connected her years of lunchtime crochet work, the lines would stretch the length and breadth of Metropolitan Manila.

I knew they both had to go at some point. They were both sick, both going in and out of hospitals. I was perfectly aware of the fact that there was no way I would get them back to the way they were. There was no need to cry.

At Lola Carmel’s cremation last Sunday, I took Lolo’s hand. There was some guilt there too. I remembered the thousand reasons I had for putting off visiting both grandmas. I have an exam next week. I’m going out tonight. I can go next Sunday. Even if I knew there was little time, at the back of my head I still believed they wouldn’t die. It’s the kid in me, I guess.

Lolo squeezed my hand and smiled wistfully. "Do you know, on Wednesday night, your Lola took my hand just like this when we were both going to sleep. I held her hand all night." Lola died the next morning.

Lola Nora bucked tradition, Lola Carmel celebrated them. They were completely different women with completely different values. I’d like to think I’m a mixture of both.

My cousin Mark quoted a line from his favorite book, The Little Prince, when he said a few words about Lola Carmel.

"In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night... you– only you– will have stars that can laugh!"

I can still see Lola Carmel smiling, and Lola Nora shaking with laughter.