and I’m not here to see...
If the sun should rise and find your
eyes filled with tears for me,
I wish so much you wouldn’t cry
the way you did today...
While thinking of the many things
we didn’t get to say.
I know how much you love me,
as much as I love you...
And each time you think of me,
I know you’ll miss me, too.
But when tomorrow starts without me,
please try to understand...
That Jesus came and called my name
and took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready
in heaven far above...
And that I’d have to leave behind
all those I dearly love.
So when tomorrow starts without me,
don’t think we’re far apart...
For every time you think of me,
I’m right here in your heart.
God bless you!!!
Mommy
Auntie Marion was married for 37 years to my Uncle Pedrito Reyes ("Uncle Pete"), former vice governor of Oriental Mindoro and mayor of Bongabon town. But very early on in their marriage, the line between the family she was born to and the family she married into was dissolved – in other words, to her, both families were ONE. She didn’t consider us her in-laws, and we didn’t consider her an in-law either. To us, she was a Reyes, and she lived like one. Her devotion to the family she had married into reminds me of the devotion of the Biblical character Ruth to her other-in-law Naomi. When Naomi told Ruth after she (Ruth) was widowed that she could go back to her land and people, Ruth told her mother-in-law: "Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God."
My Auntie Marion wasn’t widowed, but she was very devoted to her husband’s family (my mother Sonia is her husband Pedrito’s eldest sister).
I think, in the end, after several political campaigns and after having been the "first lady" of Bongabon town for some time, my Auntie Marion knew Oriental Mindoro more than some members of the Reyes clan did. She was dear and familiar to all relatives, even to the in-laws of the third generation, because she was a constant in all reunions. Come to think of it, there hardly was any reunion without Auntie Marion.
They say blood is thicker than water. In Auntie Marion’s case, it seemed as if she had a Reyes blood transfusion when she got married to Uncle Pete. Eventually, it seemed the same blood run through her veins and ours.
My Uncle Pete says that Auntie Marion was "the kindest and gentlest woman he had ever met in his life." I don’t think she ever raised her voice in anger to him or their children.
During his eulogy for Auntie Marion last Sunday, Uncle Pete recalled that in early 2004, he had initially tried to keep her illness (cancer of the uterus) a secret, because he thought my aunt would not have the strength to take that bombshell. But one day, Auntie Marion asked him, "Why are you always whispering over the phone when relatives call?"
And also because she had to have chemo treatments, he was forced to tell her the sad truth. And when he did, Uncle Pete found out, "That Marion was the strong one. Ako pala ang duwag."
Their eldest daughter Karen Orosa (she also read the poem printed at the start of this column, which she chanced upon in the Internet), in her eulogy, affirmed Auntie Marion’s inner strength: "When we found out that Mommy was diagnosed with cancer, we didn’t have the heart to tell her immediately because knowing Mom, she was one of the most nerbyosa persons we knew. We all knew Mom was scared of going to the dentist, so what more if she found out she had cancer? But now, we realize that it was Mom’s courage and inner strength that carried us through this crisis."
For that is what a Mom is – the rock to cling on to when one is afloat in stormy seas, even when she herself is being battered by the waves. Auntie Marion never broke down in front of her daughters. When her second daughter Gillian told her, "Mom, please get well because I don’t think I could live without you," Auntie Marion waved off her cries and told her, "You have to be strong because you yourself have two young children to think of!"
During her year-long illness, she wouldn’t complain, mope or moan. "Never siya naging makulit," recalled Uncle Pete. She was on her feet till two weeks before she died. During her last days, Auntie Marion, according to her daughters Gillian and Stephanie, never asked for painkillers because "she felt no pain." This amazed a lot of her friends and doctors, who were prepared to administer morphine to her. The most Auntie Marion would take once or twice was valium, because she would sleep a lot during the day and find herself wide awake at night.
She died a peaceful death, her last few moments were brief and not agonized. The good Lord gave Auntie Marion the kind of death that was most like the life she lived – gentle. Death just tiptoed into her bedroom at home and very quietly, Auntie Marion rejoined her Maker.
By loving each daughter with all her heart, Auntie Marion made each of them feel she was the apple of her eye. And by loving all as if they were her favorite, she loved them equally and left them feeling special, even now that what lingers in their home is simply her scent and her memory.
For that is a Mom. She knows where all the food containers are. She knows where the medicines are. She knows where the important documents are. She knows where your baby dresses are. She knows where the latest Meralco bill is filed. She knows where your high school year book is kept.
But most of all, she knows where your heart is.
Uncle Pete, Karen, Gillian, Stephanie and Chinit; Nica, Mattew, Ram, Joseph and Gab, Auntie Marion knows where your hearts are, and she will be there, so that with every beat, you will feel her love. Cry no more.