Mama is gone. 

It’s been more than a month since she left. I think about and miss her everyday, some days more sorely than others.

I had a hard time deciding what to write in this entry, what to talk about.. do I share about how hard the last seven months have been for her, for us? Do I recount, in detail, all of Mama’s hospitalisations since 2016? Do I share how it felt like a limb, or a body part, or something integral in me has also gone missing in those first days after she passed, and yet unbelievably, I remain to be physically whole? Do I intimate how sad talking about her in the past tense/past participle makes me, or how grief can powerfully creep up on you when you are most unaware?

Should I even write this piece, in the first place?

I don’t really know.. but I am certain that I want to remember the realisations I have had since she passed, and even before her death, when it truly hit me that she would be going soon. 

Mama. She continues to give of herself even after leaving.

We were all hopeful, going into Mama’s procedure July of last year. We were hopeful that the tumor in her liver will be removed, hopeful that it would be her last hospitalisation. But about three hours after we wheeled her into the operating room, we got a call.. a dreaded call with those dreaded words:

“I’m sorry. Kumalat na.”

“Based on what we saw, it’s late stage cancer, but we have to wait for the biopsy results to confirm..”

We all cried..but we all put on brave faces as we waited for her to return to her room. We all agreed not to tell her what the doctors found, no one dared to say the word cancer. We all just wanted to lift her spirits so that she’d be healthy enough to be discharged.   

Chemo or traditional treatments were never an option for her and we respected her decision till the end. Even when her appetite was close to nil and we told her that her food can now be IV’d, even when her pain became so intense and we knew that medically-induced coma or other stronger drugs could have been options. She’d had enough of staying in hospitals, had enough of the painful needles and scans.. she wanted to just be at home, cared for by family, so that was what we did even if it was the most painful to watch..

Pain. She tried to keep it all to herself, tried not to let me see how much she was hurting, and how often she would throw up her food. Until she could bear it no longer, she tried her very best to shield us from her suffering. Towards the end, when she no longer possessed the mind nor the will to fight, all we could do was pray for her, hold her hand, hug and be there for her. Psalm 23 was our mantra: “The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want..”

I remember a particular moment when she hurt. I was sitting beside her, not knowing how to help ease her pain. That was the hardest part about her illness - wanting to lessen her suffering but now knowing how, just praying for it to subside so she could get some rest. Even after taking painkillers while on a high-dose morphine patch, Mama still moaned. Only she knew just how extremely painful it all was..

I asked her then, “Gusto mo kwentuhan kita?”. Eyes closed, she shook her head no. “Gusto mo kantahan kita?”, again, she said no. Beaten, I asked her, “Ano’ng pwede kong gawin, Ma?”. She answered, “Dyan ka lang, samahan mo lang ako.” 

She taught me then that sometimes, just being wholeheartedly and physically present is the best thing we can give our loved ones..

She was a woman of few words. When we would tease her about her colourful love life, she would just playfully hit our heads and smile. She was never one to foolishly tell all, but if she had trusted you enough and opened her heart to you, you would have found a life filled with so much wisdom and grace, a life redeemed by the Lord, a life dedicated to His service and to her children.

She was my living representation of Mary, because she pondered everything in her heart. 

I was her opposite in that sense. I would speak my mind if I believed I was right, carelessly not considering other people’s feelings. How foolish I have been.. I was prideful and impulsive with my words, whereas Mama would always choose to be silent. To her, “keeping the peace” was more important than correcting some “wrongs” and I didn’t understand that before. I do now..

She taught me, by her example, that the greater battle is the one that we wage against ourselves, against our own impulses. She taught me that it was more important to be kind than to be right. She has inspired me to try to quietly reflect everything in my heart from hereon as she did..

Even when Dr. Barroso gently informed her of the biopsy results, she was remarkably silent. She didn’t ask what stage or how much time she had left, she just quietly listened to the doctor discuss her treatment options, and just as meekly, said her thanks and goodbye.

But it were those times when she couldn’t hold it in anymore that broke our hearts. Weak moments when she would cry and say, “Suko na ako. Ayoko na.”, a morning when she shared, “Akala ko katapusan ko na kagabi.”, and tearful whispers in between attacks of pain: “Lord, have mercy on me.”. She endured admirably until the very end, just a morphine patch for the pain.. Jesus would have been really proud of how she valiantly carried the cross she was given.

Idol ko si Mama. Solid siya. 

She worked in Kuwait as a domestic helper to provide for us, then a few years later, as a nanny in Singapore. She tirelessly made reviewers and test questionnaires to help me prepare for exams. She was present at every Recognition and Graduation Day. She worked as a catechist for many years, teaching the faith to elementary students in Las Piñas public schools.. I remember how happy she was at this stage in her life, and I remember being happy for her because she made good friends and got to travel with them.. but she quit this job to accompany me to my gigs when I started my career as a lounge singer, her very presence warding off all malicious intentions of the men who frequented those bars.

She borrowed a lot of songbooks from other singers and typed so many of those lyrics up even if I didn’t know the songs yet. She kept every newspaper clipping, poster, concert ticket, fan letter, and boarding pass and preserved them all in clear books. She made scrapbooks for my brothers and for her first granddaughter, Trixia, as well, with our ID pictures, report cards, even some essays (and photos with our exes!) too. We were astounded by how much memorabilia she has kept and organised, and we all missed her even more when we saw her labor of love..     

She went with me to every gig for as long as her body allowed, sharing in the exhaustion and sleeplessness. For four years while I studied in UP, we would meet at the MRT station nearest my gig for the night, me with my schoolbooks and notepads and her with our big checkered Natasha duffel bag that contained my makeup, hair iron / curlers, hairspray, gown, shoes, and my fat heavy songbook because I gigged in the days before the iPad was launched. She would commute carrying all of those things night after night for four years, coming from our home in Las Piñas, walking to the tricycle station, taking a tricycle, then a bus/jeep, then another bus/jeep, then finally, the MRT station, for a total of about 1.5 hours in heat and traffic, up and down those automobiles, up and down the train station stairs. 

She did all this without a single word of complaint.

I can never be where I am now without my Mama.

In all my years of singing, she never nagged me, not even once. She just dutifully went wherever with me and she never critiqued me, too.. not even when I was singing flat, or sharp, or when I was out of tune or out of rhythm. She wholeheartedly loved, supported, and accepted me just the way I am, with all my flaws and sins..

She cried with me when I had my heart broken. She forgave me every single time I foolishly hurt her with my thoughtless words. When I would tell her I loved her, she would always say, “I love you more”. And I know it to be true, deep and encompassing. 

I love because she first loved me. I know and am able to give love because she shared her heart with me first. And I am so thankful that I got to be loved by her, so grateful that God loved me through her. And I know that no matter how much my brothers and I love her, it can never compare to just how much our Heavenly Father cherishes her. That’s probably why He called her home already, so she can be with Him in purest joy, freedom, and love. 

Enough of this world’s troubles, enough of her pain.

And this is why we have to let her go..

She has always been beautiful. Naked and blemish-free she came into this world, a healthy, adorable, pinkish little human. She left hollow and emaciated, her thinnest I’ve ever seen. As her disease progressed, she became yellow at first and then increasingly gray, like a glitch in a TV monitor when everyone and everything is coloured and she’s the only one shaded black and white. That was how I saw her at our last video call, the Monday night before she passed. Seeing her like that shook me to my core, and that was when it truly hit me that I would be losing my mother soon.. As I talked to her, it seemed as if I was watching her very life leave her wisp by breathy wisp.. I broke down after and wailed like I never did before. A carnal moaning, an animal already grieving the inevitable even before it happened.

It was then that I wished I had known longer about her love. Like the way I love Lilibubs now, I wish I knew how she loved me then. I wish I was more aware of it.. I have always known her love, but at that moment, my lifetime just didn’t seem enough. I just wanted to love and be loved by her, more.

The following morning was the last time Mama was lucid enough to talk to us. She had tried to write a letter for Lilibubs, but her hands shook too much so she asked me to pen the words down for her. When my writing couldn’t keep up, I took my phone’s recorder and held it close to her, grateful that her message and frail voice will be forever kept in my phone to be played for Lilibubs when she gets old enough. I was crying silently as I listened, my brother Buboy too.. Mama finished her message, saying she was tired and wanted to sleep. I lay beside her, trying not to get in her way.. and about an hour after the end began.

Mama left with long and short scars in her belly: three caesarian sections, incisions from laparoscopic and open surgeries and pigtail insertions. I remember a time when Tita Budeng changed the dressing on Mama’s wounds and I was in the room. While tracing the lines, she remarked that “ang pangit na ng tiyan niya”. I disagreed, because all those scars showed her will to continue living, every single laceration a testament to her enduring love for us. We all knew how much she feared being operated on, and yet she agreed to all of those procedures for us, for her children, for her grandchildren, for her siblings and the rest of our family, just so we can be with her a little bit longer.. 

I can never thank you enough, Ma, for fighting for us even when it hurt you so much, for smiling for us even when you were already so tired, for holding on for as long as you could..

How ironic it was that while her illness gave her so much pain, it afforded us the priceless blessing of being able to properly say our goodbyes, express our “thank you’s”, and say all our “I’m sorry’s”. We were able to show her all our love, hug her, wipe her tears, and hold her hand till her very last breath..

What a privilege it is, to be able to love those we love while they are still living, while they can still receive our love. I’ve read somewhere that that is what grief really is: It is love that you can no longer give because the recipient is no longer there.. 

Ma, I wish you can read this. I wish you can see into my heart and know all my love for you that is still there. I am certain it will never go away. I will always love you and treasure your memory in my heart.

A final sharing.

Two weeks after Mama died, I was chatting with a new momma friend. I checked up on how she was doing, if she was breastfeeding her son, and she said that she couldn’t help but be envious of her friends who had lots of breastmilk. With a heart still tender, this is what I replied to her:

“I think it’s because we will always want to be the best for our kids and sometimes we can’t help but compare ourselves to other moms or even to our idea of what a good mom is.. pero you know what I realised especially after Mama died? It didn’t matter that she didn’t know how to cook, or other things she can’t do that other moms do. I loved her all the same.

Whatever she did and didn’t do, they all didn’t matter to me. I think the mere fact that she existed and she loved me, sobrang more than okay na for me. Solve na solve na ako.”

I was reminded of 1 Corinthians 13.

1 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8 Love never fails.

Love, indeed, is the perfecter of everything.

Thank you again for loving me, us, Ma. Thank You Father God for the gift of Your love. It is because You loved us first that we can go on. It is because You love us that we can all be together again one day in our perfect bodies, in Your Perfect Heaven.

To all who have extended their sympathies and condoled with our family at Mama’s wake, once again, our heartfelt thanks. Please hug your moms for me <3

Thank you so much for reading. God bless you.

Bossa love,

Sitti