I was raised by a single mother, a woman who had the worst luck in love. She fell in love with my Kuya’s father, married him, and a few months later he landed a gig abroad (he was a drummer) and was never heard from again, leaving my mom husbandless, without support and with a swollen belly.

A few years later, she met my Papa and fell in love again. I remember her telling me that my Papa brought her to a ceremony with an imam, that she had no idea they were getting married. It’s been quite a few years since I heard this story, I didn’t think to ask then if she signed anything, making the ceremony legit.. anyway as the story went, my Dad couldn’t accept Kuya’s existence and this is where things get a bit muddled, because I’m not sure if my Dad hit both my mom and Kuya, or just my Kuya, but either way at some point, she took baby me and my brother and fled to my Lolo and Lola’s house, where we were brought up, disciplined, cared for, sent to school and provided for. The house, the home, the family I have known for most of my childhood.

Twelve years after I was born, my mom fell in love and got pregnant again. The heartbreaking part this time was, her baby daddy left her for a (so-called) friend.

This was the turning point in my mom’s life when she officially swore off romantic love. By her own confession in the quiet, companionable days before she passed, she shared that this was the time when it felt like God was telling her, “Ako naman”. This was when she started letting her physicality go, not watching her weight anymore and turning down every single man who showed interest in her. This was when she volunteered to be a Cathechist and fully devoted herself to serving God and raising her children.

Three children, of different parentages, raised by one strong woman who loved and gave them her all until the day she couldn’t anymore.

Three fatherless children, and yet as sorry-sounding as that may seem, it didn’t/doesn’t mean anything to me. Yes, my brothers and I didn’t have fathers growing up, but I never felt wanting in love or care. I never felt incomplete. At most, I remember being curious, observing all the dads all my classmates had in school.. but it was never an issue for me, secure as I was in my mother’s, grandparents’, and extended family’s love.

I grew up without a dad, and that’s okay. I believe I was, am, okay.

Back in the day, there weren’t many of us, children who come from so-called broken families. I wasn’t bullied for not having a dad, if you are wondering; I believe I wasn’t treated any differently. I do recall however, my mom claiming that I wasn’t permitted enrollment in a certain Catholic school because I was illegitimate. There is no way to verify that now, for sure.

In recent decades though, broken, and even blended families have become more prevalent. Teenage moms in my high school days were treated with much controversy - nowadays, these news are greeted with shoulder shrugs, not that much of a deal anymore. The burden that falls on the single mom is more or less the same though, especially if their baby daddies become practically nonexistent, run away, never show up or don’t give financial support.

Now that I am a mother myself, I realize just how hard it is to raise a child, may asawa pa ako sa lagay na ‘to ha. How much harder must it be for the single parent nowadays? They have to wear two hats, be both the father and the mother..

I write this to encourage single parents everywhere, that in my case, having my mom to love and be there for me was more than enough, that growing up surrounded by the care and concern of extended family members is crucial. My mom’s love and devoted attention more than made up for my father’s absence, while without our grandparents’ emotional and financial support, perhaps we would’ve found ourselves on the street, begging.

Love, acceptance, forgiveness, support. The very forces that heal, propel, and bind a family together.

Here’s to hoping that my story helps, even just a little bit.

When I was young, every time I asked my mom where or who my dad is, she would just purse her lips in a straight line and keep silent. When my Kuya would ask about his dad, she would say he was dead. Eventually, when my younger brother came of age and would ask the same, she would be quiet, too. Follow up questions would lead nowhere - she’d just refuse to say anything so we all learned not to press the issue. She never said anything about them, not even stories. There were no pictures of Buboy’s and my fathers anywhere even in the family’s old photo albums (there was one photo of Kuya’s dad, that of their wedding). We could be passing them on the street on our way to school and we’d never have an inkling of who they were. Our aunts and uncles were the ones divulging bits and pieces of the stories but they were never noteworthy, there was nothing to hold on to.. my Kuya though, remembers being hit by my dad, and I remember meeting my younger brother’s father and his nickname, but I cannot recall what he looked like.

In April 2011, I met my father for the first time. For so many years there was neither longing nor desire in me to meet him, and then suddenly, at 26 years old, there was. A cousin from his side, Ate Glenda, bless her heart, orchestrated this meeting. And I was so grateful to my mom for being there with me when this happened.. I have no idea what emotions she had to overcome or memories from the past she had to face again, we never discussed it.. but she accompanied me, stood by my side as I finally met my dad, watched as he pulled me to his lap (he said he had always wanted to carry all of his children on his lap; we are eight, by the way), smiling tersely when my father would tease her, smoking her cigarettes throughout the whole thing.

Even through all this, she chose to be quiet. But after, when the subject of my father was brought up, I remember her saying, “At least, hindi ako nagsinungaling sa’yo.”

I am grateful to my mom for choosing this stance. She could have chosen to badmouth my dad, our dads, but she never did. She could have injected poisonous words into our minds, but she didn’t. And when I decided to meet my father, she fully supported and even came with me, no matter how awful she must’ve felt.

We were at Aristocrat’s November of 2011, around six months after I first met my dad. I received a text that he has passed, and Mama and I shared a moment of silence as we processed the news. I honestly didn’t know how I felt then.. numb, I think? With a mix of gratitude that at least I got to know him, even for a short amount of time? Mama looked at me with sadness though.. “Nalulungkot ako para sayo, hindi mo nakasama tatay mo.” I just nodded silently.. because truly, what else was there to do? It is what it is, the past is what it was; blaming, looking back in either anger or sadness would accomplish nothing. There was no other recourse but to move forward.

——-

I was twelve years old and had just come home from school when Mama called me into one of the rooms in my grandparents’ house. She quietly told me she was pregnant.. I had no idea how to react. Mama was probably looking for consolation and comfort, encouraging words, but I had none. I probably still had no idea, even at that age, what a pregnancy would entail, but I remember my mom looking at me sadly, and telling me, “akala ko maiintidihan mo ako.”

In the months that followed, there was civil war in our family. My pregnant mom, my Lolo, my Lola, my Tita, my Kuya - all they seemed to do was fight. My mom would still smoke a lot even in her condition.. It was a crazy time. And yet, when Buboy was born, he brought sunshine into our dark world. We were all united in loving and caring for him, we all basked in the joy of having a newborn in the house; it was as if all the fights and harsh words (and even knife-pointing) hadn’t happened. Amazing.

It was then when it first dawned on me how a child’s birth could completely transform people and situations. Enemies could set aside their differences, harsh words would be replaced by coos, angry faces with joy-filled ones. The power that a little baby holds.. he had no idea, but his very life and presence gave our family much needed peace and joy.

(Si Buboy pa lang yun ha. What more si Jesus nung pinanganak siya? But of course, that’s a thought that merits a different post. :))

Perhaps I share this for the child who was conceived in less than ideal situations, and who when he comes of age may be wondering what his purpose is for being born when he was “an accident” in the first place. My dear child, your very life is precious, and you have a unique purpose as to why you were brought here. Do not let your past strangle you. Accept it, however hard it is to do so. Forgive your parents; they did not know better. Love yourself, take care of your mind and body, feed it only things and ideas that are good for it. Above all, trust in the transforming power of God, who doesn’t care what your past is or what sins you may have committed. He loves you nonetheless! And He is dedicated to working with you for your ultimate good and for His Kingdom.

He has a plan for you. I pray that you would believe that with all of your heart.

——

Incidentally, it was our family situation that brought me to God. My Lolo and Lola would bring us to Sunday mass without fail, and I don’t know when I first came across Psalm 68:5 which says that the Lord is “A father to the fatherless”, but I took much consolation from that verse. I may not have had an earthly father, but I have a Heavenly One, and He is the absolute, incomparable, unmatchable Best. Knowing this caused me to trust that no matter what happens in my life, the Big Man Up There will always have my back.

Dear Mama, He will always have your back, too. And He will always love and look after the children He gave you. Trust in this, trust in His equipping. Trust that everything will work out for your good and for His glory in the end. He can turn every situation around by His infinite love, grace and mercy.

___

This post has been a long time coming.

In 2021, when Filipino celebrities Paolo Contis and LJ Reyes separated, I felt deeply for LJ. We are not that close, but in the very few opportunities I’ve had to get to know her, I found her to be such a warm, kind-hearted, humble and gentle person. It broke my heart to see her broken, pained me to see how hard she tried to make things work. It was then when I first felt the need to share my story with the hope that it could help women in similar situations.

Recently, in the Facebook group Glam-O-Mamas, an anonymous post was sent in raising some questions with regards to her fatherless son. Her last question was, “what are the consequences of not having a dad growing up?”.

Such a difficult question to answer. Nobody really knows how the future will unfold, right? With or without a dad, so many things could go right, but so many things could go wrong, too. But to grow up without love in your life, now that, for sure, would hold the most terrible consequences of all.

All I know is, my mom loved me.. her love and constant presence in my life were more than enough to offset whatever “loss” having no father entailed. Sure, we weren’t well-off, we didn’t have a dad, but knowing that my mom loved me is one of the most precious things I hold even until now that she no longer walks this earth. She loved me, greatly, and I will always carry her love with me wherever I go and whatever happens to me.

To the single mom, maybe you need to hear this, so I will say it:

“You are enough, you are more than enough, and you will always be enough.”

Much love to all the single mothers, from this child, now an adult, raised by a strong and loving single mom.

You got this. God’s got you.