‘We all have different experiences with our mothers with their ups and downs and hugs and fights and laughter and tears. They’re half the reason we’re alive!’
FOR some time now (actually since the mother of my good friend Gang Badoy passed away), I have wanted to write something about mothers. But I’ve never been able to do it, until now, thanks to a recent new inspiration that has “provoked” me to dwell on the topic some more on this first Friday of the first month of the new year.
Over the weekend, a very dear friend of mine whom I will keep unnamed went through a very unique experience. His mother, who works overseas, returned home to the Philippines in time for the holidays. A common experience among many families worldwide but more so among Filipino families who have one or both parents working abroad; true. But my friend’s situation was unique: his mom was coming home after almost 30 years of separation. (And he had lost his father in the interim.)
Almost 30 years. That’s half my lifetime. It’s as long as my January-born mother has been dead.
Earlier this year, we (my friend and I) had a chance to talk about mothers and he explained his situation. A month ago, I asked him how he felt about the impending “reunion” and he was honest enough to say he had strong mixed feelings of hurt and anger and excitement and relief and joy. And even nonchalance. And when she finally arrived, he sent me a photo of the two of them together captioned “After 29 years.” Their facial expressions mirrored the emotions I am sure were swirling in their hearts and the thoughts bombarding their minds.
There’s always a time to heal, I messaged back. And even if the healing isn’t complete, it’s better to have scars than open wounds. I added: “Take it from me – I’d rather have a living mom (even with strained ties which could be mended somewhat if not completely) than one who is dead and totally beyond reach.”
I wish the best for him and his family.
When Gang announced on social media that her mother passed away, I could only send a brief message of condolence through an FB post addressed to her and to her half-brother, Jacob Tianco Sacro, my UP High batch-mate, as I was traveling and couldn’t come to the short wake. She sent me a touching “thank you” note expressing appreciation for my expression of sympathy.
My response was simple: “When close friends lose their mothers it’s like I am losing mine all over again. Love to you and Jake and your siblings.”
The third in this trilogy of mother stories involves a young man from Manila who grew up with two mothers — a real one who “sold” him when he was but a few months old, and the adoptive one who took him in and raised him as her own, inclusive of the disciplinary acts that makes a young boy from the streets of Manila run away from home, and lose his way in the process.
For years, these two mothers were like oil and water. When real mom needed the boy, she would “borrow” him, and during those times she would “forget” to return him the adoptive mom would raise hell. And it has been that way for over 20 years.
Until this year, that is. For reasons still unknown to me, at least the two mothers are now like kissing cousins, breaking bread together, the old painful words buried, hopefully forever. So now my friend is reveling in the experience of openly having two mothers who are happy to share, and, my wish, will be there to jointly guide their son, especially in the exciting next few years of his life
We all have different experiences with our mothers with their ups and downs, hugs and fights, and laughter and tears. They’re half the reason we’re alive!
So here’s a salute to them, the living as well as those who have gone ahead, for the effort they put in to bring us into this world. For which the best thing we can do in return is to make them proud they did just that!
