My mother, the survivor

I used to wonder why my mother seemed to be angry most, if not all the time. She would shout and sigh, and sometimes even cry. Now that I am a mother myself, to an infant and a toddler, I realize why. It’s a cursed fate. With everything that has to be done, the truth is, motherhood isn’t all fun. It’s challenging, it’s painful, nerve-racking and exhausting. I remember asking my husband and my mommy friends, is being masungit and constantly angry part of mommy territory? I want to ask my mom how she did it. How she DOES it. Because I realize just now that a mother is a mother forever. Even when there are grandkids. Especially when there are grandkids. The telling you what to do and what not to do will never stop. The worry and concern, the love, no matter what has been said or done, will never stop. How do you survive, Ma? Someday I hope you’ll share your secret with me. I have no delusions of becoming even half as beautiful as you are when I am your age, but hopefully at least half as strong and resilient. And even a quarter as able to endure hardship without others knowing. Love you.


´╗┐Martyr Mom

I was once asked to write a feature about a person, and when I handed in an essay about my mom, my freshman college english teacher told me that it wasn’t wrong when a daughter dotes on a mother the way I do, but that there was a fine line between that and turning my mother into a saint. What I had written, according to him, was a hagiography, and he didn’t mean it as a compliment.

Fast forward to 17 years later, I wonder how I would write about my mom? I also learned about cliches from that particular teacher, and how to avoid them, but usually, when people talk about their mothers, they usually express themselves in cliches and superlatives. Best mom in the world… If only I could be half the mother you are… I love you so much… Thank you for everything…

It’s not that we don’t actually mean what we say when we say these things, but they’ve been said so many times by so many people, that the words no longer reveal how we really feel about someone.

My relationship with my mom now is also very different from how it was 17 years ago. My perception of her has changed over the years. I no longer see her as a saint and I no longer dote on her the way I did. Hahaha.

Seriously though, I admire my mother, even if I am not very vocal about it. She knows how to take care of herself. She is beautiful by nature, and she has managed to look the same for decades. People do not exaggerate when they say she hasn’t aged a bit. I half-jokingly tell them that it’s because I never gave her any problems, growing up. I didn’t know exactly how to feel back then when people said that she was so beautiful, more beautiful than me, but I have grown up feeling very proud about it. I am proud of the way she has maintained her beauty through the years. And when people say that my daughter looks like her, I am grateful.

My mom and I used to be very close. She would always say that we were best friends. And many of my friends have compared us to the “Gilmore Girls.” I don’t know exactly at what point things started to change. Maybe it was when I first had a boyfriend. And everything seemed to change from then on. I felt that my mom and I were from two completely different worlds, and couldn’t understand each other. I knew she loved me, and I knew I loved her, but there was a lot of resentment both ways. We dealt with our issues through going out. When we went shopping it seemed that everything was ok again. Retail therapy made everything seem normal and happy. That probably explains our compulsion for shopping. It was a band-aid solution to whatever problems we were having.

In spite of our differences, my mom would drop everything for me. At least, that’s how one family friend put it. She does everything for me, even when she doesn’t have to. And later on finds a way to make sure that I don’t forget it. She went to the US twice in a span of a month, to help me take care of my daughter, and then to accompany us back to the Philippines. She seems ready to leave everything behind instantly – her job, my dad – just so she could be of assistance to me. I appreciate it, of course. Even if I am unable to show or say it.

Now, she isn’t just mother to me, but to my toddler as well. Again, she does everything for me, now that I am pregnant with a second baby. My daughter and I still live with my parents because my husband works and lives abroad, and sometimes it feels that my toddler is my little sister, and my mom is OUR mother. I am grateful that she takes care of both me and my daughter now, on top of her other responsibilities. I can see how taken she is with her first grandchild. When there are some inconsistencies between her way and mine in raising my daughter, I usually give in to avoid conflict. I trust her years of experience in mothering, and hope that our combination will produce a positive result in the child.

We may disagree and argue, become hurtful in our words and actions towards each other sometimes, but my mom is the kind of mother who will always rise to whatever challenge life, or I, haha, might throw at her. She may be angry at times, or bitter, but will always do more than what is expected of her. She is excellent in taking care of and teaching a toddler, at the risk of overprotecting and spoiling her. She continues to take care of me and provide for my needs, to remind me of what should or shouldn’t be done, criticize and chastise, but more than what she says, or doesn’t, what speaks louder is the way she puts her family above all else, making her husband, her daughter, and now her granddaughter, her top priorities.

I have always wanted to step out of my parents’ shadow, but I may be more like my mom than I realize. I have always seen her as “mother”, that I forget she is a woman, too. Because for as long as I can remember, this woman has always been around to care for others around her that while she has been very good at taking care of herself physically, she might have forgotten to nurture other facets of her, aside from that of being “mother.” I can only hope that she has no regrets over the choices she has made. I know there was a time she wanted to be a doctor. Then kids happened, and she said, that her life was all about the children. In fact, the reason she became a teacher was that she was always waiting around in school for my older brother. I don’t know if she expects ┬áme to take care of my kids the way she took care of us. She told me before that she gave up everything for us when we were little. She said she felt like she was turning dumb and deteriorating mentally because she was always at home. She said it like she had no choice. Like that’s also supposed to be my choice.

I cannot blame her for trying to guide me based on her beliefs and experiences. Maybe that’s what mothers do. Pardon the cliche, but mothers do want the best for their children. And I love my mom for doing her best. She raised her daughter, while carrying with her the pain of losing a son. She showered her with attention and affection good for two, or even more. She did all she could to protect her from harm. She gave her everything she needed, and so much more. You can just imagine what she went through when the daughter started to grow up.

It must be heartbreaking, when you devote yourself to someone who will eventually leave to live a life of her own. I thank my mom, whose heart must have been broken lots of times, for continuing to subject herself to heartbreak. I don’t mean to encourage masochism, but somehow I hope she finds happiness despite being heartbroken, or at least that the happiness in caring for others is greater than the regrets.