I feel blue now, sentimental I guess, because today would have been my mother’s 95th birthday. Oddly, 95 is 59 read backward, which was how old (young) she was when she passed on. Yes, she was 59, I was 22.
I was close to my mother, perhaps because I am the youngest in the family. But I didn’t feel spoiled though maybe I was. I don’t think I was a brat though, I don’t think I ever made her cry because of my attitude or behavior because I tried to be a good daughter all the time. One incident that I continue to remember is carrying a broom we had purchased in Farmer’s Market as we walked to the car. I was in college then in Ateneo and she asked me if I weren’t ashamed to be carrying that broom because what if my classmates saw me? I assured her it was okay, and if anything, I think I grew even more proud carrying that broom for her.
When I was paralyzed at 26, I was glad she was no longer around because I knew she’d feel the pain far more deeply than I did, than I do. Because she was my mother. And mothers feel that way about their children. They feel for and with them. That’s why I miss my mother. Because being one now, I can only imagine how much she may have gone through mothering 7 of us. She was not expressive but I knew she loved me. I just knew and felt that love.
When she passed on, I was sad that she left me behind. I was sad to be without her beside us. But I didn’t feel remorse, I never wondered whether she knew I loved her because I would like to think and believe she knew that. Just as I know that. Up till now.
Happy birthday, Mama. A flower for you
And for those who still have moms/parents around, here’s a reminder: