‘Lolita’

'IT WAS not as if her motherhood ended the day we started our own families. I knew that she got a sense of my own marital challenges but would be too polite to meddle in my own affairs. ' 
  
She was about eight at the height of the Japanese occupation in the Philippines. Carrying her baby sister at her back while she washed clothes at the river nearby, my mother never knew the word comfort from the time she was born. She would become an expert dodger as planes hovered to drop bombs around the area. When asked why she kept at her chore even as there was obvious danger, “Our clothes have to be washed! That was my assignment from my mother”, was her matter-of-fact reply. Her dedication to duty and immense discipline shaped how she handled obstacles in later life. She faced all her problems life as if they were laundry that needed finishing.

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At the age of ten, she learned how to row the boat with her father as they sold harvested fruits in another part of town. “We had to sell whatever we could so the family can eat.” The eldest of eight children, she was looked out after her siblings as soon as she learned how to walk.
  
She dreamed of becoming a lawyer. She became a public-school teacher instead. When asked why she chose to be a teacher, she said “It is a short course. I could help send my siblings to school as soon as I get a job.” She was nineteen when she graduated from college. She started teaching after graduation and she never stopped until her retirement at the age of sixty-five. 
 
She seemed to be always on the look-out for others. If there was one person she never looked out for, it was herself. If it wasn’t her siblings, it was her parents that needed attention. When my grandmother fell ill, she quickly dropped everything she was doing to care for her in the hospital. Considering that three out of the eight children were nurses, it didn’t seem strange for everyone that the school teacher was the one who cared for her. Ate Lolly will take care of everything. “What can we do?” she asked, “they are all abroad.” It was not long when all of them had to come home. My grandmother died at the hospital. 
 
Her duty did not end there. After my grandmother died, my grandfather’s health deteriorated to a point that he had to be fed, bathed and cared for in bed. My mother never complained. She would make sure lolo smelled good all the time, his hair kept in place with his favorite pomade. She often recounted that lolo always wanted to be neat and well dressed. She made sure that lolo would remain that way until the day he died. His dignity kept to the last breath he took because my mother made sure that he will always look and smell good. 
 

Born to a Filipino-Chinese family, my mother possessed enviable good looks that drew fervent admirers from all social classes. I believe that she was drawn to my father because they were complete opposites. Somehow this posed a challenge that intrigued her endlessly. My mother was not one to turn her back on any challenge, much more if it concerned her future husband. Their union bore three fruits, a son, my eldest brother, me and my younger sister. Even when she was raising us, she was constantly plagued with a thousand and one concerns that required constant courage to overcome. 
 
My mother raised us with clear rules that exacted obedience. It was difficult to understand her strict discipline when we were young. I knew I resented the fact that I was constantly told what to do at every twist and turn of my young life. I was sure it was not easy for my other siblings as well. I was the most outspoken of the three and my mother always said that I had the will equal if not surpassing hers. It was only after I had my own family that I understood what my mother was made of. She was ‘materiales fuertes’, first class materials of courage and faith. 
 
“I almost died” was how she described her feelings during the “pamanhikan”. I was the first child to get married and she was not very happy that I decided to settle down so early in my life. I believe a part of her died that day only to be resurrected when she saw her first grandchild born. Somehow, her “apos” made her happy in ways we can never comprehend. She would keep watch over them as they sleep as if they would disappear if she blinked. Many years later, as my other siblings started their own families, she would be more relaxed in letting them go. “The first was always the hardest” she said. 
 
It was not as if her motherhood ended the day we started our own families. I knew that she got a sense of my own marital challenges but would be too polite to meddle in my own affairs. She would be there, constantly reassuring me of her presence anytime and every time I needed her. It would be the same with my other siblings. In fact, my brother’s children all reside with her as my brother is abroad earning a living for his growing family. It would be my mother who tutored them in their lessons. She accompanied them to ballet classes and a host of other activities that parents normally attend to. Her service for us has not ended. I don’t think it ever will. 
 
My mother is the reason why I believe Jesus will never say no to Mary. My mother is the reason why I believe God loves me endlessly. If a sinner like me deserves the love my mother has given me, how much more should I bask in the love of God? If a sinner like me acknowledges the sainthood that my mother models in our lives, surely Jesus would acknowledge the love that Mary gave him all His life? If my earthly mother shows me the face of Christ, how much bliss is there to be in His presence? 
 
Mary is God’s gift to us. Motherhood is our gift to God. Being a mother is a human example of true love, of true sacrifice. Being a mother is the expression of our souls in other human beings, our children. Motherhood is living the life of a saint. Sheer love. Sheer sacrifice. Sheer joy.
 
“Thank you Mom for being my mother. Thank you for nurturing me, teaching me and guiding me every step of the way. Thank you for showing me the human face of Christ. Thank you for your faith in me even when I don’t believe in myself. Thank you for loving me even when I cannot love myself.”
 
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Gigi Resurreccion (www..mentorgroup.org or gigi@mentorgroup.org) is a consultant of MTR The Mentor Group, a training and consulting firm that helps organizations achieve their full potential. Mentor Group will spearhead a Public Seminar on Supervisory Development ProgramûSept.22 & 23 at the RCBC Plaza, Makati City. For info email: donna@mentorgroup.org / jec@mentorgroup.org or call (632) 332-1109 / 373-7764)