WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

My mother is in the hospital again for the fourth time in recent months. Five days after the amputation, we gladly went home, filled with plans for the next few months. I thought that Nanay's most tragic episode was finally over. On the second morning after we got home, we tried to wake her up for breakfast but she was dead to the world. After several calls to the doctor, we found out that the nurse had made a mistake in the prescription given to us upon discharge from the hospital. Instead of the prescribed 14 units of insulin, the nurse wrote 34 units which we religiously followed.

Now, Nanay is in a coma, has been for the past eight days. Day by day, I sit by her bedside hoping against hope that she would wake up. I hold her hand as I battle with endless questions, endless regrets. The other day I let Gian come home for a couple of days and after staring at his lola for a long while he asked me, "Lola is a good person, why is this happening to her?" Sadly, I could not answer his question.

MY MOTHER, MYSELF

It is true what they say, that scenes in our lives are like passing towns as we speed down a highway.

I am about four years old and in a bus with my mother. We are on our way to Pasig for an errand. I fall asleep on her lap as we bounce through the dusty road. The bus stops and we get ready to disembark. My mother gets down first and before she could turn around to carry me down, the bus moves away. She runs after the bus shouting at the driver to stop. As soon as I get down and grab her hand, I feel secure.

That was some thirty-five years ago.

Almost all my life I felt that my mission was to take care of my mother, to make sure that she would not have a difficult time. Most times she did not even notice my help and it became an endless cycle of conflict and guilt. I would often wonder why I even bothered to watch her back and to gain her favor. We just could not get along, and yet I could not help myself from worrying about her.

Four nights ago Nanay had to undergo surgery, to amputate her left leg below the knee. She now suffers from Diabetes and Alzheimer’s Disease. I stayed with her in the recovery room right after the operation because the nurses could not hold her down. She was trashing about, her eyes glassy as she stared at me, crying in pain as I held her hand. I could not help but be overwhelmed with sadness over a life that has not been so rosy. She was orphaned at four and was raised by a grandmother along with her brother and sister. She found herself in an unhappy, at times violent marriage that lasted for some thirty years. She had to forego retirement as she cared for two young grandsons left to her by an erring daughter. And now in her twilight years, a woman who always took pains to look beautiful and enjoy life loses a limb as she also loses her memory.

Today I sit by her hospital bedside, as I watch my daughter Angela meticulously make her lola’s face up with an eyebrow pencil and lipstick. She is groggy but smiling at herself in the compact mirror as she holds a Patrick Starfish toy in her other hand.

Hopefully, later in the day she will remember who we are. I am glad I am here to wait. In the meantime, I have not yet gotten a surgery to remove my lump. As soon as this is all over, that is what I need to take care of next.

Exodus 20:12:
Honor your father and mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.