" Who ran to help me when I fell... I... fell
And would some pretty stories tell ...stories... tell
And kiss the place to make it well ...it...well
My mother, m..y m.. o ..t .. h ..e ..r !
This grade-school song reverberated in my mind as soon as I woke up this morning. I guess it got anchored in my subconscious during my sleep since last night I tried to write something including a poem about my mother. She had a tremendous influence in my life so that what I am now I owe immensely to her. Though she has been with our Creator for more than four decades, her memory has remained fresh in my mind and heart through all these years. I believe it would remain so till the day I die!
My mother, Carmen Miranda Calara, was a very religious woman. Her faith in God and special devotion to our Blessed Mother was common knowledge among her family, relations and friends. It was to this unshakable faith that she managed to survive the vicissitudes of life inherent to a woman with eight mouths to feed, to clothe and to educate. This dependence on God was distinctly manifested in her warm personality with a soft-spoken nature unmarred by harsh words of contempt or ridicule. I remember her languid brown eyes always so expressive of love which burned within her. Never, I mean never, have I witnessed those eyes sporting a menacing look of anger or disgust with her children or with anyone else for that matter. Neither can I recall any instance when she ever raised her voice in "boiling" anger or say invectives colloquially considered among the so-called "bakya crowd." The term, "bakya crowd" was a coined Filipino phrase which referred to the termagant, uncouth, despicably ill-mannered persons often times among the riotous saleswomen in the wet market.
My mother had an intense love for our Lady of Lourdes. Though she never had a chance to visit the shrine in France, she knew the events that took place in sequential clarity. On many occasions, she told us the whole story without missing a cue. Her description of the hallowed grotto where Our Virgin Mary appeared, Saint Bernadette and her conversation with the Lady, the police and their tactics plus the frightening "inquisition" of the sickly, asthmatic visionary was so vivid that our eyeballs seemed to have popped out in wonder. From all indications, our enthusiasm towards listening to the story again and again never waned.
During my growing -up years, it was customary for Catholic mothers to pass on their devotion to our Lady of Lourdes by letting their daughters be "consecrated" to Her. The investiture of the blue sash on a white dress became the "habit" or uniform of the devotees for Sunday mass. I remember how happy and proud I was when I was admitted to the Legion. In my memory, I can still see my mother's beaming face radiant with smiles as she looked at her five girls- Ding, Lourding, Glory, Beth and I - in our Sunday best. It was our tradition to worship together as a family on the Lord's Day. The Sta. Ana Church in Manila, Philippines was only around five or six blocks walking distance away from our home. The row of ladies in white with the blue sashes gently swaying to our gait often made many necks turn. Neighbors and friends we met on the way always had affirming words of admiration for us. I believe that while her daughters were tickled pink with the compliments, my mother enjoyed the pleasantries the most.
Growing up in such an environment naturally led me to a keen desire to visit the world-renowned sanctuary of our Lady of Lourdes in France. I guess, my affinity to this pilgrimage site is deeply rooted to my childhood vicarious attachment to the place. It was a dream held secret in the innermost recesses of my heart! It was an "impossible dream" that sometimes flitted through my mind during my high school years and through college. Marriage and raising up four children pushed the "impossible dream" farther out to orbit in outer space. I consoled myself with the thought that it was better to have dreamed and lost than not to have dreamed at all - an analogy to the familiar cliche on love. Nevertheless, I sometimes whispered it as an addendum to my prayers but always added, "As you will it, Lord." Then I rested on His promise to trust Him! Do you know what happened? As the Lord willed it, I have had sixteen visits to the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in France to date. And I am booked for another pilgrimage there again this coming June 26,2010 with two grandchildren, Michael and Christian and my son, Bobby and Carla. My grandchildren Diana, Joshua, Christina and Tiffany Anne have been with me to Lourdes, Paris and Lisieux in my previous visits to fulfill my promise that the France sojourn would be their gift for their Grade VIII graduation and/or as an achievement award. Only my last and youngest grandchild, Melanie Mary who recently turned seven will need to wait for at least three more years before she visits France. It is a remarkable fact that each of my Lourdes encounter in the series of visits was emblazoned with an expectancy and enthusiasm innately akin to my very first visit !!!
My mother nurtured in us the love of our Catholic faith. Observance of religious practices within the Catholic tradition seeped through every member of our family. My self-appointed task of keeping the family altar spic and span with an occasional burst of fresh flowers was a source of pride and accomplishment for me. I was happy every evening, I repeat, every evening when the whole family gathered before the altar for prayers and the Rosary. To think that we prayed the beads in Spanish and on our knees! In fact, I learned the "Our Father" and the "Hail Mary" in Spanish before the English version. Truly, my mother's constant reminder to stay close to God and the Blessed Mother is her legacy that I will pass on to my children and my children's children now and to future generations!
Generosity was my mother's second name. Friends and relations teased her about this because she personified a person "generous to a fault." She was the proverbial person who will take off his shirt to give, to help someone in need. She always prepared food in excess of our family's consumption because the neighbors had to be given a share. Since not everyone in the neighborhood can be supplied daily, she kept a record of at least two beneficiaries a day. Once the list is finished, then another cycle began. She will let go of her savings for the coming schoolyear tuition fees of her children if anyone who was in dire need approached her for help. She claimed that her heart "bled" for a friend's helplessness and her conscience would not give her rest. When reminded of her coming need herself, she would always say," God will provide." Apparently, God had always kept His promise of provision to her through all the years!
For a considerable length of time, she sponsored the daily breakfast bread for a few very poor families through the corner Chinese store. The owner kept a record of the cost of the bread distributed daily and collected from her the full amount at the end of the month. When cautioned of the possibility of dishonest cost listings of the storeowner, she replied, "God knows everything. God does not sleep." With the kindness she extended to one and all, one would think that she reaped the usual "Thank you." Not that she wanted an audible note of gratitude for any help she had given. But I remember one instance when a beneficiary even accused my mother of discrimination, in no uncertain terms, because she learned that another one got a bigger share of the handouts. Can you beat that? But the incident did not alter her generosity a bit!
During the early childhood years, my ears got attuned to the refrain,
"Do unto others as you would like others to do unto you." I did not know then that it was the Golden Rule. During playtime, my mother often mentioned it in several instances that presented a need- the sharing of toys,etc. She really took time to rub it into our psyche and as I grew older I began to understand and appreciate the significance of the Golden Rule. Truly, the home is the first learning institution and the first teacher is one's mother!
My mother used to tell us to respect our individual differences. In so many ways, she championed and made us more aware of individual idiosyncracies and the care and respect each of us should address it. She would open wide her hands and say, "Look at the fingers. They are not of the same size. The thumb does not look like the rest of the fingers. The little "Pinky" is unlike the ring finger although they stay close to each other." Then she would look at us, directly at each pair of wonder-stricken eyes awaiting her further pronouncements and say, "You are like these fingers, different in some respects from each other but all connected and belonging to one hand - one family. Every finger is important to the hand just as each and everyone of you is special to the family," she said. The successive nodding of heads showed the unified assent to her explanation. Then she would say with a tone of finality," That is why you should love one another, hold each one close to your heart because you are family, you all came from the same womb!" Then a big hug for each of us ended the short session. My mother's smiles affirmed the impact of her message to our young minds. Like the electric drill that penetrates through thick cement walls, my mother's words sipped through our young minds and hearts. No wonder, then, we, siblings, grew up being so close to each other since the concept of having come from the same womb lie impregnable as a rock in our psyche. In fact, I relayed the same message to our children as they were growing up and even now sometimes tease them about their spouses as being, "ibang tao" (a Tagalog term meaning, a different person), not a sibling who came from the same womb. I praise and thank the Lord for Bobby, Marissa, Noel and Cielo, who are so close to each other up to now as they have always been since their childhood. Praise the Lord!!! In my own way, I try to remind them of the different kinds of love that we are endowed with - love of parents, love of spouses, love of children, love of siblings, love of neighbor and above all, love of GOD ....and His WORD !
I would go away from the circle with some questions in my little head. Why? Because I saw the callouses on my mother's hands occasioned by years of household chores, cooking, washing clothes (washers/dryers were not yet invented or maybe not within our means to buy), cleaning, etc. She was meticulously clean and orderly in everything, constantly reminding us to "Have a place for everything and everything in its place." But how is it that those same hands feel so soft and smooth every time she caressed my brow to ease a headache or soothe a pain somewhere in my young body? Why were those hands so soft and smooth as they rubbed Vicks Vaporub on my chest and back during my bouts with colds or cough?
How come I did not feel those callouses at all?
My parents championed the cause of education as a means of improving one's life. "We do not have any money for your inheritance, only your educaton," was an oft-repeated refrain from my father and mother. Hence the outpouring of their love was tempered by a discipline the likes of the military. My father was, at the time of my birth, a retired staff sergeant in the U.S Army contingent known as the Philippine Scouts. To this praiseworthy balance of love and discipline of my parents I attribute the character and personality each of us, children, developed and treasured.
In a nutshell, my mother was a woman nobly planned - to warn, to comfort and to love and my father was a tower of strength, discipline and command.
Good-Bye for now... till I finish my poem, A Tribute to My Mother.
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