“At the rate things are going right now, there’s a bleak chance of mother coming home. If what they said is true about the home being where the heart is, then, her heart’s definitely not with us. But I refuse to believe that. My mother’s love isn’t lost. There are just circumstances beyond our control which keep us from doing what we want to do. That’s the case with mom. I know she longs to be with her family, too.
Unlike the blond doll that lost its hair’s luster, with appendages forever missing; and the old balding teddy bear now saggy, my broken heart will mend, my crushed spirit will continue to rise and keep on keeping on. Things may not turn out as I hoped for but it certainly will turn out as planned for, by the One-Up-There. In His time. For now, I just do what I feel is right. That is, to bridge gaps. Whatever we do or say, if it comes from the heart, it’ll surely touch a heart. Mother will come home, to the loving arms of dad, my brothers, me and those eight pairs of young and small arms that hug the tightest and kiss the loudest — her grandkids, with their moms.” — an excerpt from “Coming Home: A Love Under Extreme Test“, February 2007 issue of The Filipino Now
Exactly two years since the article, Coming Home…, came out as a cover story for The Filipino Now International Magazine, major life-changing events had taken place, distances bridged — physically and emotionally. Dreams are taking shape, plans slowly being carried out. The One-Up-There’s allotted time for homecoming is finally coming albeit without me back home. Yup, 14 years after her last visit home, my mother finally said, “I think I want to go home.” My heart was wildly beating, I was jumping for joy but I kept my normal, low voice and refrained from squealing in delight lest I scare Mom off with my over-excitement. I merely said on the phone, “I’ll buy your air ticket,” before she changes her mind. A 3-week vacation’s not bad. At least she’ll have the time to bond with her loving Goyoy (tatay ko;), sons (eldest manong ko might come home from Korea), and grandkids. My time to see her will be in July. We’ve talked about her visit to Vancouver to be with me in the summer. See, everything’s falling into place… where, in the past, it had all been so bleak.
Had it not been for Mr. Tony B., I wouldn’t have managed to make the article, that made it to the cover, a hopeful one. As every paper’s goal is to entertain and inspire, it’ll do no good to tell a depressing situation when there’s nary a trace of hope, nor a promise of good and bright things to come, injected into the writing. Mr. B made it clear. I wanted to weep in frustration. The impossibility of the task at hand was overwhelming, coupled with the dark state of suffering-mind this writer was wallowing in. Drafts after drafts, my editor’s rejection made me itch to wring his neck, but my voice on paper did change — from hopeless to hopeful — along with my perspectives.
At the time of Coming Home’s writing two years back, I had the most awful feeling of utter loneliness and desperation when my mother was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of a hospital in Los Angeles. Her heart almost gave up. When she pulled through, she was ready to give up everyone if her family won’t stop bugging her to go back home to the Philippines, where we think she can be well taken cared for. Her words cut through to the bone, my heart bled for her. I, too, almost gave up on her, with her kind of attitude. I’ve been grieving for her for many years, I said that no news about her could still shock and shake me. I thought I had come to terms with her. I was gravely mistaken.
We can never come to terms with the people we love, simply because we love them. Anything that has got to do with mom profoundly affects me. I know my dad feels that way towards her, too. I had to call him up often to reassure him that mom’s doing good and everything’s well taken cared of. The same reassurance I give to mom about dad. His stroke (a month after mom’s previous hospitalization) really got her worried, affecting her recuperation. Needless to say, my parents are still very much into each other despite the 28-plus years of separation. That’s plain-old true love.
My being in Canada now and my mother on that Los Angeles hospital bed then, made me fully realize her point. She made the right choice in staying put where she’s at. And I thank the American system for taking care of its citizens, for giving my mom the best quality medical care, for prolonging her life and making it a little more comfortable for her. What just breaks my heart is that I can’t hug her and she can’t hug me… but the time will come. Soon.
Whatever doubts I previously had about my mother’s love had been fully replaced by faith. Our family may not talk openly with each other, nor speak as often as possible, but the love in us is never lost (though it may seem that way to outsiders). Only a mother can comprehend the magnitude of emotions that run through my head when I dropped all contact. No words necessary, Mom understood. We tend to shrink and retreat in our own little corners when we’re hurting badly and we feel misunderstood. It doesn’t mean we stopped loving.
I am very much my mother’s daughter. Self-analysis led me to know and understand her. Previous and current jobs and work-sites are great teachers and eye-openers pointing out the roads my migrant worker mother had taken and endured. Health-wise, she made the best decision — choosing America over The Philippines. Yes, America versus Philippines. Not America versus family, as my short-sightedness misinterpreted in the past. Considering the lousy HealthCare system in the Philippines, Mom (and anyone in her shoe) would fare way, way better away from home…
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on Monday, February 9th, 2009 at 7:59 am Filed under Family, Journey, Relationships and tagged Family Relationship, migrants, OFWs.
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