No new memories

The weekend went well, runt. I accomplished a lot of things. Your dad and I spent the weekend in Tagaytay to sleep, binge and window shop. It was cold (well, not NYC cold but cold by Manila standards) and so I started having asthma attacks again. We are using this rundown car now. It is nothing fancy like the Altis that you liked or the pickup which you used in school. But after Ondoy, it was all we could afford! And anyhow, it got us to Tagaytay without falling apart! (ha ha). If you were here, you will probably never ride in this car!

But today, I woke up feeling weepy. I dunno why. There are days like this when sadness just creeps in and so I allow myself to weep. This is the one thing that I’ve learned in this journey. You have to cry when you feel like it.

Maybe because I remembered that I have to bring the flowers that I bought yesterday to Loyola this morning. We were supposed to bring them yesterday but your dad felt tired already. And then I thought, how sad that the beautiful flowers are for the dead and not for the living. And then I thought, how sad that there are no new memories with you. I guess that’s one of the things that sucks about losing you-- there will never be new memories again. Your dad and I will just have to make do with the six years that we had.

Charisse

Runt, your dad sent me a message this morning that Charisse had passed away. And I thought, no more pain for her. She was 33 years old.

Charisse is Australian and was one of the few registered FA adults. When your dad and I first learned that there were FA adults, we felt hopeful that maybe you could grow up just a little bit more to be one of them. Just a couple more years was all we asked.

Your dad is part of an FA e-group and several times in the past, your dad had exchanged messages with Charisse. When your dad had a query about how to manage your FA, he would write the e-group and Charisse would always respond and share.

It is sad to hear of her passing, especially since she had such an upbeat attitude about her many medical issues, cancer among them, which is common to FA patients. And she had a husband and a child to live for. She just celebrated her 10th year wedding anniversary last year.

Charisse fought FA through faith, sheer determination, medication such as oxymethalone and IVIG (which we both tried) and the love of family. Your dad said that she has not had a transplant because her doctors then advised against it.

Tonight, I think about the family and friends she left behind, especially with Christmas coming. Say hello to Charisse, runt, will you and take her on a tour. Kiss her and thank her for being very helpful.

Today. . .

December 2006


. . .I gave away two boxes of your books and toys. I did not want to part with them for the longest time. Maybe it is selfish. But they were all I had. You played with every single one of these toys so they are not exactly in tip top shape. Your books had tattered pages or doodles in them because you read them often. (Sometimes you read them while sitting on the loo!). Those that I gave away two years ago weren’t special. They were not on the most read or most played list.

It was time to let go of these and let others find joy in them. I hope the kids who will receive your stuff will be delighted.

But as I was putting these books and toys on the donation box, I noticed a plastic bag of stuffed toys. And like a crazed woman, I took three items away and left them in the car. They weren’t the best toys of the lot. They were simply the easiest to get. One was a sumo wrestler which you used to play the “ramming game” with, whatever that was. One was a blue penguin which you used to sleep with. And the last was a dog which you filched from your Tita Mayie. You once said that we had to turn on the aircon “dahil maiinitan ang mga kapatid ko”, referring to your stuffed toys. And so I got three for me, runt. And I will turn on the aircon for them so that they are comfortable, like you wanted.

Christmas sucks

Christmas 2006


Your Tita Mayang told me that her friend lost a son to dengue this year. So for Christmas, she put up a black tree.

Do you remember that I asked Ate to put up our Christmas tree in mid October so that it would be ready by the time you went home? I was so positive that you would beat your infection and be home by the end of October. But you never went home to see our beautiful tree.

As soon as she put it up, Ate had to pack our tree with all its lights and ornaments. Your dad wanted to throw everything away. But I decided to give it to your Tita Lala. Did you scare her one time? She told me that she was working late, looked at the tree and remembered you. She got spooked and turned off the computer.

Birthdays and Christmases are the hardest, I think. It is hard to be joyful without you. There is no runt to make Christmas cards with lots of nice doodles for us, to play Christmas songs on the piano, to bang the tambourine during mass, to go to the mall and watch movies with, to pester us, to kiss and hug. There is no runt that makes crazy la-la-la melodies and hums them! Christmas sucks all the more here because it lasts until January and there are horrendous traffic jams.

We spent our first Christmas without you with your Lolo Ante and Lola Rita, away from home, thinking it will dull away the pain. But we realized that there was no escaping the pain and sadness. It simply followed us wherever we went. There is no Christmas for orphan parents, perhaps.

Orphan moms

I met two orphan moms this year, runt. Call it serendipity because our paths just crossed.

The first one is L, who lost her dear daughter to cancer. I am excited because finally I will have lunch with her tomorrow. We were supposed to have lunch two months ago but there was Typhoon Ondoy. So she texts me and asks, "Do you know if there is a storm forecast tomorrow?" And I say, HA HA HA, it will be clear and sunny and lunch with definitely push through.

The second one is A, who lost her dear son also to cancer. She is my teacher. She is a ball of energy, is hearing impaired, is funny. Looking at her, you wouldn't have known what she went through. I sent her a note of thanks because I realized that after last night, I can really laugh hard again. There is hope for an orphan mom like me.

I do not want to share my grief with strangers except through this blog. Because this blog does not pass judgment. (Except when some wacko flagged this blog last year and deprived me of my grief time.) So I had to beg off from invitations to join a support group. It makes me sadder to listen to other people's grief. People are different and I do whatever helps me. But this year, for some reason, God sent two orphan moms my way. Perhaps to shake me up so that I can get my act together. Perhaps to assure me that there really is a purpose in the grand scheme of things.

So I am hopeful today more than I was yesterday. Maybe tomorrow, I will slide back again and feel sad. But always, I will remember that there are people like L and A who are wounded but walking very bravely. And so I must carry on.

Loved and Accepted

27 October 2006


Guess what runt, I met a mom whose child goes to MGP Marikina and we got to talking about how her children go to the Pasig school now since typhoon Ondoy affected Provident Village. It was weird how we started talking because we were simply waiting for our photocopies in one commercial establishment. And somehow, she managed to connect me to you. She remembered that the MGP community prayed for you and was informed of your passing.

Am thinking about love and acceptance and tolerance now which are all big words. But as I look at your pictures three years ago at the MGP Halloween party, I know how you were loved and accepted by everyone. And to my mind, it was all that mattered. A parent couldn't ask for more.

I often wonder if Teacher Melissa or Teacher Danielle explained your passing to your friends. I never got to ask them. I know your classmates sang Moon River for you during their graduation. But did their young hearts understand where you went? You know I really tried to dry the get well notes your classmates wrote for you because some of them were really funny. The thoughts were so pure. I kept every little thing - even the most mundane drawing. Because these were tangible reminders that once you existed. Most of these mementos have been washed away and I'm sorry I couldn't save them. But notes or no notes, these pictures tell me that once, at MGP Marikina, you were loved and accepted.

I crack ...

September 2004

whenever I talk about you to complete strangers. I breathe and try to remain calm but I always feel overwhelmed. And when I open my mouth, I croak like a frog. And most of the time, I am not successful at holding back the tears. It will probably be like this for a while. It is embarrassing.

I am taking major subjects now, am enrolled in a strategies course. We read a story about kids like you as a take off point for discussion. The teacher, who is about my age, asks about our insight. The room is silent. It is 7 pm and all 17 of us, including our teacher, are tired. Nobody wants to talk. The teacher asks again about anything that we got from the story. I raise my hands even if I really didn't feel like talking.

Croaking, Mama frog shared her experience raising you and my frustration with Filipinos in general. I said that Pinoys love to gawk, ask stupid questions, are intrusive, are not tolerant of children like you who are different. I still wanted to share stories of the stupid questions thrown at us about your hands but Mama frog had to finish her three sentences asap.

My teacher nods her head and is sympathetic. She shares a story about her niece raised in Australia who also suffers from a condition and is small for her age. The child found it odd that while on vacation in Manila, people stared at her.

I wanted to say that we can be better advocates for PWDs but it will take time for Philippine society to come around and be more tolerant, or polite at the very least to the disabled or different. It is cultural. Pinoys are just a nosy lot, and love to offer unsolicited advice. From experience, the more educated ones are just as nosy.

Sigh. Croak.