Patricia's Lullaby
"Ninna nanna…Gesu pio…Ninna nanna…Gesu buono….d'alontano scendi un suono..come d'arpe tremoglio.."
Ever since my brain was able to process words, sounds and sights, my mother's soothing voice as she would sing me the lullaby in Italian language has etched its mark deeply in my being. I am a Filipino and to hear a foreign language since birth has opened my mind to endless possibilities in communications. My mother is a Filipino also but having spent her years as a nun in Sicily, Italy made her learn the Italian language aside from Latin and Spanish.
Yes, my mother was a nun. Right after she graduated from the University of the Philippines obtaining a Bachelor's Degree in Communications, she entered the convent. It was when she got sick in Italy that she was temporarily given a dispensation and went home to the Philippines. The year was 1971 and the country was in turmoil under the Marcos' presidency. She was teaching in a Catholic School in Batangas City and was involved in the youth activists' group. Being a good writer of propagandas, speeches and manifestos, she was tapped to lead the committee involved in information dissemination through write-ups and posters. Initially, she protested saying that her hands may be able to write cohesive thoughts but they were not capable of even drawing a face. The priest in charge of the organization assured her that somebody from the national level will be sent to assist her. All that she had to do was to create emphatic messages and the artist would be the one to put them into frame. Having been assured, she acquiesced.
And that was how she met this young, idealistic man, 11 years her junior. They worked well together in spite of the age gap -both having progressive minds. Their passion to the Cause of the farmers, mothers, women, co-activists, welfare of the Filipino people - especially those who were abused, oppressed and exploited saw them falling in love with each other amidst the floods in Siniloan, Laguna, the bombing at Mendiola, the tear-gassing at the streets leading to the US Embassy and in all corners where activism prevailed. They stood together through the ordeal and made the big leap of marrying at the Redemptorist Church in Lipa City on October 25, 1972 despite the disapproval of many not only because of their age difference but also because of the previous state of life of my mother - a nun.
On August 25, 1973, I was born after three days of my mother suffering labor pains. She wrote to me in one of her many letters, that each contraction she would feel, she handled with a smile because she knew that she would finally see me - her first born. She gave birth to me under the care of a midwife right inside our house on the very same bed where she gave birth to my three other siblings years after.
My mother and I have developed a certain bond. At a very young age, I could see through her pain and worries. Together, we faced on every problem that came our way. Where I was, there she would be and vice versa. Until this day, I can never forget the look on her face when she would watch me practice the song "Looking Through the Eyes of Love" in preparation for a singing contest when I was 13 years old. As I write this, her face remains fresh in my mind as she beamed at me with pride the very moment I was singing my piece during the contest. I may not have won any medal or trophy from that event, but I carry in my heart my mother's smile untarnished and made even clearer in my memory during the passage of time.
My mother was a prolific writer. I grew up with people knocking on our doors asking her to write declamation and oratorical pieces. Most of these pieces have contributed to the triumph of the speakers in district, regional and national declamation and oratorical contests. Other professionals also would come to seek her assistance in writing dissertations and theses. It is amazing how she would just sit in front of her typewriter and click away with a myriad of brilliant thoughts without any error. The write-ups would land the hands of those seeking her assistance fresh from the typewriter - no revisions, no error.
Having been a religious nun, she had inculcated in me and my siblings a deep faith in God more so during trials and adversities. She taught us how to pray and keep certain devotions. However, one inspiring trait that she exhibited was her unconditional love for our father and acceptance of all people in spite of their preferences and status in life. I never heard my mother condemning people because of their choice of partners or state of life. Because of this, she was well-loved by many. Our house would be filled with her students and friends seeking solace and advice. Some relatives would also come asking for help with job placement or acceptance in universities. It seemed that she was like a doctor or a lawyer - a champion of human angst and aspirations.
In 1995, we were able to work and had our time together in the far-flung municipality of Batangas - Lobo. Lobo is a scenic place with mountains and seas. During afternoons, after our work in school, we would go to the beach and create our own private world staying in the water until late in the evening. There was even a time when we were able to get a secluded place and went skinny dipping! We basked in the moonlight, floating on our backs with the refreshing sound of the waves kissing the shore and the glorious feel of warm water on our skin. It was the moment in our lives as mother and daughter that we were nobody but two giggling women enjoying God's creation. When my father came to the town to stay with her, it was time for me to go back to the city and look after my siblings. I got involved in my Causes, too, and was away from them for sometime.
Then in the year 2000, August 6 to be exact, my mother was diagnosed with Leukemia. My father was in the Middle East that time and being the only child living with her as my two sisters have already married and my brother was working in another city, we began facing the battle with Cancer. We both accepted the doctor's verdict. I remember sleeping with her, embracing her and caressing her, assuring her that she would make it. At first, the doctor was not too positive about her condition given her age but prayers, positive thinking and a lot of courage made her respond to the initial medication.
During her first blood transfusion, when the hospital's blood bank no longer had her blood type, I donated mine because we had the same. It was my first time to have a syringe inserted into my vein as I have never been hospitalized that time and never even received vaccination when I was a baby. The nervousness, I kept at bay because I had my mother's well-being in mind. She asked me to go home and rest after my blood donation and when I came back, joy filled my heart as I saw that her pale and wan face already had color and her lips were so red that I thought for the first time she was wearing lipstick. She smiled at me and said, "Now, I am no longer your mother but your child.Your blood is flowing through my veins."
As the months progressed, we were already lacking of funds for her medication. Even my father no longer went back to working abroad after having gone home because they no longer wanted to be away from each other. Good will of other people, church group and her former students would tide us over with her medical expenses.
When we finally reached the point when we already had nothing on hand, my courage ebbed away. I would wake up each morning pretending and hoping that I was on the Twilight Zone. I wanted to wake up with me having the disease and with her being the healthy one. During one of our heart-to-heart talks, I cried profusely as I told her how I wished that she never left the religious life because I knew that her congregation will not run out of goodwill and funds to have her treated by the best doctors in the best hospitals. I was willing to trade my life for her. I felt strongly that I wouldn't even miss having been borne as long as she remained with her congregation. She simply replied to me, "If I did not leave the convent, I would not have you. I will not have my life any other way."
And so we went on with our private war, living each day as it came. One late morning, as we were doing our daily routine after her breakfast and sponge bath, she confessed. She told me that perhaps the biggest test of faith is when one succumbs to the fear of death and holds on to life afraid of what lies beyond the world of the living. I remember quoting to her, "The darkest moment is always before dawn. Do not fear death. We are in the evening of your life and we'll just pray that when you wake up, you will be face to face with Him in the brilliance of morning."
Ninna nanna.Gesu pio.Ninna nanna.Gesu buono.d'alontano scendi un suono..come d'arpe tremoglio..
My mother heard the trembling sound of the harp from afar and she responded and followed its source.
I toi angeli descesi..di fulgori. Su pra l'alli bianchi stessi su te vogliano che dormi.
And the angels descended to bring her to sleep.
Exactly two years after the diagnosis, my mother welcomed the "light of a million mornings" with her Creator, just as we had been hoping and praying for that the death of her physical body shall come to her in the form of sleep.
I remember that two days prior to her transcendence, when we were having our breakfast, she began talking in different languages. She said to me, "Perhaps, this is how it is before we die. All the languages that I knew in my lifetime, I would like to cherish in my tongue." I let her blabber in Latin, Spanish and Italian. Indeed, my mother's mind was so lucid that she even finished one book analysis for one of the faithful college students who would come to bring her homework to be done. She herself also encouraged writing jobs because she wanted her mind to keep on working.
My mother, Patricia - a profound writer, a compassionate soul, a one-of-a-kind teacher, a good friend, a loving wife, daughter and sister. Her memories remain alive within my heart.
I miss her so much and I long for the day when I would see her again and be enfolded in her embrace and smothered by her kisses.
To you, Inay, I celebrate your life. I celebrate the life that we had together forever grateful to God for giving me to you as your daughter. Let me borrow your line - I wouldn't have my life any other way.
I cherish you..until we meet again!
Ninna nanna…Gesu pio….Ninna nanna….Gesu buono...
