Sunshine
in my eyes
can make me cry...
--John Denver
It was supposed to be a happy day.
After all, it was Lorenzo's first day of work for a multinational company recognized the world over.
But on that morning, I received an ominous call from my mother-in-law. Her older sister, whom we fondly called "T'ya 'Wanag" was in the hospital, and Nanay feared she wouldn't linger on for much longer.
I had always been fond of T'ya Liwanag. She and her younger sister, my husband's Mom, Ginhawa, shared nationalistic names with the rest of their siblings, Bayani, Maghirang, Ligaya and Mahinhin.But her daughter's mother-in-law, who lives in Oregon, had such a hard time pronouncing her name that she decided to call her "Sunshine".
I received the news with surprise and sadness. I didn't even know that Lorenzo's aunt was in the hospital. Her health had been failing for the last couple of years but she always managed to bounce back. In fact, she had become such a fixture in my in-law's home that I couldn't imagine going there without seeing her familiar figure seated around the dining table.
I told my mother-in-law that we would try to get there as soon as we could, but I knew it would be difficult. With the kids off to school and Lorenzo at work, I knew it would be hours before we could even make it to San Jose, a two-hour drive from Modesto. Judging from Nanay's tone of voice, I honestly didn't think we would be able to reach the hospital in time to say goodbye.
Sure enough, we got the call at around two-thirty that afternoon. T'ya Liwanag had passed on.
I was genuinely saddened to hear this. She was a lovely person with a big, kind heart. I could still remember her, still bald from chemotherapy, fussing over us during a visit to their household, serving us food and making sure my family was comfortable when she should've been resting. We were just there to drop off an invitation but she insisted on feeding us, and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. This was quintessentially T'ya 'Wanag.
I will miss hearing her play the piano. I will miss sitting on her left at the mahjong table. I will miss her sweet, savory spaghetti with the carrots and pickle relish which I have tried duplicating but could never succeed at, no matter how many times she'd given me the recipe. But most of all, I will miss seeing her smile indulgently at my children, whom she always lavished with praise. Too bad I never got to tell her how much her kind words warmed my heart.
Last weekend, we stayed over at the Bay Area for the viewing. It's been a while since I'd seen the whole family together. The last time we had a comparable turnout was for my nephew's wedding a year ago.
It was good to see everyone again, rallying around each other as we sent off one of our own to that place beyond, where she could wait for us at the other end of the divide, free of disease and pain.
During the memorial service, I watched the kids while Lorenzo and other family members took their turns in front, sharing special memories they had of their Aunt and Mother. And after all was said, everyone congregated around her, as if drawn together by invisible arms, surrounding her in a tight semi-circle for one last cry.
As we surrendered to our emotions, feeding off everyone's collective grief, it was both cathartic and uplifting at the same time. You could literally feel the air clear as emotions were slowly spent, like the sun shining tentatively after the storm clouds have dissipated.
And then the people retreated to their own little groups, hugging and comforting each other, forgiving past mistakes, forgetting petty squabbles...
...and rebuilding bridges.
Just as she would've wanted it to be.
(NOTE: Just a few days after T'ya Liwanag passed away, T'yong Boy, her last surviving brother, also succumbed to a lengthy illness in the Philippines.
I would also like to remember my Daddy, who celebrated his sixth death anniversary on October 18th. I had been reminding myself about the date a few days before the 18th, but when the day actually came, I totally forgot about it.
Perhaps this was the way he wanted it.
I love you, Daddy, and I still miss you so much. R.)
(PLUGGING: "Color My World", the latest in The Prada Mama Chronicles.)
