Our mother’s love is beyond compare

By Willie Jose
March 29, 2016



A Mother's love is something
that no one can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away

—Helen Steiner Rice –

Our mother’s love is beyond compare. Unlike the unforgettable first love, the love for wife or husband or even our love for our friends, the mother's  love is very much different— it has no divorce, no separation, nothing to hear from Mom  saying “enough is enough”.

Our mother gives her all to us, expecting nothing in return; when we feel down and out when life’s problems seem unbearable for us to bear, our Mom will always be on our side, giving us the comforts we need.

Understandably, she wants all her children to be under her wings, so to speak.

I’m dedicating this piece to all the mothers worldwide.

Up to their last breath, our Moms will always be thinking of their children’s  welfare, worrying about the kind of life their children would have once they are gone.

Please allow me to remember my Nanay today—I hope most of you can relate to my experience.

Though we were poor, we didn’t experience ever going hungry; my father’s earning was just enough to bring food on our table. We hadn’t so many clothes but I remember the only time of the year we would have new clothes was Christmas time— Nanay would make sure that we would always have something new to wear during this special holiday season.

Even on the Noche Buena, the Christmas eve, my Mom would see to it that we have hamon on the dining  table and my father would buy on credit  that  smoked  pata hamon in November at the company’s  canteen.

In some instances, when we were really hard for money, meaning, we didn’t have enough cash, my mom would ask me to run errand  in buying  some foodstuff  to Aling Nena’s  little sari sari store which was near our house and I would  tell Aling Nena  to list down all the items  that I would buy and we would pay everything on my  father’s payday.

There were times when Mom would simply put some beaten raw eggs on a newly –cooked, very hot rice, plus salt and mix them all up—and presto we had a meal.

Of course, my parents had some quarrels and disagreements too, I would always remain silent and neutral by simply observing  the goings-on . But I knew then that my Dad would never physically hit Mom. And Dad knew it well that I would defend her come what may ; seeing me that I was ready to come to her rescue, that  would embolden Nanay to be more boisterous and Dad would simply leave the scene.

My Supermom was a “ fighter” in our neighborhood; no one would ever dare to challenge her into a fight—she would do everything to protect her family.

She would always come to my rescue when I got into troubles with some young boys in the neighborhood. One time, when I was 12 years old, I axed a 15-year-old guy using that not- so -sharp ax that I normally used to chop wood for cooking.  The guy whom I hit was slightly wounded and the police took me to the Police Precinct 6 in Sampaloc. The cops eventually castigated my parents for what had happened and they freed me .

As a  boy in the early 60s, I had this street job of washing Dollar Taxicabs. The driver would give me 25 cents for the job and if I earned P2.50, I would give Mom P2 and I would just keep the 50 cents. I also experienced being a cigarette and newspaper vendor, roaming the streets of Manila and I would station myself at the corner of Carriedo and another street at the front of  the Quiapo Church— this place was my base of operation .

My Nanay would bring some hot coffee and sandwiches—coming all the way from Sampaloc—in the morning. Actually, I would normally do this little job during the school vacation. But later, I quit doing this selling stuff, when some of my street-guy friends tried to convince me to steal shoes from Joe’s department store—and at that time, I knew, stealing could never part of my life; I don’t have the nerve to do this.

After graduating in college in  1971, I worked at the Philippine Leader Magazine. The first pay I got, I had given it to Mom – and she, in turn, had bought me shoes and clothes out of this money.

I‘ll  never forget all the  things she had taught me to do: cooking rice,  washing and ironing clothes and even the picking up of fresh tomatoes, fish and meat in the market, these are some of the practical knowledge I would be needing to prepare myself in living the real world

I recall Mom’s joy  when she got her Sewrite Sewing machine given to her by Dad; it was her dream to get a sewing machine because she had wished to be a modista someday to augment my father’s meager income.

On weekends, she would attend a  free dressmaking seminar at the Moises Salvador Elementary School . But because of so many household chores, she couldn’t stay focus on becoming a dressmaker.

My Mom’s dream was to go to college but her family didn’t have the money to send  her to college,  and  adding to her woes was the fact that her father was not inclined  sending her to higher education, telling her “ mag-aasawa ka lang naman.”

 One time, Nanay told me that “when your grandfather (my father) saw me living a hard life, I told him, kung pinagaral lang ninyo ako, di sana iba ang buhay ko”.

According to Mom, her father’s response was “ Patawarin mo ako Meding“ and these words were enough for Nanay to forgive her father.

My brothers and sisters are all grateful to our Mom for giving us her best, sacrificing all her life—borrowing money from usurers, going to pawn shops  to pay off the tuition and support  our education .Her efforts were not in vain—all of us, my four  sisters, two brothers and I have earned  our university degrees; we are now living in North America.

Recently, I found this entry in my journal  but it does not have the actual date except it says “ it’s Monday, 2:30 p.m.” But I know that was the last time I visited Nanay in New York, was in 2011 and the following year, she died.

Here’s the journal entry : “ I’m looking at her face and it’s a little greasy, shiny and oily and while I’m doing this, Nanay is singing “Maalaala mo kaya…. . tanging larawan ang nakatago”.

 While singing this song with closed eyes , she is covered with a brown blanket. When she comes this line”tignan mo ang aking puso, tanging larawan ang nakatago” she is almost raising her voice, as if to stress  this line. 

While Mom is  strapped on her wheelchair, her feet  are covered with yellow pillow,  her right hand finger keeps tinkering,  her  way of  beating the music’s rhythm . Once in a while, she opens her eyes and blurts out “ ang sakit ng likod ko”.
Seeing her condition is unbearable, all I could do is to keep massaging her back. “

With her age and  illness—Alzheimer’s —she had forgotten lots of things; she could not recognize  us--her seven  grown-ups children--not even knowing our names.

Well, what more can I say, except: ‘Nay, we will always miss you”