My Nanay,
I always like to claim I was your favorite. Ako ang paboritong apo. It was an ongoing joke na pinanindigan ko na at pinaniwalaan na totoo. Ever since I was small I would cry every time you leave. The highlights of my childhood weekends were being with you, your hugs and Juicy Fruit gum. Everyone close to me knows for a fact that I was and still am, a lola’s girl through and through.
But the truth is, you did not have a favorite. That was your magic, Nanay. You made us feel like we were all your favorite. Each time spent with your apo was a special one.
You made each one of us feel that we were the favorite at that moment alone with you.
You only talked about us, about our dreams and plans as well as lessons you liked to impart. You never compared, never pitted our love against each other, it was never a competition. Your heart and love was so big enough to accommodate ALL OF US.
You belonged to all of us.
My cousins and I had renewed our bond and became closer the past few days, united in grief. The past days all we talk about are memories of you and Tatay and funny and beautiful anecdotes of the past, the Calumpit we knew and our childhood. But for me the brightest recollections are your last years.
Ironically, this situation is both a source of sadness yet at the same time, comfort to me.
I am more than fortunate to be the apo to have been with you during your last years and days here on Earth and as I saw you slowly fading, the love only grew more vivid.
When you are little your grandparents can do no wrong. They are the epitome of goodness and righteousness and as you get older, you realize they are as human as any of us. With the same dreams, regrets, heartaches and weaknesses.
When you are little you are cloaked in the arrogance of thinking the older people’s lives revolved around you not realizing they had been young once, who have known and loved other people before you. The past few years, your mind and recall were fast declining that you only remembered more the memories of your younger years. What a gift it was for me! To hear your stories and memories of a long time ago before us and to have a glimpse of your past we have never known earlier.
You have taught me so much, even more so during these last years. But more than the lessons, one thing that will stay with me forever is to yearn to love as you do: to yearn so much with ache for your loved ones’ presence but be understanding and big enough to let them go, let them live their lives and share in their dreams.
I would always hear you crying out missing each of us but with the same breath give thanks to how your children and grandchildren have all succeeded and live such beautiful lives. But all this is because we started with you. Thank you, Nanay.
We start and end with family. You started everything for all of us, you and Tatay.
You were never alone, Nanay. You were loved and still loved immeasurably by each one of us.
Our last day two months ago was one of the most beautiful and now, memorable days of my life. It was a bittersweet goodbye, it was my last day in the Philippines before leaving for the other side of the world permanently but you were pleasant and not anxious the whole day. This was a rare occurrence these past few months. If anyone could imagine a most ideal last day with their loved one, it was that day. I had that day with you. Thank you; what a gift you have given me.
 |
| Our last day together |
Grief is measured by the depth of love. As much as we celebrate your life and comforted by the belief that you are now with God, Tatay and the people that you have loved first before we all came into your lives, I would still like to acknowledge the pain brought by your passing. It only attests how much you have loved and how much you are loved.
My Nanay, I will see you in every beautiful garden and hear you in every bird that sings. My heart will never be the same but it only means because it feels such deep sorrow for it has known such great affection.
I love you very much, forever and beyond. Goodnight, my dear Nanay.
Ang Isa Sa Paborito Mong Apo,
Isabel
