The Nanay's Daughter

May is for mothers.  Sadly though, I have never come to a full appreciation of having a mother until she was the only one left.  It’s already more than a year since my father passed away.  Yet it was a slow realization that it’s now time for my mother to shine, at least in my heart.

I’ve always been a Tatay’s girl, and I have my reasons.  I can still distinctly remember one childhood incident when I tried to beg for my Nanay’s attention by sleeping beside her and resting my thin legs on her chubby ones.  But she was so quick to cast me aside with her stern, “Samuk!”  I have never entertained the thought that she could have been so stressed from the day’s work.  All I know back then was that I was strongly and irreparably rejected.  Since then, I had never approached her with anything.

I know I love her.  What I didn’t realize however was that I only know.  I haven’t really felt it - until my father passed away.  In God’s Sovereignty, I would like to believe that He took Tatay home at such a time that I can see Nanay in many ways that I haven’t yet seen – to especially let me see that a Tatay’s girl could also be a Nanay’s daughter.

This entry is solely dedicated to my mother, my one and only NANAY Titang.

I didn’t know how much she thought of us so much until I found her one night waiting up for me.  There, on the cemented bench under the tree outside our church, sheltered by the many glittering stars, my mother patiently sat, sewing on her own domestic creations, waiting for me to arrive from the city, because it was already midnight. 

 I didn’t know how much she relishes on her children’s pleasures until she prepared a deliciously broiled “tortang talong” one blissful Sunday breakfast.  In answer to my “Wow! You’ve cooked it!”, she just matter-of-factly said, “kay ni-request man ka.”

I didn’t know she was actually proud of her children, with our little and simplified accomplishments, until I heard her tell our younger neighbors “Pag-tarung gyud mu’g skuyla.  Bahalag way kwarta, mutabang gyud ang Ginoo.  Makatiwas ra gyud mu.  Tan-awa ang inyung manga ‘ate’ (referring to us).”

I haven’t tasted the full sweetness of her grace until I learned of her words to my sister, “Basta ako ‘nak, nisalig gyud ku nimu.”  Hearing those words at a time when I was also drawing closer and closer to sinning, I was very strengthened.

I didn’t know how doting she really is until I saw her unbelievably amused at the stories of my niece’s and nephew’s toddler blunders, no matter how many times those narrations were repeated.  She hasn’t gotten tired of listening to them.

I didn’t know how deep she really loved Tatay until I learned how she journeyed with him all through those sin-weakened days, all the while praying with her tears on their pillow.

I hadn’t realized how influential she really is until I saw my own sister teach younger kids every Sunday school, bearing her signature animated gestures, facial expressions and vocal intonations before a class of wide-eyed, “sip-unun” and sweaty boys and girls.  What a subtle way to influence!

I never knew how “lambing” she actually is until I realized kissing her on the cheek already became a normal gesture for me.  I knew then, my childhood rejection was only a childish reaction. 

And I didn’t know how much still I didn’t know until I actually sat down and typed these words. 

I am very certain this will never be enough to recount the blessedness of being my Nanay’s daughter.  I’m sure there were still many things I failed to mention to give her the praise that she deserves.  But I just want the world to know, at least in the little circle that I’m in, how proud and blessed I am to descend from the line of The Wife of a Noble Character (Proverbs 31:10-31). 

They say that the best tribute a daughter can give to her mom is to become like her.  And with all my heart, I say Amen to that.  If I could change my kindergarten graduation wish-list “speech”, I would proudly say, “My name is ….  When I grow up, I want to be like my mother.”