Happy Birthday, Mom!

It's my mom's birthday today. She would have been 73. This is the first time she isn't around for her birthday.

More than half of my life, I've spent away from my mom. They migrated to the States when I was almost 25, a new husband and father. After that, I saw her a total of three times before she passed away last year. Time flew really fast, and took with it the moments I could have spent with my mom. I kept procrastinating, kept thinking that plentiful time to spend with her was always available for the taking. I was mistaken, of course.

A loved one's passing away opens the eyes to the importance of seemingly trifling, everyday things, like sharing meals, a good laugh, fears, tears, and most important of all, time. I still have dreams, I guess, but they're much simpler now. They're more like getting from one day to the next, happy and in one piece. None of us will be around forever, and we can take along nothing of what we have, save for love and memories. And for some, even this is not possible, like when they die surrounded by the hatred and loathing of people they have mistreated and abused; or when they pass on while afflicted with dementia.

Two months back, I sent out e-mail invites to family and selected friends about my blog post and photos related to my Mt. Pulag climb. I sent one out to Mom. I have not deleted her from my mailing list. Never. I want to keep it this way. E-mail was just about the only way we kept in touch, and deleting her name would be quite difficult. I can easily delete other people's names, but not my mom's.

If I had gotten a reply to my e-mail, then that would have been wonderful. And initially mysterious, too. To other people, it would have been frightening. But not to me. Mom was a firm believer in the supernatural, especially ghosts. I believe she held the record for having seen the ghosts of all our kin who passed on ahead of her. Each time we had kin pass away, Mom was equally worried and certain, as she was sad, that the dead kin's ghost would make a stopover at our home on its way to the eternal beyond. And indeed there were many instances of these ghostly visits, if I believed my mom's accounts. Our dead kin's ghosts said hi to her at the most inconvenient times: Like when she went to the toilet to pee in the middle of the night; or when she was on her way to the kitchen very early in the morning to make breakfast, and she thought she saw the ghost of our recently dead kin sitting on the family couch, wearing his burial clothes. Terrific. After this episode, it was Dad who cooked breakfast, and this arrangement remained in force for the rest of their life together.

I often told her not to worry about ghosts bothering her, as about real flesh and blood humans out to do others harm, like robbers and muggers. And professional politicians, and those who simply play politics. I kept telling her there were no such things as ghosts, and that when people die, their souls are not permitted to terrorize those who still survive; that a quick judgment is handed down a few hours after death, and the soul is swiftly dispatched to its eternal destination. But Mom would have none of these. She clung to her beliefs with enviable tenacity. And while she was deeply religious, she was also steeped in superstition and ritual. I think she embodied the Filipino psyche well, and it is something that I can be proud of. I think it is this mindset that endows Pinoys with their renowned resiliency. It could be one of the reasons (the other being our continuing love affair with slapstick humor) why we do not have (not yet, anyway) incidences of people going to movie houses, campuses, and workplaces, to shoot everyone on sight.

And so it was that when Mom died, I was hoping that she was right about the ghost stuff. I longed for her to pay me a visit, to say hi before she took off to her eternal beyond. I waited for anything unusual or supernatural, like the sudden waft of flowers or a candle going out, or an apparition in a darkened corner of our home, or maybe even in a dream. I waited in vain. Mom never paid me a visit. I was right about ghosts not existing. I was actually disappointed. It was one of those instances when I actually wished I was wrong. Mom probably grudgingly conceded defeat, but at the same time, was relieved and thankful that she didn't have to pay the customary ghost visits to family and kin. Mom's and Dad's families are quite big families, and it would have taken her some time to pay everyone a ghostly visit. It's different when you're on the visiting end, hey, Mom?

And then, again, if I had received a reply to my e-mail, I would have suspected, after a brief period of incredulity, that my brother, Benson, was playing a prank on me. I'm quite certain he assisted Mom with setting up an e-mail account, and if Mom didn't bother changing the original password, then Benson, one of the family's comedians (the others being Benjie and Bennett), would have found the perfect opportunity to practise his craft.

Here's a toast to you, Mom!