this is my grandmother, dolores golez padero. she was 86 when she died last week. despite her ailments (diabetes and rheumatism), she was stubbornly persistent on routinary life as she was so used to. she’d complain not being able to walk around and do her house chores properly when her knees weakened. she hated her wheelchair and was obviously not thrilled of having to use a cane. she wondered why her face bore more wrinkles everyday. she was not supposed to gorge on sweets and turned a deaf ear on our warnings when ice cream was served. one of her oft-quoted lines was, “konti lang, chi,” chi being her term of endearment for any member of her family. and with a sigh, we gave up and served her a scoop or the whole tub.
the photo above where she’s seen seated by her writing desk was taken during my previous vacation to cagayan de oro in june of 2009. i called earlier that day and placed my order to eat lunch at velez (term for the padero headquarters and mommy and daddy’s home) with papayong, mamayette and carlo. that’s how she preferred when people come to eat lunch there.
her dedication to her family was insatiable. mommy’s constantly surrounded with photos of relatives here and abroad. she loved receiving calls from her sister from the US or relatives in manila (“oh, napatawag ka?”). she’d often write letters in long hand to family and mail hallmark cards that kept the post office in business in this world of emails. mommy lolet would ask us to “go to my desk, there’s something for you,” and we’d find jeepney or cab fare ready for us.
her death had brought her family into a whirlwind. to most of her children, death was unacceptable, or unthinkable. we thought we’d go through our lives with mommy lolet there always ready to feed us ice cream with her bare hands, leave us a few coins for motorela fare to work or hand out christmas envelopes with “very poor” but cherished monetary blessings. we thought our supply of chocolate chip cookies would never end (“are you hungry, chi?”) and the steady stream of quotes and greetings written on a whiteboard in the kitchen would continue to nurture us until we ourselves cease to exist.
but life has its way of surprising us. and even with old age, affliction and disease, we caught ourselves unprepared for the inevitable. our lola passed away january 8, 2010.
we now fondly recall the life we lived with her, digging up our own personal memories with this woman who is so much a part of our life. and in her death, she remains vividly alive in our hearts and continues to pester us with pinches, a lot of poking, and repeated tellings on life and her day to day activities. “kiss sa nanay,” she would often say when we say goodbye. and on her deathbed, i could not help but kiss her and come back for seconds. in my head, i kept hearing her say, “kiss sa nanay, chi” and so i did.
“mommy, san ka pinanganak?”
“sa manila zoo.”
“lion diay ka, mi?”
“tangina baboy.” (sabay sampal)
we love you mommy and we miss you a whole lot, sampal included.
