It was Saturday morning when my mother’s sister sent me the message “Wala na si mama” (Mom is gone). That was when I knew that my grandmother is already dead. No tears, no hurts, no pain. That is how she passed away from my life.
Friday afternoon when my aunt called to say that they are bringing my grandmother to the hospital, I told my sister that I already know that something will happen to our grandmother. I just had the feeling that something would really go wrong. I don’t usually believe in my intuition but at that time, I was certain.
A suspected liver problem prompted my aunt to bring Lola Flor to the hospital about a month ago. After series of laboratory tests, it was found out that she had cancer in the ovary. Now she is gone.
To be honest, I do not feel the grief a grandson must be feeling when his grandmother joins her Creator in the Heavens, perhaps because we are not that “close”. My only memory of her is a woman of strong character coupled with her Boholanon accent and vague childhood memories of times when I ask her some things.
Don’t get me wrong, she was not a mean grandma, it’s just that we were not given the chance to bond back then, or more honestly, none of us made a initiative, maybe we are already comfortable with the basic facts of kinship—she is my grandma and I am her grandson, the son of her eldest daughter, or technically, the second son of her daughter (I still have my half-brother which my grandma look at as her own son).
But death in the family, no matter how it affects you personally, is always not a good thing. Regardless of the financial and time burden (forgive me for this), there is the ambiance of mourning around you. What concerns me the most is my own mother, yes, she is not emotional, thus, making her appear like things are just fine, but I know something is not.
Logic and human nature tells me that the passing away of her own mother is not a good experience, especially when things between the both of them are left unfinished. They may not show us the constraints between them, but deep inside, I know. My mother has still in her the hurts marked by the person who let her out of this world. The childhood pains she had when she was left in the care of relatives and made it to life on her own.
I don’t know what happened, of all the things in the world, this is one of those few matters that my mother chose not to discuss thoroughly with me. All I know is that her parents separated, leaving her under the care of her relatives and my grandmother married another man and had another family. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I don’t know if I have to admire my mother or feel pity for her, because I know that through the years of this family feud, she made the efforts to reconcile back to my grandmother, connect with her step-siblings and reconnect with her siblings. I saw the “forgive and forget” character despite instances where she was hurt in the midst of her efforts. I know my mother teaches me a lot of lessons on life, especially when she chose to be silent (which is rather seldom).
For my grandmother, though I have not shed a single tear (it is also unlikely that I force myself to), I sincerely wish that she is happy in God’s loving arms. Balloons for her, with all the love I could feel towards her.
I don’t know if I should be thankful but if only we took the chance to bond together, her death would have had caused so much pain on me. But then, I could have the chance to show her that despite being distant, she still has a grandson in me, who believes in her and who love her—something that I know I did not make her feel.
May she rest in peace and may the hurts of those that felt pain in her passing away, in one way or another, be granted the serenity they need. I say this— for the first time and perhaps the last—I love you Lola.
Friday afternoon when my aunt called to say that they are bringing my grandmother to the hospital, I told my sister that I already know that something will happen to our grandmother. I just had the feeling that something would really go wrong. I don’t usually believe in my intuition but at that time, I was certain.
A suspected liver problem prompted my aunt to bring Lola Flor to the hospital about a month ago. After series of laboratory tests, it was found out that she had cancer in the ovary. Now she is gone.
To be honest, I do not feel the grief a grandson must be feeling when his grandmother joins her Creator in the Heavens, perhaps because we are not that “close”. My only memory of her is a woman of strong character coupled with her Boholanon accent and vague childhood memories of times when I ask her some things.
Don’t get me wrong, she was not a mean grandma, it’s just that we were not given the chance to bond back then, or more honestly, none of us made a initiative, maybe we are already comfortable with the basic facts of kinship—she is my grandma and I am her grandson, the son of her eldest daughter, or technically, the second son of her daughter (I still have my half-brother which my grandma look at as her own son).
But death in the family, no matter how it affects you personally, is always not a good thing. Regardless of the financial and time burden (forgive me for this), there is the ambiance of mourning around you. What concerns me the most is my own mother, yes, she is not emotional, thus, making her appear like things are just fine, but I know something is not.
Logic and human nature tells me that the passing away of her own mother is not a good experience, especially when things between the both of them are left unfinished. They may not show us the constraints between them, but deep inside, I know. My mother has still in her the hurts marked by the person who let her out of this world. The childhood pains she had when she was left in the care of relatives and made it to life on her own.
I don’t know what happened, of all the things in the world, this is one of those few matters that my mother chose not to discuss thoroughly with me. All I know is that her parents separated, leaving her under the care of her relatives and my grandmother married another man and had another family. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I don’t know if I have to admire my mother or feel pity for her, because I know that through the years of this family feud, she made the efforts to reconcile back to my grandmother, connect with her step-siblings and reconnect with her siblings. I saw the “forgive and forget” character despite instances where she was hurt in the midst of her efforts. I know my mother teaches me a lot of lessons on life, especially when she chose to be silent (which is rather seldom).
For my grandmother, though I have not shed a single tear (it is also unlikely that I force myself to), I sincerely wish that she is happy in God’s loving arms. Balloons for her, with all the love I could feel towards her.
I don’t know if I should be thankful but if only we took the chance to bond together, her death would have had caused so much pain on me. But then, I could have the chance to show her that despite being distant, she still has a grandson in me, who believes in her and who love her—something that I know I did not make her feel.
May she rest in peace and may the hurts of those that felt pain in her passing away, in one way or another, be granted the serenity they need. I say this— for the first time and perhaps the last—I love you Lola.
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