A Mom and More

Do you talk to your dead relatives when you visit them in the cemetery on All Saints’ Day? My mom does as if our dear departed hear her.

All Saints’ Day has been one of the occasions when my mom expects all of us to be together to remember the dead in the family: my dad Alfredo, baby Gabriel Lorenzo “Galo” (my nephew), my grandparents from both maternal and paternal sides, my dad’s siblings, Auntie Iniang and my father-in-law Reding. On All Saints Day, we pay homage to ordinary people (like us) who have had flaws and foibles, were imperfect and sinful but transformed with God’s grace and now share with Him eternal life in the heavenly court.

When we celebrate All Saints’ Day, we either hope and assume that our dead loved ones have already reached their destination (heaven) or that they are almost there through our prayers for them (if we are Catholics and believe purgatory exists and the dead merits from our prayers). I don’t think anyone would ever think of having a family member or friend damned forever in the fires of hell and so we celebrate. We pray for our dead with the hope that when they get to heaven, we can call on them to intercede for us when we pray to the God for our requests.

Meet the four special people whom we remember as a family on All Saints’ Day: Dad, Auntie Iniang, Galo and my father-in-law Reding and read my mom’s monologue with them when we visited their memorial niches.

My dad enjoyed a materialisic life (and was a patron of ABS “alak, babae, sugal”) as a successful contractor during his time, until he had a stroke, mellowed down, reconciled with the Lord and his family and peacefully passed away after my mom’s birthday in 1990. He could be in heaven now after mom’s and our countless petitions and prayers for the repose of his soul.

• “Fred, I am here with our children and grandchildren (and mom enumerated all our names). I hope you are already at peace and happy in heaven. Watch and guide us always and protect us from the evils of the world. Help our children and their spouses (and mom enumerated all our names again) in their jobs and businesses. Enable them to ink big projects and business deals and lead them away from troubles and adversities. Take care of our grandchildren (and mom enumerated all her grandkids’ names), keep them healthy and assist them in their schoolwork. May we always have a loving and happy family.” Seeing my thin youngest nephew, mom continues: Make Driggs stouter please. And mom caps her monologue with humor “also, lead me to the lucky slot machine so that I will win the jackpot soon. Thank you. Thank you.”

Auntie Iniang is surely in heaven. I dreamt of her wearing white, smiling down at us and looking much stouter than the last time we took her photo before she died. She dedicated her whole life serving our entire family from the time she (Auntie) was barely a teener as mom’s nanny then as chaperone, helper and cook when mom had to study in Manila and stay in a dorm then as mom’s grand assistant when she married and became a stay-at-home mom. She was our constant companion since she never left the house (except to watch movies once in a blue moon), our guardian and sometimes, surrogate mother. I am lucky to have been her favorite child since I was the easiest to handle and please. She secretly told me that if I get married, she wished I would bring her with me to my new home. She never dated nor thought about marrying since she said she was already very happy to have me and my siblings to love as her own children. She said she will only leave us when she dies; hence, even when she was already diagnosed with angina and an enlarged heart and ordered to refrain from household chores and we had to ask her to go to her province to take a vacation — she cut her vacation short, returned to our home and insisted in cooking our meals, handwashing our clothes and cleaning the house till she succumbed to a massive heart attack on the dawn of 24 November 1984.

• “Manang Iniang, we all came here last night (mom enumerated our names) but the cemetery gates were already closed. How are you? I hope you are well and happy in heaven. I am very thankful for the love and patience which you showered all of us when you were living. I wish you would have lived longer to see my children, whom you loved as your own — graduate from college, find jobs, start their businesses, have beautiful families and succeed. You have been with us in the past when times were tough and now that we can enjoy the good life, I feel sorry that you are gone and can no longer enjoy the convenience and pleasures that you more than deserve for all you unending sacrifices. Now, we can only tell you our heartfelt thanks and remember you in our prayers. I am sure you are happy seeing my children grow up as they are now. This would not have been possible without you by my side.” My mom proceeds with the same requests as she asked dad except for the casino portion. “Please extend my regards to Compadre Reding, the in-law of Alice, when you see him since I cannot visit him anymore. He is a very good man when he was alive. Tell mamang and papang (my grandparents) that I will visit them at the cemetery tomorrow. Good bye. We will go now.”

Gabriel Lorenzo is our guardian angel — the second son of my younger sister. He had multiple congenital deformities at birth that the Lord took him a few minutes after his birth to save my sister and our family from the lifelong pains of seeing him suffer if he lived.

• “Galo, I am sure Manang Iniang, your lolo Fred and all lolos and lolas are taking care you very well. You should be a tall boy now, after 17 years. Watch over all of us always please.”

Papa Reding, my in-law, lived to be everybody’s assistant, caregiver, and support. He never showed signs that he would leave us soon. With severe headache and vomiting last 19 November 2006, he was admitted for hypertension, suffered an aneurysm, went on coma, had a series of brain operations, went home after a month in the hospital’s ICU and died a few days before his 82nd birthday in January 2007. I never thought that his birthday call on my 49th birthday in November 2006 would be the last time I would hear his always pleasant voice.

Would you believe that my mom has been talking to our departed in this canned monologue for the past two decades?

Our dead must have heard her. Our family has been blessed with good health, rewarding jobs and projects, a tight but comfortable bonding and challenges which continue to keep us alive. And as an extra, mom frequently wins from the slot machines during her joy trips to her entertainment galleries.