Phisch's blog

Stories of My Mommy #8

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Wed, 21 May 2008 22:04:49 -0500

For my boys.

I wasn't truly privileged to understand and hear my mom's perspective on her illness during the months that she recovered from the surgery of losing her right lung. All I remember was that she had my prayer book, she would smile some but mostly she was very tired.

School, for me, was hard. It was difficult enough under normal circumstances but high school is hard for all the politics and what with it being an all-girl school, well, it was even harder. Our class had planned a soiree with another class from some all-boy school and I decided not to go. Somehow, my mom got wind of it and asked if I wanted to be at the party. I said no because "I don't know what to wear." It might sounds silly but I really didn't have a whole lot of clothes since we wore uniforms to school and, well, my mom would pick out my clothes for me.

She told me she'd take me shopping. I was mortified. "You're supposed to be in bed!" She insisted.

Mommy took me to Greenhills to browse the shops at Virramall with me. Well, at first, she sat on a bench and had me go browse. I kept walking past a certain cotton dress with puffed sleeves and faint pinky-peach stripes on cream. I didn't try it on. I went back to her on the bench and, seeing I was empty-handed, walked with me. She saw the dress and had me try it on. We both liked it and she found me a belt to match. I would get to go to the soiree after all, and since she picked out the dress, I didn't have to feel bad about enjoying myself because I knew she consented.

But I didn't enjoy myself, not really. I couldn't get past the souvenirs someone thought would be great to give the guys: tiny test tubes with cigarettes inside and a note with the date of the party and our respective classes. A cigarette?

I'm pretty sure that's the party where this guy Mon met me. He is one reason I really appreciated that I had a strict mom who only wanted me to date after I graduated from college. This guy called me too often and would talk and talk and mostly I just said "aha" or "okay" or "I really have to go now." He called me during the Live Aid concert (yes, I'm that old) and talked and talked and talked and somewhere in there he said "I love you" and I didn't know what to say so I said so. I thought it was a little ridiculous.

He badly wanted me to go to his prom so I asked my mom and she said no, not unless I had my friends to chaperone. My friends didn't think they could get permission to go with me. Mon shows up at our front door the night of his prom and I had to tell him my mom said no. He was sad but I was so glad I didn't have to deal with going. I really wasn't too excited about spending time with someone who invited me to go watch him and his friends rumble with a bunch of other guys (too much like West Side Story except without the point).

Mommy scored again. I was quite happy to use her as an excuse to get out of something I knew I didn't want to do or something I knew I shouldn't do.

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Stories of My Mommy #7

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Tue, 20 May 2008 22:09:12 -0500

For my boys. This took a while because this task is exhausting.

It was April and our house was still under construction. We were converting the one room we girls had into two rooms along with building things for my parent's business. That was hard for me to deal with because there were so many trees cut from the back yard, including the lansones tree that my parents planted when I was born (it never bore fruit).

Because of the construction my parents thought it would be best for my mom to live elsewhere and avoid the dust, fumes and dirt that were around our home. The doctors urged her to be cautious about things like that and to avoid moving too much and straining herself. So Mommy and K moved into a townhome across the street from us (the street where we drove the pedaled jeep). I have no concrete memories of that summer. I remember impressions of the townhome and as far as I know, it's still there though our house isn't any longer. Most of what I remember of it are negative; when they built it they covered our uninterrupted views of the Manila sunsets each night.

School started not long after and that was hard. I had been used to Mommy fretting over the first day of school after vacation and she was focused on getting better.

At some point, I had told my best friends about what was going on. When? I don't recall that either and I'm not sure they knew what to say about it but they didn't hesitate to listen and I felt confident they were going to be there for me. Mostly, they were hopeful for me.

I don't remember which teacher told us about her dad's death nor do I have any clue whether it was known when she spoke of it that my own mom was dying. But she spoke of her own dad's battle with cancer and said that at some point, she prayed that God would take him home and relieve him of the pain he was going through. In hindsight, that was a word for me from the Lord. The idea of praying that for someone was so foreign to me; I wanted my Mommy because I needed to have her around for me. She picked out my clothes. She kept me from dating. But she was going to be in a lot of pain and to hear that teacher's prayer gave me the strength to realize it was ok to let go and let God deal with everything.

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Stories of My Mommy #6

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Sat, 10 May 2008 16:28:58 -0500

For my boys.

Faithful are the Wounds of a Friend

February 1985 wasn't different from the norm, really. February 1 was celebrated of course and it was with flowers and cake. Mommy turned 42. I was looking forward to cake all week and more cake seven days later when I would turn 15.

But I was most certainly *not* looking forward to the presentation I had to make in health class. I was working on the health issues that came with the vice of smoking. I had researched the organs affected beginning with the fine cillia in the nasal cavity all the way down to the major ones, the lungs. Emphysema, got that down of course but I also did a lot of research on the big "C."

The symptoms of cancer include, among others, fatigue and coughing up blood.

For a few weeks now, Mommy had been dealing with both. I had been giving her hissy fits (not to excuse them but it comes with teenage girl territory) because she and my dad had been working late. Maybe she was trying to avoid my hissy fits by working? It was a vicious circle, if that was the case. But she would still cough up blood. I would mentally chide myself for putting two and two together.

In the middle of the following March, we had a very, very, very rare family conference. It wasn't good. It took my parents about two weeks (as I remember from mental calculations I made at the time) to finally get to this point of talking to us kids.

I don't remember how most of the talk went. Daddy did most of it. "Kids, your mom has lung cancer..."

He did tell us what the doctors were going to do, how long it would take and that they weren't sure what the results would be. I didn't want to tell them that I knew. Somehow, that would ring hollow or sound presumptuous or both.

I was a little upset that I knew it was cancer because in some contrived and twisted way I felt responsible. In hindsight, God was just preparing me for what would happen. Getting the chance to know about it ahead of time made it easier for me to handle when we were finally told.

Not long after, Mommy had major surgery to remove her right lung and then underwent aggressive chemotherapy. When she came home after surgery, she was really weak and found it hard to move. She showed me the sutures and they were shocking because they went up her back and over the shoulder and the stitches were huge and black and ugly and she could barely pull her gown over her shoulders to show me. They looked painful.

Chemo wasn't fun and she didn't eat much, but it wasn't as aggressive as they thought it would be because she didn't lose her hair (or not enough for me to notice). After the chemo, the doctors said they were pretty sure they got the cancer.

She "worked" at her recovery. I mean "work" because when you have four kids, you have a hard time resting. I did my level best to only be around Mommy when she asked because most of her time, I knew, was spent resting and praying. She had taken my blue leather bound Book of Prayers from my days at good ol' Colegio de San Agustin. I remember going into the bedroom and seeing my book open and upside down so she wouldn't lose her place. She was looking for comfort that really no one besides God was going to give her.

More later.

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Stories of my Mommy #5

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Sat, 03 May 2008 12:03:11 -0500

For my boys. This post is by no means an endorsement of my own behavior. Mind that, will you?

I think it was in 4th grade when I had this classmate, Paolo, who was one of the class tom cats. By that I mean, he was a bully and kept everyone in line. I didn't like him much. He had tripped me once as I walked up the aisle in the middle of the classroom to work on a math problem on the board.

It was embarrassing enough to have to work on math in front of the class but to have tripped on the way there was just not fun. The teacher took care of it.

I told Mommy what happened and she was really sympathetic and then she told me something like that had happened to her.

She had this classmate in 3rd or 4th grade who would tease her mercilessly. In the morning, he'd stand in the doorway of the classroom, bar it with his body and keep her from getting inside.

She told me she finally got so tired of it that one day, she kicked him where it hurt the most. He never did it to her again.

Now, mind you, I think that she was telling me this so that, in a round about way she was explaining that it was ok to defend myself. I think so, anyway.

I was a little surprised when, after I was being teased by my brother (it went both ways, trust me), I used the same tactic Mommy did and she wasn't too happy about it at all. I think she made me darn his shirts with holes as punishment. I just remember being really mad while I was sewing, mostly mad that she was mad at me.

^_^

Mommy Family Trivia

Mommy was one of six children. If Mama had no miscarriages, there would have been nine.

Her oldest brother was a school principal (I think). He fell and injured part of his brain which put him out of work for a while but he ultimately died some months later. He was my favorite uncle and I remember that he used to pull coins out of my ear and cut all my boy cousins' hair.

The middle brother was a police officer. He was shot in the neck while he and his partner where chasing down a thief.

The youngest brother is still alive and has retired from work at the post office.

Her oldest sister was the head dietitian for the hospital where she lives but is now retired.

Her youngest sister, the one she's closest to, is still working but lives in Australia. I call her Nanay which is Tagalog for Mom. She's the closest thing to a grandma you have on my side of the family.

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Stories of My Mommy #4

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 21:52:47 -0500

For my boys.

You would have liked her. Just a list of things she had me do, wanted me to do or was going to let me do:

- Learn to hula dance
- Learn to play drums
- Be a surgeon (spec. brain surgery) or lawyer
- Learn to ride a motorcycle (at age 13!)
- Make lots of money
- Skip 7th grade (dad said no)
- Learn Spanish

What she didn't want me to do, ever:

- Date until I was out of college
- Learn ballet
- Read a King James bible
- Be an artist
- Starve (goes with above)
- Be a nun (the desire was short-lived for me anyway)

Sometimes I wonder what my dad thought about some of her wackier ideas. I wonder what some of her other ideas were that I didn't have the privilege of hearing.

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Stories of my Mommy #3

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 06:49:33 -0500

For my boys

When I was four, my brother had a red pedaled jeep and my mom thought it would be a great, fun thing for us to ride down the street with it.

Our house was on a hill and adjacent to our property, the street went down at a slant, leveled off where another street crossed it, then slanted down again.

There we were at the top looking down at the hill. I remember imagining what it would be like to go down, wind blowing through my hair as I sat on the back of the jeep. Then I was living it. I have no idea how long it actually took to ride down---seconds probably---but I don't remember the ride down at all. It's just the end that I remember.

When we got to the bottom, a car was driving down the cross street. My brother had the presence of mind to turn the jeep quickly to the left to avoid it. There was screaming, I remember, and all of a sudden we were on the ground and my face hurt. There was a commotion and Mommy was more than upset with herself.

There was a visit from the doctor (she was a personal friend) to check our injuries. My brother's left arm and leg were scratched up. Most of the left side of my face was scratched, the top layer of skin gone because of friction, so were parts of my left arm and leg. Funny thing about physical pain: you remember how much it hurt, but you can't remember it to relive it in your mind. That's good because if the photos Mommy took of us are any indication, there was quite a bit of pain.

I know, though, that the doctor had her clean the wounds daily with hydrogen peroxide, but I made a deal with Mommy that she would do it while we were asleep. Well, more like I screamed and hollered and carried on so much that she didn't want to have someone else hold me down so she could do it. She cried when she tried to and I'm sure I gave her grief over it. As deep as the wound on my face was, I'm still surprised I have no scars.

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Stories of my Mommy #2

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 12:36:35 -0500

For the boys.

Mommy grew up on a farm in a bahay kubo, a home built of bamboo and light woods that stood on stilts. This was to keep the home cool and to keep it from washing away in floods. I don't know if it was her parents' house or her mom's parent's house. I visited once and Lilang, my great grandmother, was living there. I was three and that was when Mommy dressed me in denim bell bottom jeans, red sneakers and red t-shirts. She and Daddy have a photo of me on the back of a carabao wearing that outfit (pony tails, too) and I wasn't looking too amused. I think the carabao smelled but I don't think I was afraid because I wasn't crying.

Mommy told me that she really enjoyed living there when she was little. She and her brothers and sisters loved having a lot of room to play.

Once, when she was six I think, she found she wasn't close enough to the house to "make it" to the bathroom. She got desperate and found some bushes. Well, while she was busy the geese found her. She said she got upset and cried because they snipped at her and chased her back into the house. She'd get a giggle about that when she told me the story and then said "Geese are mean!"

A few years later, we got a pair of geese for pets. The idea was to have babies, but we found out they were both boys. I made sure they knew I wasn't afraid of them :D

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Stories of My Mommy

nobody@vox.com(Phisch) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:16:57 -0500

You know, I wanted to type "mother" but that really didn't sound right to me. This is for my boys.

How My Parents Met

My dad never really finished his college education. What with things at home being what they were (his parents' jobs not being to stable apparently), a job to pay for the monthly mortgage had to take priority. After the war, his parents moved to the US (grandma had to deal with leprosy) and Daddy started his business. Eventually, Recho, his company became very successful. I think they made radios or radio parts.

Mommy, who grew up on a farm before her family moved to the big city, graduated with a degree in Communications. I have a memory of her telling me that and me thinking how weird it was that you needed a college degree to learn to say and write things so people could understand them.

Mommy ended up working at Recho. She developed a lot of good friendships there, a tight group of friends---barkada---and work was great. She worked as a secretary along with a few of her friends.

At the same time, my dad had trouble. He and his first wife had, by now, a very difficult and strained relationship. Several years of strife were drawing to a close, however, and they were beginning divorce proceedings. Noticing my dad notice my mom, Daddy's first wife told him that he should marry her (I don't know the details of their relationship, at one time I cared but that curiosity wore off). I guess he thought that was a good idea, so he expressed his interest to Mommy.

Here is where I have no details but wish I did. I know my grandfather was adamantly against the concept of dating in general until his daughters were at least in their 60s. However, since my dad was quite a catch, maybe my grandfather let her sneak out, I don't know. But when Mommy realized that Daddy's interests were very real and very serious, she quit her job. There was no way she was going to allow others there to think that she was given special favors at work because the boss was interested in her. She was very much into being on the up and up, being square with people and she expected to be treated the same way.

They almost called off the wedding, I think. In their wedding book, I found a letter where she is telling him as much. He had left to go to Hong Kong but apparently, the reason he went wasn't exactly the reason he gave her. She found out he went to meet with his, by now, ex-wife. I am sure that Mommy expressed to him that she was very worried* about marrying a man with an ex-wife and maybe that's why he didn't tell her he had to (related to divorce proceedings I think). So she told him he better explain and be honest or it was never going to happen. I guess they worked it out.

They were married in December, 1968, just after Christmas. The wedding color was evergreen at it was at a Catholic church (he had to convert or it wasn't going to happen). The priest who officiated had a ventriloquist puppet who made cameo appearances at the reception (restaurant called Madrid). It was the first time she wore make up.

*Boys, do your best to make sure your actions never feed into your wife's fears.

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