Motherhood statements

One of the greatest blessings my sisters and I continue to receive is the vibrant presence of our mother Sonia Reyes Mayor in our lives. She turns 79 today, in good health, as earnest in keeping her appointments with her hairdresser as she is with her doctor.

And that to me is a good sign. The minute Mom skips either, you know she is either not feeling well or generally not concerned. Mom has always been concerned about her appearance (being married to my dad, an American mestizo with matinee idol good looks, was certainly a motivation) and her health. She is proactive in maintaining both, and will spend and make time for both.

When I was in grade school, I overheard my mom tell her amigas that she bumped into some Assumption nuns in a department store and they saw her with a trove of beauty products in her arms and one of them wagged a finger at her and said, “You know, you are doing right. You have to invest in a good marriage.” Mom was so floored I think she almost gave the wise nun some pancake foundation, too.

And this is one of the lessons I learned from my mother: Always take care of how you look. Not just to keep one’s husband interested, but also to keep one interesting. She also feels that one’s appearance is a source of pride and a sign of one’s inner resolve to be the best that one can be — without being excessive, of course.

Thus, my mom looks good even when she feels bad. I remember she was once going through emotionally tough times and yet when one town mate saw her, that town mate exclaimed, “Sonia, what’s your beauty secret? You don’t seem to grow old!”

When my dad Frank was battling terminal cancer, Mom never went to the hospital unkempt. She practically lived there, but she was always mabango. To keep Dad’s spirits up, Mom was so optimistic about tomorrow we thought she was in denial that Dad wasn’t getting any better.

Later on, she would tell us she knew, yes, she knew. But she didn’t want to crumble when she knew Dad was holding on to her for strength. One day, my sisters and I realized that Mom was already preparing for the inevitable (mourning period), for she bought black pumps; she never wore black pumps before (she was partial to bright or pastel shades). But true to herself, she made sure her black pumps were Ferragamos.

(Motherhood statement: Look good even when you feel bad. Pride in yourself keeps you going.)

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Growing up, the constant pressure I faced was keeping my grades high, to be in the Top 2 of the class (because Dad wouldn’t countenance being No. 2). Mom was the counterbalance by her constant reassurance that as long as you tried your best, being No. 2 or No. 4, even, was no big deal to her.

Looking back, I realized Mom never forbade any of us from watching TV on weekdays. Or if we did our homework while the TV set was on. Just last week, she said my father used to call her attention to this and she said she would merely point to our report cards and say, “Look, your children have high grades. What is there to forbid?”

 (Motherhood statement: Don’t fix what ain’t broke.)

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Mom is my role model for social graces. Because she was trained by German nuns and went to school with well-to-do friends at St. Scholastica’s, she was my first Emily Post. “Don’t make the pitcher touch the rim of the glass when pouring water or juice.” “When you get into a car, sit first before you bring your legs in.” “Don’t stand up when being introduced to a man, unless he is an older person of authority.” (This she told me after I stood up from my chair when I was introduced to a fellow teenager, still one of my beet-red moments to date!) “It is wrong to refuse a man for a dance if you are going to dance with someone else after you’ve refused him.”

Mom always seemed to have a backgrounder on important people, and a tidbit of history about people I would only read about in newspapers. She told me the courageous story she had heard of the wife (a De las Alas) who shielded her husband (a Cojuangco) from the bayonet of a Japanese soldier inside the La Salle Chapel during World War II. She told me that when Robert Kennedy went to Manila in 1968, he was mobbed at Philippine Women’s University by adoring fans that he said in gratitude to the throng, “I wish I could take you all back to the United States with me.” In first year high school, she gave me a very adult book: Rose Kennedy’s autobiography, Times to Remember, which I have kept to this day.

 Her anecdotes about famous people stoked in me an interest in people, in personalities. That’s why people are my still favorite topic.

In the ‘80s, my then boss Betty Go-Belmonte invited Mom and me  to dinner with Joan Fang in the latter’s home. When she was introduced to Joan, Mom said, “the famous gourmet!” and I thought she had committed a boo-boo because I thought Joan was either a businesswoman or an artist. And during the course of the dinner, I realized Joan, indeed, was a gourmet. And that Mom’s tidbits about people always made for a great recipe in public relations.

 (Motherhood statement: Knowledge is power, knowledge is a gift. And we’re not just talking quantum physics here.)

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When my grandmother Jovita was sick, Mom took care of her in her home and in the hospital. My grandmother told her, “Kung ano ang pag-alaga mo sa akin, ganoon din ang gagawin ng mga anak mo sa iyo.”

When it was my grandfather Igmedio’s turn to be confined and Mom was already living in the US, she flew home to take care of him, not just once. She was such a devoted daughter. It was from Mom that I saw that being a good mother also meant being a good daughter. Because your children will learn from your example of love and compassion how it is to grow not just into a good mother but also into a good human being.

Two years ago, Mom broke her thigh bone in a bad fall. Her injury seemed like she had figured in a car accident. And yet on the day after a titanium rod was inserted into her thigh, Mom was already sitting up on the armchair beside her bed. After she was discharged, she was very diligent in attending her physical therapy sessions and in her medication. In less than a year after that, Mom was already able to take a long-haul flight by herself. In and out of the hospital, my sisters and I took turns taking care of her.

Today, Mom already walks without a cane.

The other week, I asked my son Chino (of course I was fishing) if he would visit me if ever I am confined in a hospital (the only two times I was confined was when I gave birth to him and when I gave birth prematurely to his sister, Joanna), and he said, “Mom, I will stay with you.”

(Motherhood statement: Good daughters and good sons become good people.)

Happy birthday, Mom! See, I have learned a lot from you.

(You may e-mail me at [email protected].)