Rebirth
Rebirth is learning new things — from as mundane as finding the nail cutter to the most difficult like where to hinge myself now that my mother is gone.
The day my mother died was the day I was born anew.
How death spawns life is a kind of magic all its own. There’s reawakening taking place in my system like my life is being revived for something new. There’s rekindling taking place in my heart and mind and the repair is aided by memories.
It’s called rebirth.
I was so used to having a mother for 51 years. I have lived my life for my mother. I was not a perfect son but I endeavored to create a life of comfort for her. And then one day, on May 21, 2023 at 9:30 in the morning, I was rendered an orphan. My four brothers and I are total orphans now; our father died in 2010.
I had a commotion inside me when Candida died — emotional turmoil. If there is a word that is greater than grief, that would define how I feel. All I know is that I have a funeral in my heart. I was alien to this kind of loneliness until my mother died; until I became a total orphan.
This, too, shall pass — many well-meaning friends told me. I believe them. For now, however, I don’t mind if this-too-shall-pass meandering will not be expedited for me. The romantic in me holds on to memories — sweet, loving memories of my mother.
My mind knows what exactly “this, too, shall pass” means. My father taught me every time I had a problem when I was younger that “it doesn’t rain all the time.”
It doesn’t rain all the time. But let me cry in the rain for now.
***
On my mother’s funeral last Friday, I woke up to a little splinter stuck in my forefinger. My default thought when I got out of bed was to ask my mother for the nail cutter. My mind momentarily forgot that she was already gone — and just outside my room was her wake.
That’s a simple rebirth that took place there. I need to know now where the sinuliran (thread box) is in the house because that was where my mother kept the nail cutter. She just impeccably knew where to find what inside the house — from her favorite knife with a yellow handle to our passports. While in some houses there are markings on the wall to show the progress in height of every child at home, our house has none of that but has non-descript writings in many nooks that show dates when we had our first black and white and color TV sets, when the house was built, when it was tiled, when the faucet was installed, when the windows were fitted, when we purchased our first non-inverter refrigerator, when the aircon was set up in the bedroom, when the sofa was bought, when I bought my car, when my niece Nikki had her car, when the garage was built, when a new bed was bought, and more. Even the LPG tanks had dates on them to determine rate of consumption. All these bear the handwriting of Candida, whose memory, to the day she breathed her last, was not diminished.
Rebirth is learning new things — from as mundane as finding the nail cutter to the most difficult like where to hinge myself now that my mother is gone.
Every waking moment is filled with bottomless sadness because I was so used to an exchange of “Good morning” with her. This time, I don’t have her at home to say goodbye to every time I leave the house. I have not been biking for about two months now because I busied myself helping take care of her. Who do I say “Bike be with” to before and after I bike? And whether I was in Makati or Cabuyao, I said goodbye to her before I biked away.
Rebirth is knowing no one else will be there to remind me before I ride the wind: “Magdala ka ng ID. Fully charged ba ang cellphone mo? Magdala ka ng kahit konting pera. Mag-ingat sa kalsada.” Rebirth is saying goodbye to her still, even if it is just in my mind.
Harder even is coming home — no Candida waiting for me, no Candida to welcome me home, whether I came from the neighbor’s house or from the House of Mary in Ephesus.
My mother’s language of love was service. The kitchen was her queendom where she whipped up the most delicious hamonado, morcon, adwas, sinaing na tulingan, sinalab na ayungin, ginisang patani, sinigang sa bayabas na buto-buto, batchoy Tagalog. Rebirth is accepting the fact that those dishes, though one or two of my brothers can try to cook them, will not taste the same. Candida’s cooking was both labor and flavor of love, her gift and reward to her children to whom she was the No. 1 cheerleader.
***
Last Saturday, the day after we buried her, we missed the family’s prime cheerleader when my niece Alex graduated senior high school at Canossa School in Santa Rosa City. If she were alive, she would herd us up early that day so we could secure the best spot in the bleachers.
On her graduation day, Alex went up the stage with a confident smile. Her confidence stemmed from the fact that two weeks before her lola passed away, she was able to tell her the good news: “La, honor po ako.” It was one of those rare moments where Candida showed a toothy smile. She felt blessed that she had grandchildren whose aim was to make her happy and proud of them. They did not disappoint their lola.
Rebirth is finding ways to mend our hearts that in every hallmark occasion at home, she will just be a memory. What a beautiful, loving, generous and kind memory Candida is.
With that thought, I welcome this rebirth with an open heart.
(For your new beginnings, e-mail me at [email protected]. I’m also on Twitter @bum_tenorio and Instagram @bumtenorio. Have a blessed weekend.)
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