" Miss me, but let me go "
May 13, 2003 | 12:00am
WE ARE all grieving from the depths of our heart and soul. We were desperately trying to find solace for our pain.
Mother passed on without bidding us goodbye. My sister, who was going through her papers, came out of her room, hardly able to talk. She handed us a piece of paper found in my mother’s purse with this verse on it:
When I come to the end of the road
and the sun has set for me,
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room,
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not too long
and not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me, but let me go.
For this is the journey that we all must take
and each must go alone
It’s all a part of the Master’s plan
A step on the road to home.
We couldn’t help but cry even more. Were these the final words that she wanted to tell us? Was this her way of telling us that she continues to watch over us and to give us consolation for our loss and pain?
We never knew how sick mother was. After all, she went to the hospital on her own two feet, just for a check-up. But she was not able to talk again after her surgery to ease the fluid accumulating in her brain. Two months after the operation, she quietly passed away.
Hers was a life fulfilled. She raised 11 children despite being widowed at the age of 38. She labored almost 24-7 and struggled against seemingly insurmountable odds to accomplish the unimaginable feat of having all but the eldest of her 11 children finish college.
With a deep abiding faith in God’s grace, she single-handedly raised her children to become not just professionals but accomplished pillars of the community. In all humility, I can say that what I am today is largely because of the discipline of hard work, dedication and commitment that she instilled in all of us.
She was a pure Filipina but when she spoke in fluent Hokkien, people mistake her to be a Chinese and wonder how an old Chinese like her can speak perfect Tagalog. After her eldest son was born in 1944, she was brought home to China by my father, the youngest in the Ang family. On and off, they stayed in China for almost six years. How she suffered discrimination from such a feudal, patriarchal, tradition-bound Chinese family who looked down on her not just for being a woman and the youngest daughter-in-law but for being a Filipina. In the end, because of her innate intelligence, she managed to even better her sisters-in-law in their Chinese lessons given by a tutor. After all, she already had two years of Liberal Arts when she got married while her sisters-in-law, being females, had never gone to any school. That was how she finally gained their respect, aside from saying yes when asked if she knew witchcraft (chuey khio).
Though she had no college degree, it was a standing joke among her children that she accomplished at least six degrees, having assisted many of her children in their thesis research and other assignments. This, on top of full time work to feed her family. She continued supervising or lending a hand even in her grandchildren’s studies. People are often amazed how she could finish crossword puzzles (a passion) so fast and come up with unknown words in scrabble–we explained that it came from being a voracious reader and helping even in engineering and science homeworks of her children.
My father died when our eldest was just 16 and the youngest just a four-month fetus. The eldest had to quit college to earn a living and the rest of us older siblings had to work part time, during summers and evenings. But what we lacked in material needs have been compensated with spiritual needs. We have always been a very close-knit family. The triumphs and accomplishments of one, or the sorrows and pain of another, are shared by all the siblings, and now even by the grandchildren. This is our mother’s lasting legacy to us. Following her tradition, her children and grandchildren remain close to one another despite being scattered in various parts of the world.
Last December 2002, we planned to celebrate her 80th birthday by having a grand reunion in Manila. Everybody came home, from Vancouver, Los Angeles, Boston. But she was unfortunately unable to make it. She was hospitalized with what all the doctors thought was a mild stroke. She never came out of the hospital and was finally diagnosed, two weeks before she passed away on Jan. 13, with lung cancer, which had metastasized to the brain and adrenal glands.
Our lasting regret is why nobody knew how sick she was. She must have suffered pain and discomfort before but, being the strong woman that she was, she did not complain. Or she just did not want her children to worry. Or it was God’s will that we, her children, do not make any early medical intervention for her that would have deprived her of quality of life. The numerous x-rays, CT scans and MRIs she had before never gave an iota of suspicion that she had the dreaded CA. Up to the time she checked in to the hospital for imbalance, which the doctors thought was due to a mild stroke, she was still enjoying life, exchanging emails with everybody, proud of being one of the rare species of cyber-connected grandmother.
But after we agreed to go through with the surgery to relieve pressure on her brain last November 29, she was never able to talk again. She understood us, recognized us, was happy that we rushed to her bedside, but she was unable to bid us goodbye. We were able to repeatedly thank her for what she sacrificed for us, tell her how much she meant to us, asked forgiveness for our shortcomings and assure her that her 10 surviving children, 21 grandchildren and nine children-in-law will always remember her.
She was so worried about me and my involvement in political issues. She suffered most when she learned how my life was put in grave danger at some point in my work. My personal regret was that I was not able to give her the assurance that she needed–that I will be okay and my children too. But I am sure that with her being our guardian spirit, we will indeed come to no harm.
Last week, we commemorated the first hundred days of her passing. We still miss her so much and though we all "remember the love that we once shared," we still could not completely let go.
Mother passed on without bidding us goodbye. My sister, who was going through her papers, came out of her room, hardly able to talk. She handed us a piece of paper found in my mother’s purse with this verse on it:
and the sun has set for me,
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room,
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not too long
and not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me, but let me go.
For this is the journey that we all must take
and each must go alone
It’s all a part of the Master’s plan
A step on the road to home.
We couldn’t help but cry even more. Were these the final words that she wanted to tell us? Was this her way of telling us that she continues to watch over us and to give us consolation for our loss and pain?
We never knew how sick mother was. After all, she went to the hospital on her own two feet, just for a check-up. But she was not able to talk again after her surgery to ease the fluid accumulating in her brain. Two months after the operation, she quietly passed away.
Hers was a life fulfilled. She raised 11 children despite being widowed at the age of 38. She labored almost 24-7 and struggled against seemingly insurmountable odds to accomplish the unimaginable feat of having all but the eldest of her 11 children finish college.
With a deep abiding faith in God’s grace, she single-handedly raised her children to become not just professionals but accomplished pillars of the community. In all humility, I can say that what I am today is largely because of the discipline of hard work, dedication and commitment that she instilled in all of us.
She was a pure Filipina but when she spoke in fluent Hokkien, people mistake her to be a Chinese and wonder how an old Chinese like her can speak perfect Tagalog. After her eldest son was born in 1944, she was brought home to China by my father, the youngest in the Ang family. On and off, they stayed in China for almost six years. How she suffered discrimination from such a feudal, patriarchal, tradition-bound Chinese family who looked down on her not just for being a woman and the youngest daughter-in-law but for being a Filipina. In the end, because of her innate intelligence, she managed to even better her sisters-in-law in their Chinese lessons given by a tutor. After all, she already had two years of Liberal Arts when she got married while her sisters-in-law, being females, had never gone to any school. That was how she finally gained their respect, aside from saying yes when asked if she knew witchcraft (chuey khio).
Though she had no college degree, it was a standing joke among her children that she accomplished at least six degrees, having assisted many of her children in their thesis research and other assignments. This, on top of full time work to feed her family. She continued supervising or lending a hand even in her grandchildren’s studies. People are often amazed how she could finish crossword puzzles (a passion) so fast and come up with unknown words in scrabble–we explained that it came from being a voracious reader and helping even in engineering and science homeworks of her children.
My father died when our eldest was just 16 and the youngest just a four-month fetus. The eldest had to quit college to earn a living and the rest of us older siblings had to work part time, during summers and evenings. But what we lacked in material needs have been compensated with spiritual needs. We have always been a very close-knit family. The triumphs and accomplishments of one, or the sorrows and pain of another, are shared by all the siblings, and now even by the grandchildren. This is our mother’s lasting legacy to us. Following her tradition, her children and grandchildren remain close to one another despite being scattered in various parts of the world.
Last December 2002, we planned to celebrate her 80th birthday by having a grand reunion in Manila. Everybody came home, from Vancouver, Los Angeles, Boston. But she was unfortunately unable to make it. She was hospitalized with what all the doctors thought was a mild stroke. She never came out of the hospital and was finally diagnosed, two weeks before she passed away on Jan. 13, with lung cancer, which had metastasized to the brain and adrenal glands.
Our lasting regret is why nobody knew how sick she was. She must have suffered pain and discomfort before but, being the strong woman that she was, she did not complain. Or she just did not want her children to worry. Or it was God’s will that we, her children, do not make any early medical intervention for her that would have deprived her of quality of life. The numerous x-rays, CT scans and MRIs she had before never gave an iota of suspicion that she had the dreaded CA. Up to the time she checked in to the hospital for imbalance, which the doctors thought was due to a mild stroke, she was still enjoying life, exchanging emails with everybody, proud of being one of the rare species of cyber-connected grandmother.
But after we agreed to go through with the surgery to relieve pressure on her brain last November 29, she was never able to talk again. She understood us, recognized us, was happy that we rushed to her bedside, but she was unable to bid us goodbye. We were able to repeatedly thank her for what she sacrificed for us, tell her how much she meant to us, asked forgiveness for our shortcomings and assure her that her 10 surviving children, 21 grandchildren and nine children-in-law will always remember her.
She was so worried about me and my involvement in political issues. She suffered most when she learned how my life was put in grave danger at some point in my work. My personal regret was that I was not able to give her the assurance that she needed–that I will be okay and my children too. But I am sure that with her being our guardian spirit, we will indeed come to no harm.
Last week, we commemorated the first hundred days of her passing. We still miss her so much and though we all "remember the love that we once shared," we still could not completely let go.
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