“Who is it that loves me and will love me for ever with an affection which no chance, no misery, no crime of mine can do away?
It is you, my mother.” Thomas Carlye in a letter to his mother - August, 1824

In this first Sunday of May, the month dedicated to Mary, Jesus and our mother, we also honor our own earthly mothers, moms, “inas,” “imas,” “nanays,” “ madres,” amid the blooming of flowers and gentle showers. My mother, the late Paz “Nena” Intengan Munson was a caring, nurturing, sacrificing mom with great wit, grace, intelligence, and humor and I owe what I am to her .

Now... of all the roles in life I have been blessed to perform- daughter, sister, friend, writer, public servant, TV host, forum moderator, spokesperson etc. nothing, except being a wife to Hubby Sonny, has given me more joy and excitement than being a MOTHER.

It hasn’t always been all roses for me and my children Sandee, Junie, David, and AJ and I know I have sometimes been a pain, a nag, burden, an intruder in their lives, ‘overwhelming’ presence and heaven knows what else to them….but believe me, my children, I did them all in the name of LOVE.

In the name of motherly love then, let me share this piece, part one in our two-part series on moms, which was delivered in a graduation rite, by my dear friend Dr. Nelson Cabaluna, top oncologist-surgeon, on his own mother.

“In July 2008, oil was priced at $147 per barrel and there were projections that it would top $200. Now, less than a year later it's trading at $50, only a fourth of its value then. The floor has fallen from the stock markets, with trillions of dollars lost resulting in bankruptcies and job losses. Not a pretty picture for new graduates who are looking for jobs. The financial wizards of the world can’t seem to find the answer; and I won’t even try to give advice regarding economic opportunities. Instead, I’m going to share a story about an exceptional woman and mother.

Nine years ago, when I just came back from an extended trip, we brought home gifts for my mother. My wife Lorina and I were helping her put on the clothes we bought, and that’s when we noticed that her abdomen was very large. No one else noticed because she was big and always wearing housedresses. She never complained about it.

She didn’t have symptoms. The next day, I brought her to the hospital and she had an abdominal ultrasound. When the probe passed over her liver, I noticed right away that there were many nodules, a sure sign of tumor metastases: and I knew that she didn’t have long to live.

On the drive home, I had to pull up by the roadside. I was overcome by emotion, not because she was dying but because I realized that there was very little time for me to give back, to let her enjoy the material comforts that we were starting to afford.

I wanted to bring her to places I know she would enjoy; I wanted all my siblings to spend time with her but didn’t know if that was still possible.

My mother, Julita Dy, married very early. She was only 16 when she fled Iloilo during the Japanese occupation. Women married early then for fear of being abused by the conquerors. Both of my parents got separated from their families and we grew up as a nuclear family-absolutely no relatives.

She was more entrepreneurial than my father and took all kinds of odd jobs to raise her family. She handled contractual workers for the sugar mill (hauling and delivering bagasse and molasses), tended to a sari-sari store, and even distributed bark extract (baluk) all over the province. This gives the red color of tuba. If you are familiar with the trucks that carry sugar canes, you can imagine her very pregnant on top of the truck, supervising or chatting with the workers.

On April 17, 1967, there was a big fire in Bacolod City. The fire razed four blocks, including our home and her store. Nothing was saved except for two boxes of clothes. Even the pigs she raised to augment income became premature lechons. We were 13 siblings then, and Mama was pregnant with the 14th. Only the eldest had graduated from college. The bleakness of our present economy’s future now cannot compare with the depth of despair she must have faced then. Everything was burned to the ground. We didn’t have relatives to help us.

But somehow, I don’t know how, we pulled through. I thought that was the end of our schooling, were it not for the scholarships of St. John’s Institute and La Salle, and the help of my older brothers and sisters who worked during the days and studied nights. My older sister sent me to school.

Mama died after three years of battling with ovarian cancer. By the usual parameters by which we judge success, she had nothing. She wasn’t recognized, she didn’t have money, she was illiterate but she left us a legacy of education. She left this world with 6 accountants, two lawyers, a mathematics genius, two engineers, two nurses and two doctors.

She gave us the means to fend for ourselves.

As I honor her memory today, so do I honor the parents of our new graduates. They worked very hard to get you through college and I hope that you will take every chance, as I wish I still could, to express your thanks to them.

Why am I telling you this story that I have never before shared in public? To tell you that there is no easy way to success – its always perseverance and hard work. But if you persevere and work hard, and know where you want to go, you will get there, no matter how desperately impossible it may seem.

I have been practicing as a surgeon for the past 20 years and a big part of that is taking care of cancer patients. There is a particular insight that I want to share with you.

One of my most difficult tasks is to break the news of cancer.

It’s always devastating news. At the moment that you are confronted with your mortality, you are forced to focus on what’s truly important. Never mind your success, your money, your awards, it will be between you and your God and your family will be your source of strength.

After the initial phases of anger and denial, I am inspired by some patients when they are able to transcend their despair and look forward to every day as a blessing. I hope no one gets cancer, but I wish you can have that kind of enlightenment to guide your ways. As a friend of mine said: a cancer survivor is one of the best persons you will know; he doesn’t have time to waste, every day is precious, so he spends every moment living and loving those he loves, like his mother.”