THROUGH UNTRUE
Most mothers are remembered for what they have done. I remember Carmen for what she deliberately chose not to do.
First, she refused to sing lullabies to her eight children, which was ironic because her name in Latin means “song.” Instead, she preferred to gently cradle or embrace them until they fell asleep.
Second, once her children had grown up and were financially independent, Carmen declined her children’s invitations to live with them by saying, “I don’t want to be a burden to you.” Or, “You will just make me the ‘yaya’ of your children.” Using her own money, Carmen opted to live alone in rented houses or apartments, never staying in one place for an extended period. Her children called her an NPA (No Permanent Address), as she was always on the move.
Was she escaping from something? No, she just enjoyed the thrill of starting anew. Stability bored her. When Carmen left a place, she only took her most valuable possessions, which would fit in a shoebox. She left without goodbyes or hellos, treating the world like a rehearsal room to practice her art of detachment.
Third, when Carmen visited her children during special occasions in their life, she did not stay for more than a week. Beyond that, she became restless. She was hospitable and generous to a fault when her children visited her, but she would drive them out of her house if they overstayed their welcome. She did not want to be pushed to the limits of her tolerance. She knew her children would misunderstand her for this, but after spending many years taking care of them, she wanted a space of her own. She considered her privacy and solitude too sacred to be messed with. For her, setting boundaries was not only a right but also a responsibility.
Fourth, Carmen did not want to be a fixed-income employee. Instead, she engaged in buy-and-sell businesses, as these did not tie her down to a fixed schedule or routine. She wanted to be her own boss. She did not have health insurance or a bank account. She lived frugally, spending her money on basic necessities as soon as she earned them.
Carmen often said, “I am an Ilocana. I am a strong woman.” When she suffered a severe heart attack, she demonstrated what she meant by being “a strong woman.” Refusing to have tubes or machines attached to her or for doctors to use extraordinary procedures just to keep her alive, she showed her children that real strength did not mean clinging to life at all cost, but letting go of it when it is no longer possible to live humanely or decently. She died peacefully at the age of 80.
Carmen might not have been the ideal mother, but she imparted unique lessons to her children that only she could have given. She was one of the New Testament Anawim, the truly poor people who are not afraid to lose anything because they are ready to give up everything for God.
Living alone for many years must have burdened her with loneliness, but her abiding trust in God’s providence assured her that if God was all she had, then God was all she needed. Her understanding of God’s love was profound and genuine, something that she wanted her children to imbibe.
I thank God for Carmen, my mother.