A tribute to my first and only love on the first Mother's Day without her

By RAFAEL ALUNAN

Elizabeth Jalbuena was my first and only love, and I wanted our union to last beyond forever.

I had the honor and privilege of serving my asawa of almost 55 years. This coming May 16 would have been our 55th.

She was also known as Baw to her cousins and friends, Nona to my grandchildren. Alternately, I’d call her Liz, Asawa, Sweetheart, and Mama.

She was a virtuous woman—courageous, diligent, dignified, devoted, generous, patient, and wise.

She had tremendous empathy, integrity, and moral clarity.

She was modest and humble. She was courageous, kind, compassionate, forgiving, and loyal. 

Elizabeth was deeply intuitive. She was the family’s CCTV long before it was invented. 

She was my everywoman, my everything.

Elizabeth was a devoted mother, raising our children practically alone while I kept busy as the breadwinner. She was tutor, confidant, friend, and bodyguard to four growing daughters and a son. 

Let me share some stories about her.

First anecdote: Elizabeth was a globally competitive nagger. Age and status didn’t matter. I felt like one of my kids as they were growing up. “Take a shower. Stop eating this or that, it’s bad for your health. Drive slowly. Say hello (or goodbye) to so and so.”

Second anecdote: I kept a handgun in the house for protection. I also collected replicas. She hated guns, real or not. One day, while nursing our third daughter, Christina, our kasambahays screamed that an intruder was perched on our gate but kept at bay by our police dog.   Instinctively, she rushed to my night drawer and pulled out a .44 magnum revolver, and rushed out the door.   With one arm wrapped around our daughter, she pointed the gun at him with the other. Fortunately, our car and driver arrived from an errand just in time. The intruder fled in a waiting taxicab. When I rushed home, I found out that that she grabbed a replica. In spite of it, she still hated guns.

The beginning

My love affair with Elizabeth began on Feb. 18, 1967. I was her blind date to Gina Vera-Perez’s debut, classmate at Assumption College-San Lorenzo. She was stunning and regal! I also sensed uncommon shyness and insecurity, like a damsel in distress.  I had this sudden urge to be her knight in shining armor. As the night unfolded, I was blinded for life.

Whenever we’d reminisce, she’d recall that when we first held hands and when I placed my arm around her waist, life was never the same for her again. Sigh. She was just 17 and, I, 18. We were in college then—she at Assumption and, I, at De La Salle.

We were inseparable. We even took summer jobs at Far East Bank going into our last year in college. I’d drive for her in a rusty weather-beaten car but she made me feel like it was a Rolls Royce. How could I not love her? Third anecdote: When I picked her up at Assumption for the first time, I parked right by the college building’s doorstep. Assumption’s lovable Empress Dowager, Mother Esperanza, came out of nowhere. With a commanding voice and pointed finger, she demanded who I was and why I was parked there.

Clueless, I smiled, greeted her, introduced myself to her, and said I was there to get Elizabeth and to bring her home. Suddenly, a thought flashed that I might have gotten her in deep trouble. There was a pause. Then she asked me if I was related to Lourdes Alunan. I said she was my aunt, my father’s sister.

That changed everything. I recall her replying in a very friendly tone, “She’ll be out soon.”   I learned later that Mother Esperanza and Tita Unding were good friends. 

What is love like for 55 years

Elizabeth and I tied the knot on May 16, 1970 at St. Andrew’s Church. She was 20. I turned 21 the next day.

Her dad, Louie P. Jalbuena, with a twinkle in his eye told us, “I forgot to tell you that the first 50 years would be the hardest. After that you’ll be ok.”  We laughed but, in time, we learned how right he was.

Throughout our marriage, we kept adjusting as we evolved from couple to parents to grandparents. We fought, yelled, and cried, frustrated at why we couldn’t understand each other or weren’t in sync.  Through trial and error, we learned to compromise. We sacrificed, endured, and overcame. We’d eventually joke about the way we were. I was the lion, she was my lion tamer. I was the speaker of the house, she was the loudspeaker. I was the dictator, but she was my commander-in-chief! 

In time, we mellowed and learned to forgive and forget. Forgiveness is so important to stay together. Forgetting is another story. Her elephant’s memory was terrifying!  In those moments, I’d hug her, bend my knees, and raise both hands with elbows at my waist, like so, followed by heavy dog-like breaths. She’d melt. We’d laugh, hug, and kiss. And all was well again in the world. 

In 2020, we made it to our 50th anniversary at the height of Covid. We fell short of 55 this year by two months.

Seven years

When I joined the government, Elizabeth bravely took on the challenge of single parenthood with timely assistance from my mother who lived next door.

She ran a tight household. Our kids were always on time for school. She patiently tutored them, kept them well fed and healthy. Good manners and right conduct were instilled in them. The house was clean and neat, our small garden was trim and lush, our kasambahays were transformed into loyal partners to keep the house safe and secure.

She was tireless and steady as a rock. But those years took a toll on our marriage. Because my job required 24/7 devotion to duty, we drifted apart. Afraid of losing her and my children, I left government service in mid-1996 to spend a year at Harvard Kennedy.

Four of our five kids joined us. It was the most idyllic year of our lives. We did housework and homework together. We took advantage of every opportunity to bond, meet new faces, see new places, learn about other cultures.

The remaining years

Elizabeth was sharp, fit, and strong. She regularly exercised and walked almost daily through a park nearby. In 2008, she fell into a deep clinical depression.  Her doctors also detected Parkinson’s disease.  The Covid years prevented us from leaving our house for over a year. We were an empty nest by then. Exercise was kept to a minimum. We “zoomed” with family and friends to stay socially connected.

In 2021, we moved from Quezon City to Muntinlupa where most of our children were residing. Even then, Elizabeth’s ability to think, speak, walk, and move was steadily eroding.

She’d suddenly fall even when being held. The pain in her body was constant. Our kasambahays helped her during the day while I took over at night. We moved her on a wheelchair. But through it all, Elizabeth showed amazing grace, grit, and determination.  She was heroic. And so was my mother-in-law who kept her smiling and laughing.

I will terribly miss my better half, mother to five couples and grandmother to 12. I’ll miss doing all the things to make life easy for her.   

I’ll miss our walks, our spur-ofthe-moment dates, our online masses, and our Holy Week retreats, watching movies, and listening to good music. I’ll miss her loving eyes, smiles, and bursts of laughter on our family trips and gatherings.

I’ll now only imagine her in others, in the places we’ve been, in every part of our home, in the music she loved until we meet again somewhere in time.  

Happy Mother’s Day Elizabeth, and to all the mothers in my life!