By Mich Lagdameo
Dearest Nanay,
I have never known life without you—you being there every morning when I wake up was as certain as the sun rising. You joined our family as a young midwife in her twenties, back when our mom was about to give birth to my eldest brother. That was 37 years ago.
Since then, you have selflessly sacrificed a whole other life you could have had. You never married, or had little ones of your own. You never really traveled and saw the world. Your family grew and grew—nieces and nephews would become extended family to us as well—but it was understood, it was given, that you were one of us.
Growing up a typical 90’s kid in an average 90’s household meant I saw more of you than I usually did my mom and dad, who were often busy working. They entrusted our care to you, and you rose the challenge of raising three rambunctious kids with aplomb and your trademark spine of steel.
You painstakingly woke me up and took me to school, and whiled away the hours until dismissal time with your cross-stitching. Your maternal instinct even extended to our pets (remember the dozens of rabbits and hamsters and adopted kittens?) and even our Tamagotchis (you proudly “fed” them while we were in school!) Did you know, Nanay, that my love for baking rose from watching you make crinkles and polvoron in the wee hours, when the house was asleep? I can still remember the smell of hot flour in the still air, as you taught me how to measure and mix correctly (you never reprimanded me for sneaking out of bed—you must’ve secretly loved the company).
You cooked and cleaned up after us, you made us reviewers for exams, you forced medicine down our throats when we were sick. You would loudly protest whenever one of us would take on another after-school activity, be it a sport or theater, but we wouldn’t be surprised to find our uniforms or costumes neatly pressed and hanging on the closet door the next morning.
Life wasn’t always idyllic for us, Nanay. You had a front row seat to all the challenges our family faced. But not once did you turn tail and leave us—you just quietly soldiered on and kept us all together despite the uncertainties you also felt. When our dad got sick, you listened to doctor’s orders and cooked healthier food. When he got even sicker, you cared for us even more than before so our mom could focus on dad. And now that dad has passed, you continue to care for our mom, never leaving her side. Partners in crime, we call you two. I am so grateful to you, because your comforting presence is what keeps us sane. We all know that we kids are all grown now, and it’s mom who needs the most care.
You are in your twilight years, Nanay, and I know I can never repay you for all those years of service and hardship. I can’t magically make you young again and give you a chance to live another life. But one of the things I am proudest of, is that I made you grandmother. The pure joy I see on your face whenever my little one entertains you with her antics wipes the years off your face, and I see the same Nanay who would rock me to sleep all those years ago.
Happy Mother’s Day, Nanay. Thank you for showing me what motherhood is all about—all I know about dedication, perseverance, and love, I learned from you. You may not have carried me in your womb, but I know you have carried me in your heart from the day I was born.
PS: That photo of me you have in your wallet is decades out of date. I should really give you a new one.
Mich Lagdameo is a mom to a precocious 1-year-old. She is a writer and editor by trade and calling, and she lives for books, leisurely grocery trips, cups of good coffee, long drives with her husband, and the Food Network. Her days are punctuated by the sound of her computer keys and her daughter banging into things.
