My mother

I love my mom. She was not the typical hands-on mom. I don't think she ever prepared our formulas or fed us when we could eat, much less changed our diapers. You see, after she got married to my dad, she was thrust into the world of politicians' wives. She campaigned for dad, met leaders, socialized, did charity work and what have you.

I never knew her as I was growing up. She was just this beautiful lady who dutifully attended our school functions. My classmates would look at her and gasp: is that your mom? I would self-consciously nod yes because in no way did I resemble her.

But I discovered my mom when I started to like boys. I found that I could talk to her openly about it and she listened without judgment. She talked about her boyfriends and I felt privileged to be confided with such information. I not only found my mom, I found a friend too.

And so our friendship and relationship grew as I passed through the different phases of my adult life. Since we lived apart for many years, the telephone was our special friend. When mom remarried and moved to the States, she called almost every week for the first few months from Los Angeles. Landon, our step-dad was so gracious not to show her the phone bills. He knew it was difficult for her to leave 4 kids behind.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2007 while in Canada for furlough, I remember walking with Doug to the parking lot. There was silence between us because of the heaviness of the news. I then said, "I hope mom doesn't call."

Well, she did. It was light banter for a while as she told me how her day went. Then she asked the question that I dreaded: "So, how are you?" I broke down and told her about the diagnosis. Mom listened intently and hardly said anything. I tried to compose myself and say: "Mom, please don't worry about me," but it was difficult to break through my sobs. Mom only replied: "How can I not worry about you." Mom never broke down that day and I don't think I ever heard her breakdown in my presence. But when my sisters called, they told me of how mom cried when she talked about me. I guess mom wanted to be strong for me. Maybe I did need her to be just that.

She flew to Peterborough to be with me when I had my mastectomy. She kept reminding me: "put me to work. I'm here to help." But it was hard to do that --- besides Doug had everything in control. It was just great to have her around. I thought it was important for her to be with the kids when I was in the hospital for the night --- especially for Mandee who did not want to go to school that day but wait in the car until the surgery was done.

It was my brother Dino and mom who collaborated together to help out with my treatments when we got back to Cebu. Later, they discussed the possibility of sending me to Fuda when it seemed like we had exhausted everything else. They made me feel that my health issues were not a burden to the family. Doug and I are so grateful for that.

When we got the results of the PET scan and the treatment options, I talked to mom and Dino. I began to tell her that it would cost more than we originally thought it would. She simply said: "Don't worry about it." When I told her about having chemo and the other treatments, she plainly told me, "Be positive about it Marla and remember, it's just hair."

I thought about those three statements and realized that mom had reduced all those complicated issues into 3 profound truths. It couldn't have been simpler or more loving.