Remembering Sis. E

I had quite a shock when I learned, two days ago, that a lady that my mother and I knew more than ten years ago back in Gaithersburg, MD had passed away. What a strange way for me to have discovered this on the web when I was searching for an online photo gallery that belonged to her younger brother, J.

In 1994, I flew to MD to join my mother who was staying with this family who then recently emigrated from the Phils to fulfill a mission in the United States. Their two-story home was a temporary place of shelter for me more than month.

Sis. E was a petite, soft-spoken wife of a pastor and a mother of two daughters and two sons. She had three other siblings living, each living independently, in the same state. I came to know much about her family and relatives to observe that they were a closely-knit clan that dwelt on traditional (Filipino) family values.

What sacrifices they must have made to follow the call to the mission field, leaving prominent jobs in their homeland. From what I recall, both Sis. E and her husband were practitioners of chemical engineering. Highly educated and accomplished, there was no doubt. Yet in MD, they shed the trappings of their careers and took on the roles of God's servants. In so doing, they welcomed many newcomers such as myself to their homes, even chauffeuring some who didn't have the means to pay a cab to get around. Blessed with such a generous heart, they offered counsel and company to Filipinos who were living far from across the globe.

She might have had her nails or hair done professionally for some special occasion, but I have no memory of it whatsoever during my stay there, as her busy hands worked night and day to attend to chores, whether home or church matters. The line drawn between the two had always seemed hazy a lot of times.

Sis. E's weekly routine was as typical as any pastor's wife could get. Carpooling, visiting with members of their small congregation, typing the church newsletter, playing the piano during the service, and yes, even baking and decorating birthday cakes and giving piano lessons to her nieces.

In spite of the "proverbial woman's" qualities, her gentle demeanor, in fact, concealed a strong individual that her spouse, children, and intimates could lean on. Her quiet tones could move a boulder with the strength of her convictions. I've had my own encounter with this force of a woman who, to me at that time, acted like a self-appointed maternal figure during a very confused time in my life. Her motherly approach was tactful yet firm, though I responded with a resigned stubborness. It took years before the stun of her rebukes finally eased. I realize that as I matured later on, her wisdom became priceless gems.

Almost thirteen years after leaving MD, my recollections of Sis. E and her family linger with memories of her spouse bringing her flowers (which came with a peck on the cheek) every week after buying groceries, of one evening when her gushing 16-year-old (now married) was getting ready for her prom and sharing this insurmountable excitement with her, of her 5-year-old (now in college) riding piggy-back on his way to being tucked in bed by her, and of her kneading petals and stems made from fondant along with her daughters.

The uncanny moments, meanwhile, include seeing her one morning when she emerged from their home office with yesterday's oil-soaked makeup caked on her face because she labored all night on the church newsletter, and that after-midnight episode when, in a fit of self-abandonment, she decided to play a mini concierto on her beloved grand piano while the rest of the household was asleep. In my head I would never forget the lilting accent of her native dialect that she used when speaking with her family. There was hardly a note of harshness detected in that language that I so often heard but never fully understood.

Though her husband, the pastor, usually discussed the Sunday sermon, whenever people listen to insights shared by Sis. E, it was as if she had her own invisible pulpit what with the attention she commanded from her audience. Her family never had to ask her to repeat for they were all ears when it was her turn to speak.

The last time I met Sis. E and her husband was, I think, two years ago. I stumbled upon her brother, J, at a church service, that I happened to be attending in Cebu. To my surprise, I found out that they were vacationing in the country at that time. I dialled the number given to me, and it was Sis. E who I instantly asked for. I went to see them that night. I showed them pictures of my family. And as much as I was ecstatic to see them again, I strained to find the moment to make amends for whatever misunderstanding we had had way back during my "confused time" in MD. Courage failed me, however, because I felt that the reunion was better off without going over moments we both regretted back then. Sis. E showed me the web site of her brother J's photo gallery while chatting with her kids online. She had always been the computer aficionado all these years, so it seemed.

Through J's site, I was able to catch up on more than ten years of not seeing their family as I saw images of their grown-up kids and the other relatives I met back then. I remember writing down their contact email once, but to this day, I had not been able to keep in touch with them.

Two days ago, I thought about looking up J's site, but I couldn't find it anymore. Just like stumbling upon J at that church service in Cebu, instead, I came upon the news of her passing away. She died of cancer more than a year ago. My mother was shocked when I called her up about it.

As of this writing, I am still hunting for an email address so I cound send my condolences to the family.

This post was not written without tears. This is my means of paying respects to that dear woman, a gesture to honor the love, friendship, and kindness that this wonderful family had shown my mother and me.

My Life In Stills

I decided one day to organize all of my photo prints and classify them into these categories: my family (husband and daughter), my friends from high school and college, acquaintances made through the groups I was affiliated with, and my biological family. I found the task somewhat overwhelming because I kept running out of albums to put them all in.

More daunting was the fact that I felt that some albums are most likely better off if they hidden away from the public eye, as these were my solo pictures --- and I had quite A LOT. The pictures told a lot about the transformations I went through as a young person, different phases, fashion crazes (or the lack of one sometimes --- ugh!), hair style changes, weight gain, etc.

It feels somewhat pointless to be keeping such pictures of myself lying on our coffee table. A guy I dated long ago thought how odd it would be for a person to take so many pictures of herself.

I smiled a lot for the camera back then, stood or sat with embellished poses. One of my favorites was spreading my arms wide open as if saying "Hello world!" I look at that radiant face and wonder, sometimes wonder, when was the last time I felt so magnanimous, unaffected, and carefree.

I've been taking pictures of my daughter a lot more for the last six years. I wonder if she would have the same confidence to pose with such flair and desire to have her image constantly immortalized in photo paper.

Feeling 'Old' At Family Gatherings

Family reunions, especially ones that go on during the yuletide season, can stir up emotions like an oddly mixed cocktail drink. We either look forward to these happy gatherings or dread exchanging pleasantries with the relatives we do not particularly want to bother with.

We welcome the news of recent weddings, births, or upcoming journeys overseas but frown upon tactless comments on weight gain, marital feuds, and brewing jealousies in finding out about relatives' good fortune.

Fortunately, such reactions dissipate once people shift their attention on the smorgasbord that's delightfully laid on the table.

It's strange that when most families visit with their kin every year, it's as if whole decades become lost and people recall only faint memories. Of my old aunts, I can only note of very few changes about them. However, when I see that some of their children's children are beginning to settle down or that my other nephews and nieces already started taking home pay checks, the realization of how much things have really changed startles me. To these younger relatives, I have somehow become of an "old" aunt myself.

A long time ago, I was counted among the young ones that clamored for money and presents from generous uncles and aunts. But now I share the table with grownups discussing subjects on marriage and parenting. I've even begun to care whether my elder cousins give even the slightest consideration to my opinions.

As for the members of the more 'senior' generation (who by now have either become widowed or survived heart attacks or strokes), they have but a few years left in which they can pass on their wisdom, old family traditions, and the longing for the kind of life filled with simpler joys and more profound virtues.