NOT even after some years of studying and practicing writing do I find the arduous task any easier. Perhaps the only time it truly came as a breeze was for a piece I wish I didn’t have to write so soon.
That was three years ago, on the day I composed my mother’s eulogy.
Neither one of us should’ve been in the position we were in. There I was, not even a year removed from graduating college, writing a speech to memorialize the life of my mother, who at the young age of 51 was laying inside the coffin after years of dealing with heart problems. Her passing was so devastating that it took me months before I could look at women who made past her age, more so at the elderly who were still able to sweep the streets or ride a jeep without gasping for air.
It was on the day of her funeral, when my uncle (or was it my brother? everything was a haze back then) asked me to do the honor of writing the eulogy. It was an easy call for them to make, not only because of my journalism background, but, more important, because I was Mama’s bunso.
If anyone had to write and deliver a speech about her, it had to be her baby. It had to be her youngest child, whose back she placed newspapers on to absorb sweat whenever the electricity went out, and incessantly fan to keep him cool until the power was restored. It had to be her youngest child, who she made sure was safe and healthy, one “Kmsta, anak?” text at a time. It had to be her youngest child, who along with all the people she was able to reach, was taught the meaning of unconditional love.
Speaking to an audience wasn’t really my strong suit, but I stepped on the plate nonetheless. All for her, I thought.
I got my phone, picked a spot and began writing. I made sure to cover all bases, and to speak about the legacy she leaves behind as a mother, aunt, sibling, wife and colleague. I took it upon myself to write something worthy of the great, albeit relatively short, life she lived.
The ideas and words flowed, and, soon after,
the tears. I willed myself to write in between sobs, only taking a pause when I had to wipe my eyes or my phone clear. Before I knew it, the speech had
been written.
There was a part where I thanked her and all the people who became part of her journey, and a part where I bemoaned the fact of how she’ll miss my wedding someday, or the opportunity to see how her grandchildren from me would look like.
Without a doubt, that eulogy was the hardest piece I had to write in my life, and yet it took the shortest time to finish. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t the only one who wrote it.
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A cliché is defined as a stereotyped expression. Stereotyped, because it’s overused. Used many times over, because it actually carries some weight.
One common trite Filipino mothers blurt out of anger when their unruly children goes a bit overboard is, “Kapag ako namatay, iiyak din kayo.” I learned the hard way that that was actually an example of a cliché.
****
It’s Mother’s Day this coming Sunday. Yes, it’s going to be an emotional day for people who have been dealing with the loss of their mother, even years after the fact, but the pain and void won’t be different from the feeling during Christmas, their birthday, their mother’s death anniversary, or a random Thursday afternoon. It all hurts just the same.
To all the wonderful mothers out there, thank you for expressing love in its purest, most selfless form. Happy Mother’s Day!
To all the people whose mothers are still alive and well, make the most out of every moment.
To Mama, I miss you beyond words.