A Eulogy for Mommy

Taken during Mommy's Oathtaking. Ipinanganak siyang Pinoy at namatay siyang Amerikano.

Hello everybody. It pains me that I can’t be there right now physically, but I am with you in spirit.

Nita Llorente, Tita Nitz to you and Mommy to her family, was a very important person in my life. She, along with my grandfather shaped the person who I am today. It has determined my career, my life, and the road I have travelled. With them gone, I truly feel that I have been orphaned.

Her departure was very unexpected. We all know mommy to be a very healthy and vibrant person, tough as nails, always game, up for anything. In fact, she was at a party hours before she passed. That was typical of mommy. I never saw her sick or weak. I think she also didn’t want others to see her that way, so she decided to trump old age, in order gave us a memory of a very alive, very active mommy.

Come to think of it, mommy left the world in the same way she lived her life: She was a very impatient woman, always in a hurry, “Bahala na si Batman,” Schnell, schnell schnell! My mommy is not difficult woman to understand. For better or for worse, she is, at her very core, Filipino.

I would like to relate several anecdotes that show the quintessential mommy, at her best and the worst. Mommy is the kind of woman who can strike up a conversation anytime, with anyone. She has so much “P.R.,” my people skills are miniscule compared to the PR that she had. She gained valuable contacts, given away bottles of noni wine, and even my old cellphone, just because she had the happy accident of sitting next to someone, somewhere.

The last time mommy and I spent good, quality time together was the summer of 2004. Since I was a child, she promised that she would take me to her hometown of Carigara, Leyte. It was the place where she grew up, and where her family hid during the second world war. The prospect of travel excited me, and I asked her about it every summer. Ten years of promises later, she finally said that this was the year and off we were. She packed her suitcase full of clothes. “Mommy, why don’t you use a duffel bag?” “Ayoko,” she said. And that was that.

We first spent a few days in Cebu, where I cajoled and begged her to go to Malapascua, an island north of Cebu, touted in a magazine article I read as “the next Boracay.”At first she refused, but she thankfully changed her mind. With no clue and no place to stay, we left at noon, on Maundy Thursday. We took a non-airconditioned bus from Cebu City to Bogo, the next city before reaching the tip of Cebu island. We got there at 4 p.m. Because it was Holy Week, there were no more buses or FX taxis that would take us to the shore. We discussed the matter for a bit before Mommy said, “Let’s take the habal-habal!”

For those who don’t know, a habal-habal is nothing more than a motorcycle used as a public utility vehicle. Straddle yourself behind the driver, say a quick prayer, and off you go. Because of the lack of easy public transportation in the provinces, there are the most accessible means of movement.

After negotiating a 50 peso fare, the driver said yes and scratched his head, trying to figure out how we were all going to fit on the motorcycle.

Imagine this: A motorcycle. On it were a suitcase, the driver, mommy, then me, with a heavy backpack! I had to endure a 30 minute ride through unpaved jungle road as the handlebar at the end of the motorcycle seat poked uncomfortably at my tailbone. I clung to mommy, desperately trying not to fall off.

We got to the end of Cebu island, and we were able to easily charter a motorboat to take us to Malapascua. With her knowledge of Cebuano, mommy started chatting with a young man, who turned out to be the son of the boat’s owner. We said that we didn’t have a place to stay, and asked whether we could stay at his house. I wanted to shush up mommy, because I felt she was pushing her luck, but surprisingly, he said yes! He offered us to stay in his house, for free! Ang galing ni mommy no?

Our Malapascua experience was the best part of the trip. Even mommy said so.

As we moved on to other islands like Leyte, through meandering bus trips through winding roads, I felt I got to know mommy more. I guess this was God’s way of giving us time to get to truly know each other, because it was next to the last time we saw each other. We passed through Ormoc on our way to Carigara, where I was to be introduced to her relatives. She told me that she studied first grade in Negros, because her father had business there. She told me many other stories, the war, her relatives. We spoke about how our lives have turned out. We spoke about my grandfather. Most of the time, however, I just listened and tried to learn as much about this woman as I can. It is this summer that will be forever etched in my memory.

We are all the more poorer for having lost her, but heaven has gained a woman rich in passion, imagination and creativity. I love you mommy. We all do.

Thank you for teaching me about life, giving me love and protecting me. Thank you for teaching me about antiques, about beads and tamburin. Thank you for teaching me how to appreciate culture. Thank you for the afternoons we spent together at Treasure House. Thank you for taking me to Tita Ting’s old house in Horseshoe Village. Thank you for teaching me how to make ampaw and loofah. Thank you for cooking breakfast for me. Thank you for giving me jewelry that I always misplaced as a child. I will always treasure the coral necklace you gave me. Thank you, thank you. I know you know how much I loved you, and how grateful that you loved me too.

I would also like to ask everybody to say a prayer for Mommy, and to thank her for whatever she has given you, whether it be friendship, her company, or even for just knowing her. We are all the more richer for having known Juanita Conchas Llorente.