Nanay's 7th

Dear Nans,

I would have wanted to do this later tonight, but let’s face it. I won’t be able to get anything else done for today unless I finish this first.

They say, acceptance comes before understanding. And while I know that to be true, and that there is no other course but to accept that you’re gone, I sometimes still find myself finding it hard to comprehend why you had to exit so early.

But then, I did hold your hand in that ambulance and I told you that you could let go if hanging on was already becoming unbearable.  It would have been selfish of me to have asked you to keep on. I would much rather see you go with your spirit unbroken rather than have you stay and let cancer reduce you to a shell of your former self.

My friends called you Sunshine. I will not have my Sunshine give way to darkness. You fought ever so courageously until the end. And I know you fought because of me, AB, Tatay and the multitude of people you touched with your love.

Thank you. After everything, Nans, you deserve your rest.

Now, how has it been seven years hence?

Well, it would be a lie to tell you everything’s been peachy. I’ve had my share of difficulties. But then my triumphs have far outnumbered my difficulties. Thank God and thank you. You did help prepare me for the challenges that may come my way. And you did teach me how to win at life.

You taught me the value of faith. You always reminded me to have faith that everything we need will be provided by God.

I distinctly remember one evening when you said, “You see, anak, God provides,” pertaining to the money coming in for your treatment despite you and Tatay not being able to work. In the midst of illness, you had faith that everything will turn up okay.

You  taught me to trust God’s plan and  to give everything my best in the midst of facing grave uncertainty. Because God’s plan is perfect and my own plans and vision are limited.

Thus, I remember the power hug of May 8, 2008, when I was then undergoing one of my biggest life challenges.

You said, “Anak, it’s going to be fine.” And, you added  that you will be praying for me.

Nans, you were right, as you always were ( I guess, there’s something to that adage “Mothers know best”). Everything did go fine. It didn’t go according to my plan, yes, but it went according to God’s plan. And his plan was perfectly fine.

And then, you taught me the value of service.
You had always been a champion of serving God and the people. You were a healer—through your Pranic healing group and through your counseling practice with Tita Rose. You had always wanted to be of help to others, to be able to uplift them and support them in their times of trials.

It is my earnest hope that I am able to live out your teachings. I also hope that through my life’s work now, I am able to practice faith, trust and service, and continue your legacy of making a difference in the lives of others.

You have always been my number 1 source of inspiration. You inspired me when you were alive. You continue to inspire me even after death.

This is why, seven years ago, I declared that my life’s mission is going to be to touch as many lives--if not more--as you.

Well, I’m far from done. That’s a lot of lives, Nans. Your shoes are extremely challenging to fill.

For me to say that I miss you would be an understatement. You are, after all, the biggest loss I have suffered in my life. Any other sadness or frustrations caused by past and current experiences pales in comparison to losing you.

I would have loved to tell you all these things in person. I would have loved to know what you think. I would have loved to ask for your advice regarding the things happening in my life right now. I would have loved to get your trademark power hug. I would have loved to have you jab at me with a funny remark. I would have loved to hear you laugh after that.  I would have loved to have another minute with you.

I would have loved to, but then I accept that you’re no longer around physically. Still I smile, because in the midst of all the uncertainties and the challenges that life throws at me, I could feel your love for me as my mind replays that wonderful line you said,

 “Anak, it’s going to be fine.”

I love you, Nans! Happy 7th going home anniversary!

Missing you,

Red

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