I Remember HER

I remember the way she rolled her hair into a perfect low bun ready for the days work. I remember her slightly coarse and callused hand as we walked together. I remember the lines on her forehead when she was cross or upset because I didn’t come back home in time for lunch. These are my memories, senses and lingering moments of the woman who continues to inspire me everyday.

Raising 8 kids in an impoverished island community, a life so full and chaotic. Every child a wonder, a challenge, a widow after her husbands death. She woke up every morning, 8 mouths to feed; 8 little lives to raise. They each grew up to be strong, hard working and kind humans. Returning the care and raising her up, they built her a home and created a more comfortable life for her, a gratitude of many. Life had improved and her kids made the most of each situation. She valued hard-work and perseverance, a belief system built on moving above hardships. In this way, she wasn’t the most affectionate person but inspired her children by example through her resilience.

Unexpectedly one of her daughters had secretly given birth to a baby girl. Out of wed lock and now a single mother, her daughter reached out for help and moved overseas to earn a living for her new babe. This baby girl sparked a new sense of affection and kindness she could only bestow now, as her life had shown her more comfort. A redo of sorts, closer than a granddaughter , a 9th child.

She nursed the baby with such kindness into a young child who knew she was loved. The child called her ‘Nanay’ an endearing word for mother. Nanay would take her for walks around the island, teaching her the native ways of the land. Their life together was peaceful and whole; she had wished this so much for her own children.

Every morning Nanay would be up before the roster crowed, cooking up a delicious morning breakfast of sticky rice, mango and traditional filipino hot chocolate, tablea. They would then sweep the house grounds and after the child was allowed out to play. She would continue doing the house chores like washing and seeing the family fisherman for the catch of the day. The child would always come back for lunch, sometimes late, always with a dirt covered face and a sweet smile. Nanay could only be cross with her for a short time. The afternoons were the most peaceful. As lunch finished, they would curl up together in the nipa hut. A time of rest with the sun at its highest and hottest. Nanay would wipe the little tendrils of sweat from the child’s forehead, making sure she was most comfortable. As evening approached, the child would help for the next meal, mainly sitting by the cooking rice pot chatting along to her Nanay about what she did that day. When the food was eaten and the sky dark, Nanay would light up the oil lamps and they would walk to her sisters house for an evening chat before heading back home to sleep. This peaceful and simple life continued for many years until the young child was 8 years old.

The child’s mother had fallen in love and asked if she could be reunited with her daughter to take her to another country full of wealth and opportunities. Nanay was heartbroken but knew that she wanted to give this child the best life possible. So she let her go and on her 10th birthday, the child moved away. The child was torn apart from being separated from her Nanay. She held her Nanay in her heart and remembered all that she had learnt, because she was shown love, kindness and to always see the best in people.

The child visited her Nanay every December, a kiss on the forehead and cheek at every meeting, her favorite breakfast made every morning. Peace and simplicity, together again.

I remember her stories of long ago island tribes. I remember her gentle smile and her soft touch as she wiped my forehead sweat in the afternoon. Now as she looks over me from above, I will always remember HER.