It's not the end, it's simply a bend

I just returned from my trip to the Philippines to visit my mom/Mama. I was last there in July of this year. She's 83 years old now and her health, along with her memory, is deteriorating. My dad (to me he is, and will always be, Papa) died at the age of 39 years old. Mama tells me he was healthy and vibrant. My sister and I went through old papers, photos/slides and documents while we were there. I brought home his briefcase filled with old documents .... my birth certificate, marriage certificate of Mama and Papa, Papa's death certificate and his last passport .... his Thai passport issued shortly before he left Bangkok, his passport photo shows a young man whose drastic weight loss is reflected in his gaunt face. A visa was issued by the US Embassy in the Thailand on September 3, 1968. The immigration stamps on his passport are my way of tracking history ... the last months of his life. He left Bangkok on Sept. 12, 1968 and spent a few days in the Philippines. I wonder how sick Papa felt at that time. By then, he and Mama had received the "death sentence" from doctors in Thailand. A few days in the Philippines to say goodbye to his in-laws. On Sept 16, 1968 they began the long journey to the United States .... Papa's passport shows Honolulu, Hawaii as their port of entry - date of entry: Sept. 17, 1968. From there they traveled to St. Louis, Missouri where he was hospitalized at Barnes and on December 20, 1968 his spirit left his failing body; his essence, and his soul remains in my heart, Mama's heart, and the hearts of my brother and sister. While on the long plane ride to Manila I watched the movie "Time Traveler" about a young man who travels in the past and into the future. I wish I could travel back in time. I wish I could sit down for a cup of tea with Papa and have a conversation. I wish I could have a conversation with Mama when she was younger. As my siblings and I have gone through old photos I see photos of Mama, a young, vibrant woman. Mama is getting old physically, unable to walk far and unable to remember things. She takes 7 different medications every day. In a half hour, the same question will be asked of my sister and I more than five times. We respond to her question each time, like it's the first time she's asked the question. She says she's approaching the end of the road, she's on "borrowed time."

When I think of my mom I think of a strong-willed, somewhat defiant woman who will fight to the bitter end for what she believes in and what she loves. She did that for Papa. As she approaches the end of the road, it's clear she has lived her life for her kids. She has told me that over the years. She has told me, "after your Papa died I didn't want to go on. His last words were 'take care of the kids'". She has done just that, and she has loved us with the same defiance she has loved Papa. For that I will always be grateful. The road has not always been easy. In fact, for many, many years the terrain was extremely rugged and there were times I didn't think we'd get to the other side, but we have persevered and we will continue to persevere .... I don't believe it's the end of the road. I believe it's a bend in the road. I believe there is a God. I believe there is life after death. I believe our soul continues to live on forever.

My wish now, is to fight to the bitter end for Mama, like she did for Papa. As we turn the corner, I (along with my siblings) will do all we can to be there for her like she was there for Papa.

It's not the end ... it's simply a bend.

Mama and Papa: Love that defies death

I just got off the phone with my mom. My sister and I are scheduled to leave for the Philippines next Wednesday to see her. I am planning on going but need to confirm with my gastroenterologist that it's still okay for me to make the trek out of the U.S. Endoscopy this past Monday was a breeze. Waiting on results of the biopsies taken ... i believe he took tissue from my stomach and small intestine. He indicated nothing looked unusual so i'm guessing the biopsies will come back negative. Still doesn't explain malabsorption symptoms I continue to experience which are now going on 2 months. I realized this morning that the first day I had the symptom was the night of 9/14, which happens to be my father's birthday. September 14th, 2006 was also the day we learned that our dog Shen had spleen cancer ... she died the next day, on a Friday afternoon, just like my father who died December 20, 1968 on a Friday afternoon. As I deal with health issues, I know my Papa is with me, protecting me. I feel his spirit. On Tuesday I have a ultrasound and diagnostic mammogram scheduled to deal with the lump in my breast that has come back. If it's determined to be solid, my surgeon recommends excisional surgery again to remove the lump. I'll know for sure on Tuesday.

With malabsorption issues getting worse, I need to confirm with my doctor that a trip to the Philippines will be okay. There's a followup test he wants me to go through ... it appears the organ that both my doctor and acupuncturist are thinking is the culprit is my pancreas. The holidays are always a little hard for me as I remember my father. I wrote a piece about him and the loss of Shen back in 2007, and have re-posted it on the Pet Haven website. Weight loss and no pain ... my mom tells me this morning when we are on the phone, "your Papa never complained. He kept losing weight and had some stomach cramps." I have to remind myself that even though "I feel fine" my body is clearly sending me a message that something is wrong. I think Papa is telling me to listen, to pay attention. I have an open, heartfelt conversation with my mom this morning. She wants so much to come back to the States. I tell her I want to come back to see her but need to make sure my doctor gives me the okay to travel out of the country. As much as she wants to see me she says, "take care of your health first and do whatever tests you need to have done." Her strength and health is deteriorating yet she says she will come here to see me. I tell her "no, I am young. I will come and see you." She goes on to tell me, "yes, you are young. Your Papa was young. He was only 39 when he died. I still get angry at him for leaving us. Didn't he know how much I needed him?"

For decades I don't think my mom and I ever told each other we loved each other. The deep loss of my father (and the love of her life) took something away from us.... we have healed a broken bridge, and for that I am eternally grateful. We end our conversation with, "Ma, I am planning on coming next week. I want to see you. I miss you and I love you very much." She says as her voice cracks, "I love you very much darling. Please take care of yourself."

I may not have had a father around me, physically, growing up ... but I believe he has always been with me. I also have a painful, yet beautiful image and memory, of my mother who loved someone with a depth that defies this earthly world. An image etched in my memory of a woman - my mother - who loved my Papa so much that she tells me "I am approaching the end of the road. I am ready to be with your Papa again."

Their marriage vows, "till death do us part" was not accurate ... even death could not break the incredible love that existed between my Mama and my Papa.

I love you both with all my heart.

Honoring Mama -- Remembering Papa

Not long ago I wrote about my father on my blog ... to me he was Papa. This morning, I honor my mother, Mama, and share with you a piece I wrote on 11/2/2005 after leaving a writing class at The Loft:

Friday afternoon, December 20th, 1968. I am in my usual corner of the hospital room. Mama is hovered over Papa. Tubes and IVs are attached to him. I don't think I understand what's happening. How can I? I am only 4. My parents are always supposed to be there. But why was this day, five days before Christmas, at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri different than any of the 90+ days I have just spent hanging out by Papa's hospital bed, playing with my toys in the corner as he slept. It think it must've been every 15 minutes that someone in white came in to wake him up or poke and prod at him. How is anyone ever supposed to get any sleep at a hospital?

I hear "Little Drummer's Boy" playing on the hospital intercom system. The halls are filled with reefs and Christmas decorations. The memory of my dad etched into the beat of the drum. This is supposed to be a joyful time, a time of celebration. Why did I not feel the joy in the room? Why does the air in the room feel so heavy? Has gravity found refuge in Papa's room? I feel the weight of my mother. Papa, a mere 39 years old, prime of his life. Conceding physically to an organism unseen to the human eye, a virus that has taken over his body. The virus are attacking Papa's body and Mama's spirit. The love of her life holding on as best as she can. Mama clinging desperately to a part of herself and true happiness.

"What is that light? Where is that beautiful light coming from?" Papa quietly says to Mama. Fear fills Mama's heart. "No God. No, you can't take him away from me!" She knows in her heart he is slipping away. He is slipping away as the rosary clasped in his hand falls to the floor. The cross remains in his palm. The rosary beads lay on the floor. Mama tells me now she knew that was God's way of telling her the "chain of life" was broken. Mama shuts all the blinds in the room and shivers as she says, "what light? there is no light." Desperate to hang onto his words of "i'm not ready to leave you and the kids." Desperate to believe that the love of her life is not going to leave her.

He slipped away that Friday afternoon - 3 pm, December 20th, 1968. So did my mother. Her spirit could not remain here. Her body did, but Papa took her heart with him unknowingly. He has been our bridge for 37 years. Some days we will both take that leap and open our hearts, and let grief pour out, and when it's all out, I wonder what we will make room for in our hearts?

In recent months, there has been healing taking place. My mother who is now in the Philippines and never calls, called me last night. She is getting weak. She misses me, she says and she wants to come back to the United States so she can die here close to her kids. Papa has been the bridge connecting the two of us for so long. I am learning the only way I can heal is to open up my heart and speak the truth. Mama and I have both learned to protect ourselves from getting hurt. We have fought desperately to not feel the pain -- for her, the pain of losing the love of her life; for me, the pain of losing my father, and at the same time, my mother. As I approach 45 years of age, I am finding my way back to myself, and Mama and I, are learning that we no longer need Papa to be the bridge that connects us.

I will be heading to the Philippines soon to bring my mother back to the U.S. I can tell she is preparing for the end. She tells me "I am ready to be with your Papa." I have witnessed a love that transcends anything I can describe ... today, 41 years later, my mother still speaks of my father and lights up. I love to see the twinkle in her eye. She talks about him today in the present tense. She carries his photo with her and her bedroom is like a shrine honoring my father. I have ached for my mother's love. Together, we are daring to shed our protective layers and as she prepares herself to cross the final bridge, I will be there, holding her hand and sending her off to once again be with the love of her life. And when the time comes, I will ask her to save a spot for me.

I love you Mama.
I love you Papa.