One year after: Grieving well
I am not ashamed to say that since Mae’s passing, I have been crying every day. It’s uncontrived. It just happens. I let it be.
Babang luksa. I cannot find a precise and appropriate equivalent of this Filipino term in English. “End of mourning” is the literal translation, but it does not make sense. The death of a loved one leaves a permanent wound. Moreover, we forever remember our beloved departed. Hence, even though time heals, the mourning or the grief does not end.
Grief is the manifestation of love. We grieve because we love. And the love is eternal. There is thus no end to sorrow that is at the same time love.
Babang luksa is about commemorating the life of a loved on her first year of death. But the remembering will extend beyond the first year. Remembering and loving will be permanent, done daily, so long as we live.
I am not ashamed to say that since Mae’s passing, I have been crying every day. It’s uncontrived. It just happens. I let it be.
But I’m well, in spite of my physical weariness. When friends ask how I am, my answer is: “I grieve well.” It sounds paradoxical, but that is an honest answer, a right answer. To reiterate, to grieve is to love.
On the rare occasions that I meet Leni Robredo, we ask each other, kamusta ang buhay ng biyudo? Kamusta ang buhay ng biyuda? “How’s the widower’s life? How’s the widow’s life?” Leni’s answer inspires: “We carry on.”
Leni draws strength from the heroic and beautiful life of Jesse Robredo and the support of the people who regard her as our Vice-President. I get mine from Mae’s goodness.
Friend Sergy Floro, an economics professor at American University, told me that Mae’s goodness lingers. Her goodness remains not only in my mind but is emulated.
Our relationship, our marriage made us both better persons. Mae got out from a slump and helped me do my work and promote causes like freedom from debt and economic reforms. We were okay even though we didn’t earn much from our work with cause- oriented groups or nonprofit organizations. But we got support from my parents — in the form of free housing, free hospitalization, free vacations, and free transport — to fulfill our “Cadillac taste despite a karitela income” — a phrase Mae got from her mom Cil.
Mae taught me to avoid abstractions and to think simply. She was my editor, a very good one, as good as a Pete Lacaba, a Bobbie Malay, or a Lorna Kalaw-Tirol. While waiting patiently for me to submit a work for editing, Mae would brew coffee and
cook basic but delicious pasta for me. Once, I asked the Business
World copyeditor, Rusty Otico, why he hardly touched the columns I wrote. Rusty, now retired, likewise belongs to the league of top editors. Rusty answered there was nothing more to edit. Later, because of Mae’s failing eyesight arising from diabetes, she would miss occasional typos. But till the end, she had the ability to make written ideas clear and concise.
As my partner and collaborator, Mae, always curious, chatty, and friendly, mingled with all sorts of people — the urban poor, workers, farmers, feminists, gays and lesbians, environmentalists, communists, social democrats, economists, sociologists, journalists, lawyers, politicians, big businessmen, etc. She liked to describe herself as the “hedonist-activist.”
From her, I learned most the value of relationships, especially unconditional love.
Her death on Aug. 30, 2015 devastated me. I was not prepared for it.
I badly miss the relationship, no matter how imperfect, that lasted 27 years. Those were the best years of my life, of our life.
I read Mae’s short reply to my classmate Ward Luarca who greeted her on one wedding anniversary. She wrote that ours was a wonderful marriage.
Despite the devastation, Mae’s death made me a still better person.
When I was sorting out Mae’s things after her inurnment, I rediscovered a note she wrote in the 1990s. It was about her plaint that what was missing in our relationship was my lack of emotion and spirituality. I cried, and said: “I’m very, very sorry, Mae”
It’s most painful when the loved one I want to make up with is gone. But as Leni said, “we carry on.”
Indeed, I have become more empathetic and spiritual. I have embarked on a personal and spiritual journey. I relate with old and new friends, here and abroad. I listen; I avoid being judgmental and try to understand contrarian views. I reach out to those in distress — domestic helpers and overseas workers who encounter financial woes, a remorseful convict serving a long sentence for rape suffering from the inhuman conditions at the national penitentiary, and their like.
On spirituality, I have conversed with practicing Roman Catholics, born-again Christians, secularists, and atheists. And believe me, they share common values — on doing good and serving the people, on social justice, on forgiveness, on the value and meaning of life.
Some have noticed how my writing has dramatically changed. It is not about the style or technique but about the kind feelings and raw honesty, which can only come from Mae’s inspiration.
What makes me happy is how Mae through my writing has moved other people. For example, a skeptical Omi Royandoyan, a true left-wing activist, confided to me how my articles about Leni Robredo, which I could only write guided by Mae, convinced him to vote for Leni.
And an old friend from high school, a once mischievous Ody Santos, sent me a message, saying:
May nakita akong Mae sa asawa ko na pinaiyak ako nang pinaiyak sa tuwa… Nabuksan yung puso ko for love, and that probably what life’s all about.
Nabaligtad yung buhay ko: lahat gumanda. Milagrong tunay yan.
From my whole family, thank you and Mae for this miracle in our lives.
A few weeks after Mae’s death, Gilda Cordero- Fernando, as a way of condoling with me, invited me, together with my mom, sister Sana, and cousin Bobbie for a sumptuous merienda and dinner at her home. Her piece of advice to me: “Find an amusement but do not remarry.”
I will follow Gilda, but perhaps I might not even need an amusement. I am grieving well, and I will carry on. �