Aurora Ponce dela Fuente

My mom and dad

In her 40’s, at a time when she was enjoying the best of life – a thriving medical practice, a faithful husband who is also successful in his career as a public servant, and children sent off to good schools, - at a time when everything is bright and full of zest, my mother, Aurora, was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. I was there alone with her in her hospital room when the doctor told her just how advanced her cancer was. I saw the expression on her face the moment she heard it. I felt helpless –but at that time, at age 15, I didn’t fully comprehend what it all meant. I couldn’t grasp the seriousness and the severity of the situation. All I could think of was that my mother will get better, that there has been a mistake, and soon enough the cancer will be cleared completely. I foolishly thought that I could just will it to be, that all will be well. In my youthful naiveté, I felt an optimism far more than the situation or the evidence would warrant. Only slowly have I come to realize the severity of my mother’s condition. The initial optimism wore off, and an unshakeable feeling of desperation and hopelessness settled.

The church where my parents were part of, friends from all over all expressed their support. Messages of hope poured in—and we welcomed each one. “Your mother will be healed,” some said with finality, as though God Himself had spoken. Bible studies, prayer times, words of comfort came. And we drank all words of assurance and comfort as if life depended on it. After more than a year of chemotherapy, medication, specialists, and living on hope and prayers, my mother was finally declared cancer free. “God has answered our many prayers. Our nightmare has ended. Now we can forget the whole thing and get on with our lives,” we began to say to ourselves, and to our friends. That Christmas, there was a sweetness in the air that have been experienced before. My mother insisted we would have a family picture taken. She was looking radiant in her peach dress, and her smile was just as bright and beautiful in that family portrait. We had no idea it was going to be our last family portrait with her. In my ignorance, I sighed with relief. Life was going to go back to the way it was, I thought. Thank God.

Then, a few months after she was declared cancer-free, my mother began to feel excruciating pain on her back. Turns out, the cancer came back, and came back strong. The cancer has now spread to her bones, to her liver, to her lungs. More treatments, more pain, more days and nights wondering what is going to happen. Raised and dashed hopes. Unanswered prayers. No more promises of healing. April to May of 1987, we were brought to Manila to be with her as she underwent cobalt radiation. Every morning, my father would wake us up just before they’d bring her to the hospital, and we’d pray. We’d hold hands together and raise our prayers to God. I felt we were in the very presence of God, in that small apartment we were staying at that sweltering summer. When June came, we were sent back to Cebu since classes were about to begin, and my parents also went back to Mindanao to recuperate.

But one Friday morning in July, my parents arrived in Cebu. My mother was worse. She wanted to die with her family members present. She wanted to be her with children, with her mother and siblings one last time. We brought her to the hospital, but all the doctors can do was to provide comfort in her last days. Painkillers in massive amount were administered to ease her pain. She soon lapsed into a coma, only to gain consciousness briefly to talk with her elder brother. My uncle said they reminisced about their childhood days, friends they knew and the happy times when they were growing up. Then at 10:00 pm just after we lef the hospital to go home to rest, Tuesday, July 21, 1987, my uncle called us from the hospital to tell us that my mother has passed away. The two years of struggle from time she was diagnosed to have cancer up to the last minute of her life was over. The overwhelming feelings of despair, hope, discouragement and strength enveloped with fevered prayers and passionate bargaining with God led us to a circuitous roller coaster ride of emotions finally concluded. Life as we knew it was officially over too. But paradoxically, the feeling we spent the most time with was an unexpected one: gratitude.

Now, how can one feel gratitude in the face of all these problems? Against insurmountable odds, against a situation that will eventually result in death, why gratitude? How could we feel possibly grateful? Of course only a cruel fool would feel thankful for the diagnosis of cancer. We were not as masochistic as that. What I meant was during the most terrible of times, during the times when the cancer was at its most painful episode, we as a family huddled together in a closeness that was intimate and comforting, and for that we were grateful. We were grateful we had each other. We were grateful because of the support, the love and the provision we have received. We were grateful for God's affirming presence.In those early morning prayer times we spend as a family, we experienced a bond that was rare, even if we as a family were already close to each other. In the afternoons when my mother would try to recover from the cobalt radiation, we would be together and enjoyed each other’s company, and there was a feeling of peace and tranquility, like a soft shroud, enveloping us – and while sadness would descend at the most inappropriate times, we feel this quiet, powerful sense of love. It would kiss us in this tender moment, almost like a prayer, almost like a love song.

Despite her pain, my mother was a model of strength, courage and grace. She did not complain. She did not rage. She of all people deserved the best, but what she got was this unfairness. However, she was remained resolute in her faith. She would wake up in the morning with a smile that has always been her best feature. Although we feel her pain, she would hide from us the ugliest moments when cancer would ravage her body. Her faith was unflagging. She would pray – but not for her – for us – that we would be strong, that we would have faith, that we will be good no matter what life may bring. In the last letter I received from her, she was full of motherly advise. In that letter, she wrote about her hopes and aspirations for each one of us. In the midst of her pain, she found time to advise and remember to remind me of the most mundane of things. She was like that. Strong, graceful, beautiful. For this, we felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude – for her, for God who gave her to us albeit briefly, for our family.

That was twenty years ago. Today we mark her 20^th death anniversary. Life as we knew it changed – but not entirely for the worse. For even in the most painful of times, there are things we can be grateful about. I wish my mother didn’t die that early. There are times I wished life could have turned out differently, but it is what it is. And I rest in the kindness and mercy of God who holds us in His hands with tender care.