Hey, World, Guess We Hate 2020 #NanoPoblano2020 #My2020

Yes. It’s me. One year after.

My lone post back in February aside, the last time I posted was in November….LAST YEAR.  So, yes, I missed greeting you a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, even a Happy Valentine’s, and all those other greetings. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. But I’m back. Hopefully, for much longer. I know I always say that, but please know that I do mean it every time.

I was supposed to start posting last November 1, but November did not start right. A super typhoon hit the country hard. Then it was followed by several more typhoons. The last one just left a few days ago. They left parts of the country in shambles, so to speak. These are sad, sad days for the Philippines. Correction: It’s been a sad, sad year for us and most parts of the world. It was not only November that did not start right but Year 2020.

In all honesty, I wasn’t doing well long before 2020. There were personal struggles, most of which, I kept to myself. I’m used to dealing with personal struggles so I am able to handle things most times. Still, self-doubt is always something that can eat away your courage. 

Things got worse. My sister struggled with health problems for years. Every year, she’d be hospitalized. Last year, it started again around October. The worse part was she had to start going through dialysis. My brother-in-law and I kept consulting people and trying to decide the best thing to do. It seemed there was no other way but to start dialysis. And this naturally became another worry for me. It is really a longer story, but I don’t know if there is a need to say everything.

At the airport back in January 2015, the day after my wedding. My Ate was about to go back to Surigao. She went home to Laguna to see me get married. Her presence was very much needed — our parents had passed almost three years prior. She was my only family then. I wanted her here. Looking back now, I realize that was the last time that we were happy together. Her health got worse in the following months.

The good news is I was able to visit her in Surigao last February (went back home a few days after, which was already in March). The bad news is…she left us in May. She left me to join my parents. My family left ME. I am now orphaned by my whole family…So, I’m sorry, 2020, if I don’t like you. 

Alright. Year 2020 hasn’t been all bad. I did not lose my job, for one. I get to work from home, spend time with my new family, and be a teacher-mom. It’s actually hard work, believe me.

Well, I guess I should live through 2020 and the next year doing what I always do: I’ll wing it. As for you, I won’t ask how you’ve been (unless you want to volunteer information). I am pretty sure it hasn’t been that good to you either. I am also pretty sure you’ll do what I do.

Let’s wing it!

“What was the strangest thing you found cleaning out your parents’ house after they died?” (post-)#AskWednesday

Until I read Debbie The Doglady’s post, I could have forgotten this. I had planned on posting this sometime ago but never had the right time or chance to do so. I did think of sharing it for Valentine’s, but I also felt it would have been kind of a sad reminder for some who are still grieving for our parents, so I didn’t.

I was doing some legit research one day, I don’t remember what about, but as most researches went, I stumbled on something else. I found this question posted on Quora:

“What was the strangest thing you found cleaning out your parents’ house after they died?”

My parents on New Year’s Eve 2011

I could have answered, but I wasn’t planning on joining Quora. Also, I didn’t think I had any answer to that. I still don’t.

My father had a mild stroke when I was 20 and since then, he was unable to go to work, work being a teacher in elementary Math, Physical Education, and Gardening & Shop (I have no idea what those subjects were called then exactly and I think they have new names now). So maybe, whatever secrets he could have hidden, if there were any at all, my mother had long ago gotten rid of them. I know of one I found when I was young, but that doesn’t count because he was still so alive back then. So when he died in May 2012, I didn’t find any strange thing that belonged to him.

Meanwhile, my mother, who was a Geometry and Trigonometry teacher, had nothing physical to hide either, not to my knowledge, nothing strange that I found, at least. There were several secrets about her personal experiences that I found out after she died in July 2012, some things she did not tell me because she knew I would get mad that she let people do that to her, but they were nothing near strange.

I think the reason that I still haven’t found anything “strange”, surprising or shocking is because I have lived in our family’s house all my life (well, except when I was/am gone the whole week working). Non-Filipinos may go, “What???” and think “Adult and still living in her parent’s house?” Let me tell you now that Filipinos are family-oriented and living with one’s parents doesn’t necessarily make him/her dependent and useless. It is common in our culture, especially the extended family culture…

My parents were teachers and most things that I find that belonged to them are clothes, personal effects that I mostly knew anyway, various school-related stuff like books for lesson plans, IDs, lovely notes from students (especially for my mother, whose hoarding tendencies I happen to have inherited). I’m just thinking maybe I’m better off not knowing anything in case it happens to be something I’ll regret finding out.

Now that I have answered the question, I am sharing to you some of the worthy answers I found on Quora. I’d rather share the nice ones because I’d rather that we remember our parents fondly. Click on them to get to the actual pages if you want to.

Click on the image so you get to be redirected to the link he gave and see what he’s talking about.

This is something that I would have liked to have found. I wish I could learn more about my parents, their experiences, their thoughts, their worries, their dreams…This only emphasizes how important it is to not wait and get to know your parents more while they’re still alive, because time will come that they won’t be able to tell you anything anymore. Except for their lesson plans, my parents did not seem to have inclinations towards creative writing, which is most probably why there are no journals for me to visit in the first place.

Again, one of the things I regret is emphasized here. I regret to not having video-recorded my parents (I tried, but my low-tech phone wasn’t much help,…I could have found a way and borrowed, but didn’t. Sadly.). I did not even record their voices! Now all my sister and I have of them are like the Jim Croce song: ‘Photographs and Memories’. It would have been better to see and hear them alive and talking and laughing once in a while when we’re missing them…

Finding such bills would have been awesome, I gotta admit 🙂 Anyway, my father had quite a sense of humor, too, which I would not have known had he not gotten sick. It seemed he went back to his former and younger self and in the next years of his life, I got to know more of how he was as a younger man. I’m sure he was like that to his friends before the mild stroke, but at home, he was stricter. So the “change” was somehow drastic.

Alright, I couldn’t help it. This one’s kind of sad in the end. Still, the mother thought of buying gifts for her children…

Make sure you click on this to see the whole of it…This reminds me of my parents, especially my mother whom her students adored. I found similar letters and cards given to her, but I really was not surprised. I had known since I was little that she was getting such expressions of appreciation from her beloved students.

 

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I hope you liked what I shared.  How about you, “What was the strangest thing you found cleaning out your parents’ house after they died?” Again, the comments section is for your perusal 🙂

**NOTE: I thought I’d add this since I mentioned the song. It has always made me sad even before losing my parents, but now it means so much more to me. I actually just teared up having listened to it. It’s a lover’s love song, but it can very well be a song for a loved one who has gone on before you.

Finding Grace in a Grilled Ham & Cheese

I had been waiting since last week to reblog this and I think this is the right time. We all can relate to this. I personally feel that it is the primary caregivers in the family (like I was) and those who can’t go home to be with their ailing loved ones (like my sister was) who feel the regrets the most.

This was what I had to say, though:

“In 2012, I tried to do the best I could for both my ailing parents. Still, I ask to this day if I really did. Maybe it’s really that Angry stage of the grief. There is no deadline or proper schedule for each stage of grief–it could be for months or a year, it could even take a lifetime. It is important that we do acknowledge the anger and learn to forgive the ‘sinner(s)’ (either yourself or others) little by little…”

If you are at that stage right now, don’t be too hard especially on yourself. We must always remember that we are not God and that there are things that our mortal powers cannot any more handle.

 

Thank you to Lori Greer for this.

Lori Greer in Portland

“But when from a long distant past, nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remained poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering , in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.”   excerpt from Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust.

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Moms, we are with you…

It’s also Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month, did you know? I didn’t, until I stumbled upon Ashley Anderson‘s article last Friday.  Now you know what that means to me, so I won’t delve much into it. I do want to express my deep sorrow through her words.

Our experiences were different, but we were on the same boat. And now, we’re learning to swim, maybe in a different way, too, but we’re both surviving in our own ways. The way a lot of mothers who were on the same boat as well are coping with life.

To our fellow moms, I only have to say that we must strive to enjoy life every day, enjoy even the tiniest bit of things. And never, ever lose hope…

Pregnancy & Infant Loss

Awareness Month

October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. For those of you who know me, it’s something that is near and  dear to my heart. Not everyone is comfortable with talking about their journey and loss, but I’ve found that with speaking out about pregnancy loss can help with healing, open up conversation and help connect people who have been affected by loss. 1 in 4 women experience pregnancy and infant loss. It’s time we talk about it.

Here is my story:

My husband and I decided quite early on that we wanted children. It was something that was never really discussed seriously, just something that was important to both of us. We decided in early 2012 that we would start trying (a few months before our wedding) because things like that never happen right away. Well, it did. I conceived the first time in early February of that year…

Read full article

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If you need someone to talk to privately, even just to listen, feel free to email me at j.gi.federizo@gmail.com.

I do advise that you first turn to your loved ones because in such trying times, they must be your first line of support. Grief and sorrow can be lessened when you have a strong support system. If it is a depression that is way beyond the powers of your loved ones, consider getting professional help. It is never wrong to ask for help.

HELLO, WORLD!!! #atozchallenge2015

Yes, “H” is for HELLO, WORLD!!! Because isn’t that the default greeting newbies get when they start something online? According to Wikipedia (and I think they can be relied on when it comes to simple info like this):

A “Hello, World!” program is a computer program that outputs “Hello, World!” (or some variant thereof) on a display device. Because it is typically one of the simplest programs possible in most programming languages, it is by tradition often used to illustrate to beginners the most basic syntax of a programming language.

My keyword there, really, is “beginners,” because after being gone for quite a while, it almost feels like I’m a newbie again in the blogging world. Just almost, since I haven’t really gone and have been visiting and commenting on blogs I follow. I did want to post badly, but time, health and resources did not permit me.

To update you, and many maybe wondering why I am still doing the A to Z Challenge that’s supposed to be just for the whole month of April, well, I am continuing with it. I failed last year, and to think I only had “Z” left! I just don’t want to be a quitter. It’s not like it’s do or die or anything, for Pete’s sake. Maybe I won’t have enough luxury of time and resources for now to do it regularly, but I will finish it….

Can anybody tell me, though, how to go back to the classic version of the editor??? This new one drives me nuts! It doesn’t ask anymore if I want the old version, but I want it back!!! I want to be able to add text color, for one thing, especially when I add links (I just make them bold and they also automatically appear to be underlined somewhat). [UPDATE: I know how to go around it now]

Going back to updating you, in case you’ve been wondering, I was on leave for two months due to a very personal loss. I was required to go on such leave. I thought I could go back after a week, but doctors themselves always advise otherwise, so I decided I’d rather not risk my health anymore. It really was quite new to me as I’m not so used to getting sick for a long time. It was even my first time to be hospitalized.

I hated that I could not move fast, that I was not allowed to do more stuff that I normally could, that I could not take advantage of the free time to fix whatever stuff I wanted fixed at home. It’s nice to be cared for, especially by my sweet husband, but too much dependence bored me. It did not help either that within my recuperating period, I got sick again. Double whammy! The good news is there won’t be a need for surgery anymore. I do need to take some medicine still to make sure the swelling’s really gone ’cause I think it’s still there a bit. Seemed like it was pregnancy-related, but when I’m able, I’ll go have some tests done to be sure. Better safe than sorry, right?

It really gave us a scare, I admit. April had just started and I thought I could complete the challenge on time. WRONG-O. That second whammy took me away from my blogging because (1) I didn’t have enough energy, (2) I wasn’t supposed to stay up late, and (3) I couldn’t just spend fifty-pesos per day so that I could get connected to the Internet when we needed the money for my meds and our everyday expenses. Priorities first (redundant, but just to drive a point).

Dads, too, I know!

And then, there were the kids. His kids, also mine now. They now live with us, and now I know how it really feels like to be a mom. And anyone else who does, or anyone who understands, knows that lots of times, kids come first. It doesn’t help that I’m pretty OC, so I now realize I can be really strict (I know, gotta loosen up!). It was like giving rush lessons on how to be good, little boys, and actual rush lessons on reading, writing, counting,…Hey, school starts this June, so, you know. And, oh, we got two pups, so it’s like having two additional kids in the family.

I am back at work. Just in time for my birthday last Monday. No offense to my colleagues at work, but I didn’t enjoy it much because, well, I had to work, and especially because I wanted to spend it with my love and kids. But anyway, do expect more posts from me. Also, do expect they won’t be daily posts. Gotta work, y’know 😉

Thank you to my new followers, by the way! Sorry I am not able right now to say my thanks individually. Keep on writing, guys!!!

Death, Denial, Depression #atozchallenge2015

“D” is for DEATH. We all know death, but it’s still a big word, considering that grief causes two other Ds, DENIAL and DEPRESSION.

I wish I could write about something else, something lighter, like dancing, which I really considered but my tablet is making it harder to post vids and I don’t have much patience right now, or dogs except I don’t have nice pictures to share of past canine pets. Instead, “death” kept insisting itself on my mind. No, I didn’t want to write about it. I wanted to write something much more fun or something lighter like last year. But here I am. This is much more raw than my “A” post.

Those who have followed me enough times are aware of what I went through these past three years. At first, I refrained from discussing much about death in the family, then I realized I could not get away from it — I had to give in sometime. What better way to do that than to pay tribute to my parents?

I tell you, it was not easy watching your loved ones deteriorate everyday. It was not easy doing the best you could, swallowing pride to ask friends and others for any amount they could share, sacrificing your job, and taking care of your parents while wondering if you’d still have a job to go back to after…Yes, after, because despite everything I did, at the back of my mind, I knew with a certain dread that the end was near for both of them.

When all of these were going on, I hardly wept. At rare times, I just felt a lump on my throat, cleared it, shook my head and continued with my–our–day. I wanted to keep emotionally strong and to always have a clear head for you would never know when a decision had to be made. There were many, in fact. Together with some relatives, I had to rush my mother to the hospital monthly, without fail, until July, which we all thought we would finally skip and it turned out to be her last month on earth.

All the while, I had a clear head. I could not let myself feel down for so long. While I communicated with my sister regularly, she was still miles and seas away; any immediate decision had to be made by myself and I could not afford to make the wrong one. Could it be called strength? I don’t know. It would be very presumptuous and self-serving of me to say it was. All I am sure of is this seems to be the way I react when faced with circumstances that call for me to have a sense of responsibility.

I could’ve cried when my father had the stroke when I was 20, but I didn’t, not in front of my mother anyway. How could I when I saw her break down in their room and right away, I had to hold her and reassure her that things would be fine? Somebody had to be strong for us during those times and I was the nearest family member to do that. I only cried when he was first diagnosed as having suffered a stroke, but that was when I was alone at home and they were in the hospital. It was also very short-lived — I had just started weeping when my cousin called out to me from outside, saw my eyes and basically berated me for being a wimp as she saw that as a lack of support for my mother. I did not have the energy to argue that crying was normal, even a healthy reaction. After that, I don’t remember a time that I cried about it ever again.

I guess this coping mechanism was something that got developed in me. “Surreal” is the only way I can describe the feeling. It’s like being sad, worried and alert all at the same time. When my father was pronounced dead, I already knew even before the E.R. doctor could tell us. My friend who stayed with me would later tell another friend how brave I was. Brave? Not sure about that,  just that when another cousin and I were already alone with my father’s lifeless body, I surprised myself when I bawled out, kissing his face, saying sorry for everything bad I had done, especially for getting mad two evenings prior.

Months after losing my parents, I still did not really cry save from the actual funerals. I could have gone through the Denial phase of grieving, for all I knew. I did know that I got to the Anger phase the next year. Being angry at one’s self could be quite debilitating itself. I do believe I suffered from Depression.

Recently, I lost my baby. S/he was just more or less two months in the womb. Can you imagine feeling elated after finding out you’re having a baby, then learning after a week that s/he doesn’t seem to have a heartbeat anymore? Can you imagine the additional stress of waiting after another week to check if the findings are the same and then they are? Now imagine going for a second opinion, getting yet another ultrasound test and still, no heartbeat…

Definitely, I cried several times to my husband over the course of waiting. On that third test, I had no time to really cry. Then again, I was with one of my bestfriends and I decided I was not going to cry until I was alone. That did not happen, though, for once I was alone after two hours, I was bleeding and had myself brought to the hospital. I did not cry either during the whole thing and sang “Defying Gravity” to calm myself. I did not let myself cry for hours while I was at the recovery room. When I requested that my husband be let in for a few minutes for I needed to tell him something, however, I was again surprised by the sudden surge of emotions as I waited. I saw him and then the tears went and rolled down, upsetting and worrying him…

Honestly, I don’t know how to properly end this piece. I guess I just needed to share. So forgive me for the long post and for posting a day late (at least where I am) because I just had to sort my thoughts out and kept typing them down. This is one of the most vulnerable times in the history of my whole blogging experience…

“SERVING MY HERO” #atozchallenge2014

This is my first post for the A to Z Challenge, and my 100th WordPress post, yipee!!! This is actually a scheduled post, just like most of my next posts. Pretty busy so I’ll try to squeeze in my posts whenever I can. I’ll try to schedule several posts in one go so I won’t always have to worry about what’s next, he he…

For the first letter, I wanted to write about Ako, which is Filipino (Tagalog) for I, Me, even Myself at times, depending on how the sentences are formed. Why not? Maybe it’s a good way to introduce myself. However, I found that I could not decide which stuff about myself to write about. Besides, a lot of the stuff I am going to write for some other days will also be related to myself, anyway.

Then I realized this is a good time to share again something that I shared before, pre-WordPress. This is about me, and more of my father, written long before he departed. I initially wanted to share this as a tribute almost two years ago, but I was afraid that some people would take offense that I hadn’t posted anything about my mother as well, since she also passed away, two months after him. I didn’t want the additional pressure adding to my grief. The truth was, as said, this was written long before 2012, because something inspired me to write it, and not because I loved my mother less. When they passed away, I wanted to write a tribute for both but couldn’t find the courage to write anything, so I just posted videos of songs to convey my feelings. I just couldn’t get myself to do it, and I still can’t.

So now, I’ll share this and whatever anyone thinks, I’ll let them think. I thought that to talk about myself, it would be interesting to write about when I was born. It just so happens that this article already exists. And by the way, in keeping with the challenge, the word Ama is Filipino for Father.

I WILL write more about my parents, but please, not today.

SERVING MY HERO

 

This is the one of myself and our “Dade.” At our back is the jeep I am referring to. Sorry the photo’s blurred. All of my baby pics are *sigh*

My oldest memory dates way back when I was just a year old. Many people do not remember things at this age so perhaps, you don’t believe me. But I do remember – and I remember a lot – and am sure of it. I have a picture to prove it, in fact. At least, to myself. Old and sepia-colored, that picture is still very dear to my heart.

If you look at it, you will see that my father — dark, smiling, curly-haired — is carrying a baby girl, Me. At the back is what we call an “owner-type jeep,” a modified version of the kind American soldiers brought to our country in the 1940’s, although this was way beyond that era. I distinctly remember staring at the hood, fascinated by it as someone carried me. It was either before or after the picture was taken. For sure, it was taken on my birthday. That, I don’t remember myself, but that’s what the date written on the back tells me.

Thinking about it now, I am glad my oldest memory was with my father. Not that I would have minded if it was my mother, though. For anyone of them to be in that particular memory is already meaningful to me. I love them and they love me. We were far from being the perfect family, and we still are not any closer to that, but I am thankful that I was raised well…Hopefully well, at least.

I love his smile here, so real and even innocent. This was post-stroke. This was the guy I grew up with half of my life, the one that I really, really miss. I love that he’s waving, like saying, “Don’t worry, I’m fine and happy here now, too.”

Now, I am helping raise my father. In a sort of way. A mild stroke made sure things would change. A stroke would not be called a “traitor” for nothing. Who would’ve thought? He smoked and had pot belly, but otherwise, we thought he was fit. Until we were all betrayed. Funny how things could literally change overnight. We were laughing the night before, the two of us, sharing the funny moment together, and the next morning, I met the eyes of an almost complete stranger. He was a stranger even to himself. For him, everything was a blur.

These days, he is much better remembering many things of the past, yet still forgetting many. He is not so much a stranger, anymore, except that he isn’t the father I once knew. Though parts of his long-term memory are either gone or simply forgotten, it is his short-term memory that has been badly affected. He will do something now that he will not remember ten, fifteen minutes later. If you mention it to him, he will deny it and he believes what he thinks he remembers. It is like an Alzheimer’s disease that is not debilitating, or an amnesia that isn’t really, know what I mean? In a sense, he was still lucky ten years ago, compared to people who suffered the same fate.

I certainly know I’m not the best daughter in the world. I am reminded of it everyday, that I usually suck at it.

Often, we argue because he doesn’t listen like a good kid should. Which is the problem, because he isn’t one. We know that (even if his maturity now is probably equal to that of a fifteen-year-old’s). He knows that, too. Therefore, he could be quite stubborn, rebellious, grumpy, unreasonable and uncooperative. Especially with me for he is aware of what I am supposed to be: his daughter, not his mother or big sister. Most times, he tests our patience. Many times, we fail. Many times, I fail.

This was him before the stroke. It’s one of the pics taken when he was a teacher. I haven’t gotten around to having it “fixed” yet. The perfect copy wasn’t returned to me by the people I lent it to. I love this pic!

Yet, whenever I remember the beginning of my life’s story, I resolve to be a better daughter. He deserves it, after all.

I was born weighing only three pounds. I was tiny, looked ghastly, and practically on the brink of death. The right technology, at that time, was not imediately available to save me. There was hope, however, and my father was determined not to let me die. In Manila, technology was better and more accessible, and so, he decided to have me transferred from the province.

You would have thought the idea would be met with complete approval. But no. For some reason, one particular person practically told him not to bother. This, from a very close relative, one you would not have thought would say something like that. For her, I was a lost cause, an expensive one at that. So why bother?

But my father stood his ground and snapped at her. “And why not? She’s still breathing, isn’t she?!!!”…So now, you can very well guess who won the argument.

I think I really owe my life to my father. It was his decision, after all. At that time, my mother was also sick, very weak, vulnerable, confused. Probably, she wasn’t even aware of my father’s plans. After all, I wasn’t shown to her until much later. If it weren’t for my father, I wouldn’t be here sharing this story with you. He had the courage and the smarts to fight for my life.

And so, here we are. Here I am, helping raise my dad. Not an easy feat, no, but it’s the least I can do. It’s not all hard, though. We basically get along fine watching TV or movies, trading jokes and playing pranks, exchanging banters, and sparring (our own style of playful boxing which I always win by tickling him until he collapses laughing on the couch).

Yep. It’s an honor serving my hero.

One of their last pics together, taken New Year 2011

 

Another one of their last pics. I’m glad my mother did this. Couples may fight, but it doesn’t mean they love one another less. I guess that’s why she followed him as soon as she could…LOVE YOU BOTH.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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