"The human being is a  surprisingly resilient organism. We impel toward health, not sickness. Your spirit, as surely as your body, will try to heal...So you should not fear tragedy and suffering. Like love, they make you more a part of the human family...They are the fire that burns you pure."

~ Kent Nerburn, Simple Truths

 We lost a second angel this year.

The circumstances were eerily similar to the previous baby we lost. I found out I was pregnant by the 5th week. Had an ultrasound by the 6th week to check on the heartbeat; cardiac activity was detected, but so was a subchorionic hemorrhage. After two weeks, back to the sonologist to check on the size of the SCH and the baby's development. The size of the SCH decreased, but the baby's cardiac activity revealed only a flatline. Early embryonic demise at about 7 weeks AOG.

I was watching the monitor intently the entire time I was having the scan. Even before the sonologist turned the monitor away from me, I knew something was wrong. No, it wasn't just his facial expression that told me so. I was already familiar with the foetus' outline - how it was NOT supposed to look like, at least. And that wasn't how the baby was supposed to look like.

Over and over, the good doctor tried to look for a heartbeat. But for each flatline I saw, my spirits continued to sink. I knew what he was going to tell me. And before he could even say, "I'm sorry," I was already lost in my own personal abyss. Yet I was still able to tell him, "Yes, I know." By then, I had already successfully put on my most convincing poker face. I took it matter-of-factly.

But the truth was, my world stopped for a while and continued on in slow motion, as if I was in a drug-induced stupor. I heard him ask me if it was okay to call in my husband, and I found myself mechanically nodding my head and thinking, what else can you say that can change things? Seeing my husband walk in with a shit-oh-no-here-we-go-again look, and the pain in his eyes when the doctor showed him the baby's heart, silent and still. 

We went back to my OB Gyne to show her the results, not talking, just holding hands. There were no words. Only that grave, familiar feeling that we wished we never knew.

 

I am putting my thoughts and feelings out here not to ask for comfort, or advice, or reasons. Because there is no comfort right now. Because I don't need advice. Because there are no reasons that I can humanly fathom.

 

Only feelings. Of anger. Of sorrow. Of bitterness.

 

I feel angry at the laboratory that processed my blood tests. Yes, I know they said results will be in two to three weeks' time, but have they never heard of a life-and-death situation? I insisted twice on getting the results early, twice I was told the same thing...yet when my OB gave them hell, they were able to produce the results in 15 minutes. But it was useless. She was already holding the second ultrasound result. At some point, I wanted to blame the lab. I am angered at the life I had lost and at their incompetence and insensitivity. I could have been given the proper treatment to save my baby's life had they not wasted their time sitting on their motherfucking slacker asses. I am angry that I am so helpless.

 

I am deeply sorrowed for another beautiful life lost. A life we eagerly anticipated would bring more happiness and love into our family. I am sad because I was powerless to do anything to save him (Yes, I know in my heart that I carried a little boy). I am sad because I was not able to save his sister, either (I also felt in my heart that the previous one was a little girl).

I am bitter because I feel like I failed my husband and my son. Yes, I know it's not my fault, it's nobody's fault. But that is how I feel. I saw other mothers at the hospital that day, with their big bellies and their expressions of bliss and I think, why could I not do that again? 

The most difficult part of this ordeal was in breaking the news to my son. We told him we lost the baby, and he said, "Again?!" He leaned on my shoulders and hugged me, and it took all the energy in my body not to break down in front of him. I couldn't do that to my son. I gave him a rational answer, though rational was the last thing I felt at that time. 

Whenever I see images of siblings on books, on the internet, on TV, anywhere...I feel a knife going through my heart for what my son couldn't have. I long to give him a brother or a sister, because I know how lonely it can be without one. But I can't. And it hurts like hell.

Dear reader, don't tell me there is hope yet. Don't tell me I can try again. Don't tell me that God's plans are not our plans. I know all that. But I don't want to hear it.

I just want to feel. I am allowing myself this, for the moment. I lost another life and I have every right to grieve, and no one has the right to tell me otherwise.

I will see you someday, my little ones. Mommy owes you both some hugs and kisses.

Sad Day

iBelieve iSpeak for an entire generation when iSay iMourn the passing of an iCon.

Thank you, Steve Jobs, for putting the future in the palms of our hands. Rest well and Sync in Peace.

Photo from apple.com

Flight

It is in times of the most profound sorrow that I find myself at a loss for words.

You have been given your wings, my beloved uncle. You are now living up to your name...you have been liberated from all your pain and sorrow, and you now stand with all the saints and angels in Heaven, to feast with your beloved Creator for all eternity.

Please be our angel and watch over us left here on earth. We send our loving hellos to all our family and friends who have gone before us. Oh, and while you're there, please tell Francis M and Michael Jackson that I'm a big fan. Maybe you can also share with me what really happened to Marilyn, Elvis and JFK, if and when you do get to chat with them.

Farewell, my dear uncle. Rest well. I will never forget how you have been like a father to me when I needed it. Please tell my dad everything I've always wanted to tell him but never got around to doing so.

You will be missed. See you in the next life.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die."

A letter to my son

My dearest son,

One of the things I'd like you to learn is that nature is a great equalizer. Whether you live in a palace on top of a hill, or in a shanty under a bridge, we all live under the same sun, and we are all at the mercy of the same rising and ebbing tides.

Last Saturday, September 26, 2009, Typhoon Ondoy (international name: Ketsana) visited Philippine shores and brought unspeakable tragedy in its wake. Weather reports predicted that it packs maximum winds of 100kph, but nobody imagined what kind of damage the rains would leave behind. Imagine dumping a month's worth on the city in a span of nine hours! And it did not discriminate: rich and poor, young and old, famous and nameless faces alike, all of them were left holding on for dear life.

I followed it this entire weekend through internet news and photos, and I am left speechless and almost in tears. Main thoroughfares were rendered impassable, and familiar places became alien landscapes submerged in floodwaters (some as deep as 20 feet!). Just look at the photos and see for yourself:


Ayala underpass in the heart of Makati


Cainta, Rizal


Marikina (one of the hardest hit areas - those are people on the roof)


Katipunan, Quezon City (where, incidentally, the Presidential son was found purchasing liquor from a store not 100m away from where this is!)

Some photos, I could not bear to include here. It includes children (some younger than you at this time) going hungry on rooftops…animals swept away and drowned helplessly…victims fished out from the muddy flood. Some accounts said that in the space of an hour, floodwaters rose from ankle-deep to 6 feet high; in some places, it was as deep as 20 feet. And, mind you, it wasn’t a silent stream: it was a raging tide that swept away concrete houses and heavy cars like plastic toys. Your grandma even recounted that the rain was so heavy, it sounded like someone was dumping bucketfuls of water on the roof (thank God she’s safe, as well as our other loved ones).

What is incomprehensible is that all this happened in a span of nine hours. I am not even going to bring in politics and the ill-preparedness of our farce of a government. That is already a glaring fact. But, one day, you will be the head of your own family, and though I continue to pray that you never see anything like this in your lifetime, I want to pass you on some pearls of motherly wisdom:

1. ALWAYS keep an emergency kit in your house. Include a reliable flashlight/emergency lights/candles/matches, spare batteries, sturdy ropes (in case you need to tie something, or need it to cross surging waters), basic medicine, canned food, bottled water, disinfectants, a heavy tool like a crowbar, and perhaps a list of important phone numbers stashed in a waterproof casing.
2. With reference to #2, periodically check your stash and make sure they are still in good working condition, and the perishables are not expired.
3. At the first hint of danger, quickly move to a safer location. Do not wait until it is too late. In the face of impending disaster, it is always better to err on the side of caution. And forget about your possessions, they are not worth your life: leave them if need be. You can always replace them, but lives lost can never be bought again.
4. In case you are caught (and I pray it never happens), do not panic because others will look to you for support. If you crumble, they will drown in their own fears, and that is not a good thing. Keep your presence of mind at all times.
5. No man is an island, as the old saying goes. Never be too proud to ask for help, nor be too up high on your own pedestal as to deny others your help. But, please, know your limits and DO NOT BE A HERO. As your grandpa once said (God rest his soul), the mistake of some rescue workers is that they try too hard at the wrong time, and instead of helping, they become part of the statistics.

It is during times like these that I keenly feel how much I love our country. The images leave me choking back tears and my heart bleeds for our fellow Filipinos. It feels so real to me, especially when I check my social networking sites and see my friends’ status updates, photos showing their firsthand experience of the event. And – perhaps more horrifying for me – there’s the silence of those who cannot even access their accounts because they are stuck on their roofs, praying for rescue.

For our part, your Daddy and I are thinking of scraping up whatever amount we can to donate to the victims of the typhoon. It isn’t much, as we also have to extend some assistance to our immediate family, but we believe that every effort counts.

I could choose to teach you to live simply and not care for designer clothes, fancy gadgets or spiffy cars. Instead, what I would like you to learn is, as you forge on with your life and build a comfortable nest for yourself and your future family, DO NOT FORGET TO BUILD YOUR CHARACTER. You are a man, after all, and I expect you to be a pillar of strength. And possessing a certain amount of material wealth means that you will be in a position to give help when time calls for it. Like I said, we all live under the same sun, and so you must always strive for humility, and for responsibility towards your fellowmen. Never imagine for one moment that you are above anyone else.

At the end of the day, I believe that the Filipino spirit will prevail and will see our nation through. But take the painful lessons that we have learned with you, and never forget them. Pass them on to your children someday, remind them how truly resilient their countrymen are. Remember, too, that we reap what we sow; take better care of our environment, as the price to pay usually comes with human lives.

As for you, my dear son, wherever life takes you, always be in touch with your motherland (and your mother, as well!), and say a silent prayer each night for her.

Be safe always. I love you.

Mommy

Fragile

A couple of weeks back, three of our colleagues here at the network perished in a tragic accident, in the line of duty.

I don't want to discuss the details anymore because the facts have been discussed to death -- no pun intended -- and they bring back details too graphic for my own sanity (I've seen some pictures that I knew I should never have looked at...I want to hit my head for letting curiosity get the better of me...). What I want to discuss are the emotions stirred in all of us because of that event.

The sudden demise of someone, even if you barely know them, always comes as a shock. It gives one a sudden feeling of vulnerability, a kind of mortality that one doesn't normally pay attention to. The tragedy left us all thinking, "It could have been me." Morbid, I know, but, suddenly, we do not feel so invincible.

It also touched new and barely explored emotions in me, particularly those with relation to my new state of motherhood. In one mass I attended, where the deceased's respective families were present, my eyes were glued to the one-year-old daughter of the reporter. The irony of her situation -- her innocent laughter and coos echoing amidst the silence of tears and inexpressible grief -- certainly brought tears to my eyes. The eulogy of some of our colleagues did nothing to dry my eyes any...one of them recounted that, the moment he found out what happened, the first thing he did was to embrace his son tightly and think, I'm lucky to still be able to do that.

One of the worst fears of a parent, I have learned, is the possibility of leaving behind their children too soon. Or just simply leaving their children, period. At that moment, I thought, what if I left my son too soon? Who would take care of him? Who would provide for him? Would anybody be able to love him as much as I do? So many unspoken fears that I hope I never face, but I know that, at one point, I would have to come to terms with them, anyway.

I don't want to dwell on negative thoughts. Instead, I say a silent prayer of thanks each time I wake up and am able to lovingly kiss my son, to enjoy his playful laughter.

I realized all the more how fragile life is.