‘Inang’ and her life examples
We Filipinos probably have the biggest number of endearing names for our mothers based on family traditions, ancestry, language or dialect, and even provincial origin. And so we call them “Mommy,” “Mama,” “Nanay,” “Ina,” “Inay,” “Inang” or “Ima.” But no matter how we address her, our mother will always be unique to each of us her children.
I call my mother “Inang.” And I’d like to remember my Inang on Mothers’ Day to acknowledge and honor who she was to me and what made her unique as my mother.
In the past, unlike today, the parental roles of fathers and mothers were pretty much delineated. And so it was in our household. My father took care of earning a living and putting food on the table, while my mother took care of the home and the children. But more than that, my mother also nurtured the spiritual life of her seven children.
I remember how Inang taught me my earliest notions about God, the saints, prayers and the afterlife. I clearly remember, too, that as a daily family ritual she would gather the whole family at six in the evening for the oracion. She would lead us through the Angelus in a mixture of Tagalog and Spanish, after which all of us children took the hands of our parents and all of the other elderly persons present for the traditional mano po. It was also Inang who would herd all of us to church on Sunday mornings for Mass. At the church entrance she would dip her fingers into the holy water font to bless herself first. Then she would seek every one of us little ones who could not reach the font to bless us also with her fingers moistened with holy water.
Later, I realized that her spirituality was not confined to external religious rituals such as prayers and going to church. It also extended to her personal values such as her deep caring for others, especially those in need. We did not have much in terms of material resources, but she taught us not to let a beggar at our door go without being offered something. It could be food, some scoops of rice, or even a few centavos to tide him over. I also observed that she never turned down a friend or a neighbor in need, whether of money or food, as long as she could afford it.
And as I grew up imbibing Inang’s life examples, I also developed a desire to be of service to others. Sometime just after my 16th birthday, I mustered the courage to ask for her blessing to let me go to the seminary after I was done with high school that school year. I knew that it was going to be a most painful decision for her to let me go because I was too young and inexperienced to be separated so soon. She hesitated at first, but her faith must have prevailed over whatever doubts and fears she had then. She finally allowed me to go and even personally accompanied me all the way to the seminary doors for a tearful goodbye scene.
Some 20 years later, my mother’s faith in God and divine providence would be tested once again. I was then in some sort of a midlife crisis and had just decided to leave the ministry that had been my life for many years. I wanted to tell my mother about my decision, but as it had been when I entered the seminary, I was afraid and hesitant at first. Some of my friends and other people to whom I was close, and who had heard about it earlier, could not seem to understand and accept my reasons for leaving. I had expected that my mother would somehow react in the same way.
But I must have forgotten and underestimated my mother’s faith in God and her unconditional love for me. One day I finally found the heart to see her and tell her the truth: that I had decided to leave and had prepared my formal request for papal dispensation from Church authorities. What followed was another scenario I would never forget. Teary-eyed, she took my hands and said (in Tagalog): “I have been waiting for you, son… I already know about your decision because your sister told me, but what can I do? I just prayed to God to take care of you. I believe in my heart that you have carefully thought about and prayed over it, and that this is His will for you… If you are happy with your decision, then I also am happy.” We then embraced each other.
That day was a turning point for me. Inang’s words were like soothing balm to my wounded spirit. It was the affirmation I needed to start living life with meaning once again and to set out on a new journey. She may not have understood my explanations, but she accepted me and left everything in God’s hands.
I remember that my Inang also had such an unshakeable faith in prayer. She would often say that God had always heard her prayers. And like any mother, one of her most ardent prayer, according to her, was for God not to let her see anyone of her children die before she does. She would rather die first because she would not be able to bear burying anyone of us.
God answered Inang’s wish. She died peacefully and joined her creator at the age of 92 on Nov. 10, 1999, eight years ahead of her second child, my brother Renato, who died in 2006.
Today, as Mother’s Day comes around again and even as I am now a grandfather myself, I feel that a mother somehow etches her own imprint on every son or daughter in a way that can never be erased by time. And in the process, she clings to her child’s soul forever.
Danilo G. Mendiola, 73, did administrative and social services work at the Asian refugee centers in Puerto Princesa, Palawan, and in Morong, Bataan, for many years. He is now retired and enjoying his four grandchildren.
