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My grandmother, Carmen, or Mameng as she was affectionately called by her friends, was a lucky
woman. She had a nice house, nice things, always had a lot of friends around her, has 4 beautiful
children, and 9 grandchildren who adored her. She was lucky because of all these blessings but
most of all she was lucky because she had a man who loved her like no other.
My grandfather, Jorge, is a model husband. He treated amah like a queen. There was never a
birthday of hers or an anniversary where he wouldn’t give her flowers. On one of her birthdays,
when she was in a conference in Cebu and away from him, he secretly had flowers sent to her
hotel. Be it taking out food from Jollibee, or pushing her on her wheelchair around the mall, no
task was too small or big for our angkong to do for her beloved Carmen. She was his muse,
his best friend, constant movie date, his bowling companion and the light of his life.
Yesterday morning, on a clear and beautiful day, we buried her. I’ve only know her for the 31
years that I’ve been living on this earth, so I cannot even begin to imagine what my angkong is
going through losing his companion of 61 years. When I think about angkong sobbing on her
coffin saying to her “See you soon, darling” my heart always breaks.
For a time when I was young, she was like a second mother to me and my sister. My parents
used to work in the province so she and my angkong would bring us to school, to the mall, to
the doctor and patiently waited for us while we played at Paco Amusement Center in SM. And
when I became a mother, she loved my kids just as much. There would always toys or some
kind of gift waiting for my kids when we visited her at my mom’s house. Just yesterday, we
found a Christmas gift that she planned to give to my kids in her cabinet, not yet even wrapped.
A sad sight for me but a happy surprise for my kids who have yet to understand death.
It’s been only 6 days since she passed away and the pain is still fresh. I miss her. I miss the
sound of her happy voice and her laughter. I miss her jokes and constant teasing. I miss the
sound of her sewing machine. I miss how she would excitedly tell me that she’d bring my
kids to Megamall to play. I miss the way she’d cheerfully say hi to my friends who would come
over our house. But I know that she is now at rest and happy, freely walking without assistance
or wheelchair around the golden fields of heaven. At least this gives me a bit of comfort. And
I know in my heart that someday, just like angkong said, I will see her again.
Carmen Midel Bayona
May 15, 1928 – Jan 21, 2011