Remembering Loly

My most vivid memories are the most recent, where during every visit, you'd always tell me to lay down for a nap even if it was the middle of the day - and you had your favorite noontime show on television playing loudly in the background.  Or that time when I was going on a trip with my friends and went to visit you before I left - you asked what I was doing there, since you knew I was supposed to be out of the country, I reminded you that I wasn't due to leave for a few days yet. You smiled absently and asked me again, to take a nap. 
I smiled and lay down on the single bed beside yours, and watched television with you as you drifted off to sleep. It was barely an hour past noon.
You complained of an annoying ringing sound in your ear, and disliked the lump that formed on the side of your neck, more concerned that it made you look less than beautiful - you remained radiant as always - because when I look back on those days, I can only remember the look of concern that reflected my own - and I didn't have the heart to confront you with the reality of the situation (then again, not one of us among those who love you did).  We played along and never confirmed the diagnosis - Cancer.
Up until the last day before you slipped into the fog of  forgetfulness, you kept worrying that maybe you were sick - not really understanding, I think - just how ill you were. I felt the omission a breach of trust, but I could not bear to be the one to confirm your worst fears.  I held my tongue. I think, somehow, you knew - but have chosen to hold to the fretting part, never really getting to the acknowledging that you were not well.
I remember when I was much younger, and I was left at your house while mom & dad were at work - you allowed me to use actual plates while i concocted various "dishes" comprised of shrubs those little coconut peas that grew on the small palm tree in the yard.  You even bought me a clay cooking set from the nearby market, and gave me some actual rice to cook - even if the water kept seeping into the tiny pot.  You made me feel competent, and allowed me to believe that I could do ANYTHING I set my mind to - when the rice failed to cook properly, you said we'd try it again another time, despite my protests.
When I had some silly story to tell, you would always smile broadly at me and all I remember are your eyes lighting up with your asking "S'ya nga?" like I'm the smartest kid ever born and I'd just as generously smile back and nod my head like it was the greatest story, EVER. 
My first taste of coffee was from a portion of pandesal that you dipped in your cup, when I asked what it was you were drinking for merienda. I was probably 6 years old.  My knowing that the "perfect" glass of lemonade was 10 pieces of Calamansi and ten teaspoons of sugar to a tall glass set my taste-buds to sweet is the only way to go.
When mom refused to buy me a pogo-stick, which she said I didn't know how to use, and would be dangerous to play with, I started to sulk. When you found out about this, we both snuck off and you bought me the pogo-stick yourself. You were confident that I'd learn to use & play with it safely. You made me feel invincible.  You made me feel brave. You made me feel like I could do anything I set my mind on.
When I was at the hospital and had a craving for your soup - you had never-ending batches of it made to be brought to me daily - to a point that the people at your house were sick of the aroma of the broth boiling on the stove.
When you fell ill, I was much older, and knew there was precious little I could do to stave off Cancer - even then, in your brief moments of lucidity, you would ask after me and how I was faring with having Lupus, forgetting that you were in a medically more precarious condition than I was.

Now that you're gone, and I'm still here, dealing with having the aches and pains of a person many years older than my actual age - I remember you, believing that I am able to deal with whatever comes my way.  I fake my way through some days because I'm not sure how capable I really am of not letting my dis-ease get the better of me.  But on most days, I remind myself that you're watching over me - over all of us who love you still - and take courage in that thought.  I can do this.
Three years on the 18th of July 2011.
I still miss you every single day.

a favorite photo with Loly
(circa 1994?)