My Blog

daddy and april 16th

the accident happened past 4pm on april 16, yet it took me 8 hours to compose the text  message to my husband, Erick, informing him of the misfortune that befell our son.

i remember, it was close to midnight then.  outside, a few stars dotted the sky and everything was peaceful.  the world, my world, was enveloped with silence as our neighbors and even their dogs were, probably, all in deep slumber then.

but within me, there was still no peace.  aside from my worries on the accident's effect to my son, i was also very concerned on how erick would react to the news i was about to text him.

i had already postponed too long, i couldn't anymore find any reason to delay what was inevitable.  my husband had to know..  but i asked myself, "am i ready to face erick's anger?"

after a few minutes and a couple of deep breaths, i texted the words that told of the accident concerning Enrickquito. as casually as i could, i explained to him what had happened.

my cellphone rang immediately.

it registered no caller number, but i knew it was my husband calling.  i could feel the tension from him, though he was oceans away.

"Hello?", i said.

"Adda load mo? (do you have load?)".  it was indeed him.  and he sounded so serious, so grim.

"Adda hon. (i have, hon)", i answered.

"Tawagan nak. (call me.)". click.  he hung up.

Right away, i dialed his number.  Erick was on-duty, yet he answered right away, "anya nangyari jay anak ko? (what happened to my son?)". 

there was no mistaking of the anger in his voice.  i could feel his suppressed emotions.  he was holding it all in.  and he was having a hard time doing it.

so i told him what happened.  after my simple explanation, i added weakly, " ngem aksidente met, honey. (but it was an accident, honey.)"

his anger exploded.  "aksidente nga?! (accident?!)" 

then, there was silence. 

when he spoke next, i heard fear, worry and pain in his voice, "kasatno nu mas malala ti nangyari ta anak ko? (what if something worse had happened to my son?!")

then my husband cried.  he broke down with quiet sobs that were filled with anguish.  it pained me so much to hear him cry like that.  and it hurt me more that he was facing this alone, in a strange land, and with strangers for company. 

i knew right then he wanted to run home and be with his son, to hold him in his arms and make sure his balong was safe.

being away from us was hard enough for him.  leaving enrickquito when he was still 5 months old and having him grow up without his daddy by his side was harder.

never mind that he did not see our son take his first steps, and that he was not there to pick him up when he fell.  and when his first tooth came out, erick did not see his one-toothed smile.  never mind too that he didn't hear when enrickquito first said, "ad-di" while looking at Erick's picture.

all these, he gave up, ironically, for enrickquito.  he was willing to sacrifice himself, face the dangers of being a seaman, so he could give us a comfortable life, and a secured future for our son.  that's my husband, always responsible and forever loving. 

he just had one request before he left, "Take care of our son."

and i failed. 

enrickquito met an accident when erick was thousand miles away from him.  my husband felt so helpless.

so he cried.  i was ready to face his anger, his rage.  but i was not prepared for his tears, the sobs of a worried father.  and i was at a lost on how to comfort my man.  all i could do then was cry too.  together, we let our tears flow.  connected by telephone, we took comfort from each other's voice as we faced our greatest fear as parents.

"agpa second opinion ka ton bigat.  maymayat pay nu agpathird opinion ka.(get a second opinion tomorrow.  or better yet, have a thrid opinion too)", erick said after we had both calmed down.

he also said to keep him updated on how enrickquito would fare through the night.  "nu masapol nga saan ka maturog, haan ka maturog. (should there be a need for you not to sleep, do not sleep.)"  he said firmly and with finality.

that night, i saw erick as a father, as a good father, whose love for enrickquito is as limitless as God's love for mankind is. 

i thought nothing could love a child as much as a mother's.  but that night, i found out i was wrong.  my love for enrickquito is matched by erick's love for his son.

and so i wrote this blog, to put the limelight to my husband, for his being a great father. 

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO THE BEST HUSBAND IN THE WORLD!

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO THE GREATEST AD-DI OF ALL.

WE LOVE YOU VERY VERY MUCH.

april 16th, what a reaction!

april 16th, 2008.... 

it's been over and done with, and my son is okay; thus, i can finally remember that day without crying (if you have no idea what i'm talking about, stop right here and read my previous blog entitled, REMEMBERING APRIL 16TH) .  and when i think about that day, i choose to focus on the lighter side.  i don't want to stress myself mulling over some freak accident.  like i said, enrickquito is okay, and that's the most important of all.

you see, i still live with my family because the house that my husband built is located within our compound in Bauang.  and when you live with a motley crew such as my family, well, freak accidents tend to become, somehow, a comedy of all sorts..

when the hammer fell on Enrickquito's head, all of them cried and all of them were so worried that their manifestation of this feeling became outrageously silly, that i would've have laughed out loud if i hadn't been too busy trying to cast aside my own worries so that i could stay focused and alert.

and here are their reactions..

auntie Sally - (62 yrs old, an old maid whose opinions and comments are often out of this world, Miss frugal, Miss Cool-the complete opposite of my mother) she thought it wasn't a serious injury, just a little bump on the shoulder, though my son was crying his heart out after the hammer fell.  and when she came to learn that it was indeed a head wound, she cried (my, i thought she was going to faint!) and gave me a thick wad of money to use for Enrickquito's hospital expenses.  she felt so awful and was so guilt-stricken that days after april 16th, she remained quiet and always stared off at space.

Auntie Fe - (57 yrs old, another old maid, typical barrio folk, loves to talk, and very loud too, very judgemental and loves to make her own conclusions)  when she saw me starting the car, she asked what happened.  i told her i was bringing enrickquito to the hospital because his head was bleeding.  oh boy, was she shocked!!!  really shocked!  she said with such passion, "Alah!!  baka nalsuk jay utek na!  Nalsuk jan utek naaaaaa!!! (a hole might have gone through his brain!!  a hole has gone through his brain!!!)

Nanay Nemia - (55 yrs old, she lost my father when she was only 23 yrs old, thus became the unbeatable Queen of Panick)  she and eenggah were at the  beach when it happened; therefore, she had no idea i was rushing her beloved grandson to the hospital.  she only found out about it when my cousins came charging at our nipa hut by the beach, yelling, "AUNTIE NEMIA! AUNTIE NEMIA!  NADISGRASIA NI ENRICKQUITO!! (Enrickquito had had an accident!)".  Living up to her title as the Queen of Panick, her heart missed some beats upon hearing this, and with trembling hands, she immediately packed their things (forgetting even to pee! tsk.)  and headed home at the speed that even she couldn't believe she possessed.  upon setting foot inside the house, nanay changed clothes (nope, no need to waste precious time showering nor even washing her face and combing her hair) and hopped in the very first bus she saw!  inside the bus, all she could think was her beloved apo, who she thought might be fighting for his life, that she had lost her voice and her sanity (she even thought of jumping out of the poor bus because it was moving too slow for her need and just run to san fernando instead. thank god she didn't do that!)   with her panick attack, why, she even forgot her fear of death then as she prayed to God to spare Enrickquito's life and take hers instead (tsk, tsk).   anyway, when she arrived in Lorma, she looked so windblown, so dishevelled, so dirty, so freaked out and soooo dry, that she looked liked she hadn't drank any water for the past month.  when she saw us, she immediately grabbed my son from me and hugged him tight while crying unabshedly in public.. 

eenggah - typical 5 years old whose only concern was eating, playing and sleeping.  but when they told her to pray because her ading was in danger, she immediately ran inside lola's room, faced the aparador (closet) where pictures of saints were plastered on, and whispered her prayer.  very touching indeed..  when she came out of the room, she announced she was hungry.

as for my husband's reaction, that will be another story, a tale fit for Father's Day celebration..

and for me, there are still times that i feel the tug of fear in my heart whenever i remember the "what if" of April 16th.  as a mommy, i guess, that feeling will never completely leave me.  but since i always have the prerogative to chose, and life is indeed about choices, i prefer to move on, and focus on the most important fact of all - enrickquito is okay, no real harm done!

and so, thank god for my son,

thank god for his good health

and thank god for my crazy family (who drives me crazy and yet whom i love so much..) 

remembering april 16th

      What started as an ordinary day turned out to be every parent's nightmare.  when the accident involving my son happened, i died a little.  and i will never forget April 16, 2008.

     my son, Enrickquito, and i woke up to another summer day - sunny and very hot, even early in the morning.  as the day wore on, the sky turned bluer, with not a cloud in sight. 

     and so we went on with our usual activities, thinking this day would be no different from the previous ones, only the temperature a notch higher.

     when 4pm came, we were outside near the gate, watching the eastern sky turn black, as clouds heavy with rain slowly approached, bringing with them winds that were unusually strong for a summer day.  yes, rain was coming all right and it might come down hard!

     thus, my uncle immediately climbed up the roof to fix the leaks. 

     thus, i left my son to my auntie Fe so i could go inside to prepare his milk.

     after a minute, auntie Fe, who was not so agile anymore due to her heavy weight, gave enrickquito to auntie sally because according to her, "baka matinnag ko. (i might drop him)."

     thus, auntie sally gladly took enrickquito in her arms, and danced with him, sang with him, played with him.  however, their frolicking in the garage was cut short by the sudden clap of thunder!  rain was indeed about to fall!

     thus, she decided they go inside the house.  the problem was, auntie sally forgot uncle inggo was on the roof, repairing the gutter with a hammer. 

     thus, she and my son walked right under the spot where my uncle was.

     thus, the hammer fell, 10 meters down, on enrickquito's head.

     it was an accident.  nobody wanted it to happen.  but it did happen.  and it happened to my 9-month old baby.

     i remember, i was still inside our house then, about to go out with his milk, when i felt something had gone wrong.  i could feel it down to my bones, SOMETHING BAD HAD HAPPENED.  a few seconds after my motherly instincts kicked in, i heard my son's screams of pain, then my uncle shouting just this one phrase,

     "Lahnee!!  lahnee!!  puntahan mo yung bata!! puntahan mo yung bata!!(go to the baby!! go to the baby!!)

     with my heart pounding, i dropped the milk bottle and flew down the stairs to where my son was.  all along, i could feel my brain telling my feet, "go faster!  enrickquito is in danger!" 

     what greeted me was actually an ordinary sight.  auntie sally was rocking enrickquito to calm him down. 

     but as a mother, i knew something was wrong with my son.  aside from the fact that he was screaming like a pig being butchered, his cries of pain tore to my heart like a knife.  with tears running down his face, his eyes were pleading for me to get him in the safe cradle of my arms.

     scooping him from auntie sally, i asked, "anya nangyari auntie? (what happened auntie?)"

     calmly, she answered, "baka natinnagan ti martilyo ta abaga na.  kitaem to damdama ta baka idiay tu a lumteg. (the hammer might have fallen on his shoulder.  check it later because the bump may then be visible.)"

     but my heart knew something worse than a shoulder wound was the source of my baby's wails.

     and my brain was telling me to check his head, since it was located above his shoulders, and was most likely to be hit by the falling hammer.

     parting his hair, i immediately smelled blood. 

     and my heart stopped. 

     when my fingers became sticky with enrickquito's blood, my heart stopped again. 

     and when i saw the blood, i lost a few years of my life.  i died a little.

     enrickquito's head was bleeding because a damn hammer fell on it!  my precious baby, my poor baby..  of all the things that hammer could have fallen on to, why on my son?  he was only 9 months old!  why not, uh, auntie sally?  (hehehe, sorry po)

     thank god, only my strength left me (and for just a few seconds) and not my wits and common sense.

     immediately after i saw the wound, we put ice on it.  and i started to pray.

     quickly, we got ready to go to the hospital.  i was still praying.

     through the long the drive to Lorma Medical Center, i remained calm because my baby needed me and was dependent on my clear thinking.  still, i didn't stop praying.

     when the doctors were examining and treating his wound, when xrays were done on his skull, i never stopped praying.

my baby was hurt, i should be strong and i shouldn't stop praying!!..

    

     and thank god, our prayers were answered according to our wishes.  enrickquito was okay.  xray results showed normal findings, no fractures whatsoever.  the wound on his head was not deep, it was actually a small cut.  my son did not get drowsy nor sleepy, he did not throw up, didn't have fever. 

a miracle indeed.

     that day, April 16, i went through a roller coaster ride of emotions.  an accident happened and i was gripped with the fear of losing my son; yet, i didn't let it control my senses.  i was very worried , yet i did not panic.  the mother in me ruled, thus i recognized the need for clear and quick thinking.  and most of all, i included God through it all.

     and to those who prayed with us,

     those who asked God to save my baby,

     those who showed their concern and support,

     THANK YOU..

(Tita Carmelita, Lorraine, Omeng and Rose, thank you for your moral support, for your prayers.  why, even your simple question of "what happened?" had touched my heart and given me strength. thank you so much.)

note:  this was the blasted hammer i was talking about.  see how big it was?  and see how small my baby's head?  ...  a miracle indeed..

(this picture was taken today, May 2, and not on the day the accident happened.  i did this for comparison.)

three trees

i came across this story years ago from the column of Ricky Lo (Conversations With Ricky Lo at The Philippine Star).  According to him, Rio Diaz who was still alive then, sent this story to him.  The first time i read it, it gave me goosebumps.  It made me cry.  It brought me closer to God.  It renewed my faith, my hope..  So right then and there, i decided to cut it out and to save it, to store it in between the pages of my Bible.  Every now and then, I'd read it, and I'd still feel the same effects - goosebumps and tears.. 

so now, i am sharing this beautiful story to you, not only because it is Lent, but more so that all of us will come to trust in God, especially when things do not go our way.  Believe in Him, and never give up.

 

Once, there were three trees on a hill in the woods.  they were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday, I hope to be a treasure chest.  I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems.  I would be decorated with intricate carvings and everyone would see my beauty." 

     Then the second tree said, "Someday, I will be a mighty ship.  I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world.  Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength in my hull." 

     Finally, the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and the straightest tree in the forest.  People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching.  I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will remember me."

     After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees.  When one came to the first tree, he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter," and he begun cutting it down.  The tree was happy because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest. 

     At the second tree, the woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree.  I should be able to sell it to the shipyard."  The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship. 

     When the woodsman came upon the third tree,  the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down, his dreams would not come true.  One of the woodsmen said, "I don't see anything special on this tree, but I'll cut it anyway."

When the first tree reached the carpenter, he was made into a feed box for animals.  He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay.  This was not at all that he planned. 

     The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat.  His dreams of becoming a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. 

     The third tree was cut into two and left alone in the dark.

 

     The years went by and the trees forgot about their dreams.

    

     Then one day, a man and a woman came into the barn.  She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do.  The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

     Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree.  One of them was tired and went to sleep.  While they were out in the water, a great storm came and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe.  The men woke the sleeping man and he stood and said, "Peace...be still."  And the storm stopped.  At this time, the tree knew it had carried the King of Kings in his boat.

     Finally, someone came and got the third tree.  It was carried to the streets as the people mocked  the man who was carrying it.  When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of the hill.  When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the hill and be as close to God as was possible because Jesus had been crucified on it.

MESSAGE:  When things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you.  If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts.  Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they imagined.  We don't always know know what God's plans are for us.  We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always the best.

P.S. I LOVE YOU (one more time)

Coping with loss, loneliness with the help of ‘P.S., I Love You’
By Melahnee S. Maliwat-Calica
Sunday, November 19, 2006

This Week’s Winner
Melahnee S. Maliwat-Calica, 31, has always loved reading and listening to stories. "The first time I fell in love, it was not with a boy; it was with a book. Over the years, I have amassed so many books that in 2000, I decided to open Merick Book Rentals in La Union. I am married to a wonderful man whose work forces us to live apart most of the time and during this time books keep me company. Now, our business boasts of more than 4,000 books that our borrowers can enjoy."

P.S., I Love You by Cecelia Ahern was the first book I read after my husband left in May to work aboard a cargo ship as a seaman. It was then that I saw the world through a veil of tears – everywhere I looked, there was always something that reminded me of him. There was no escape; everything simply tugged at my heart, forcing me to go through each day overwhelmed by loneliness and misery. Memories, whether they were good or bad, brought out torrents of salty tears from my eyes. With the way I cried and cried, you’d have thought I had swallowed the reservoir of water from the La Mesa Dam and ran it dry.

Thank God, my sobbing phase lasted for only a week; otherwise, I would have led myself to dehydration. Plus, too much crying sucked out the glow from my skin and left me in a state of constant exhaustion. However, it was not my ugliness that alarmed me. It was my emotional state, as I was fast slipping into depression. It would take more than a barrage of vitamins, sleeping 24 hours a day, pigging out at eat-all-you-can restaurants and gulping drums of water to cure my heart and soul. It would take (sigh) my husband Erick to be here with me, beside me.

Thus began my camaraderie with Holly, the heroine in Cecelia Ahern’s P.S., I Love You. Unlike me, however, whose husband just went away for a job abroad, Holly’s separation from her husband Gerry was permanent. He died of a brain tumor at the early age of 30. But other than the manner of our husbands’ leaving and the ending of our stories, everything else felt somehow similar.

Both of us were struggling to cope with a life of having been left behind, of wondering if life was worth living now that the person we loved had gone away. Or worse yet, if there was still life ahead for us.

When Erick kissed me goodbye that fateful night (even though I knew he would come back home to me after 10 months), I felt my body weaken, as if my spirit left me to go with him. I was gripped with so much pain. As the days passed, the intensity of this vanished with time; yet the loneliness stayed.

Holly drifted from room to room while she sobbed her fat, salty tears. Her eyes were red and sore and there seemed to be no end to this night. None of the rooms in the house provided her with any solace. Just an unwelcoming silence as she stared around at the furniture.

The book is worded simply. It kept me company during those first days of soul-wrenching loneliness. I could have chosen any other book, but this one simply penetrated my heart like no other story could. Holly’s feelings mirrored my own. While reading through its pages, I felt like I was reading my own narrative, seeing myself as Holly, smelling her husband’s clothes, roaming around their house aimlessly, sleeping poorly and feeling just plain miserable.

This was the fifth time my husband had gone to work abroad. One would think I would have already adjusted to the life of a seaman’s wife in which the husband leaves for months or years, then returns for a few months of vacation, only to leave again. The cycle continues.

But no.

Every time Erick left, he went away carrying my heart, thus I was left incomplete, broken and aching. During those months he was away, I struggled to put my life on its right track again, collecting and putting pieces of myself together. The process was always agonizing, for, most of the time, I usually did not know where to search – or if there was something out there at all that would somehow fit the hole that our separation had carved in my heart.

Throughout the lonely, ungodly hours that I lay awake, Holly kept me company, giving me strength from her strength. Her struggles to move on with life became my inspiration.

Months after Gerry’s death, Holly receives a package of letters that he’s left for her, instructing her to perform a series of tasks…

One letter per month, starting March to December, Gerry helps Holly continue to live, giving her strength and reminding her he loves her through each task. These letters push Holly to get up each morning and face the challenges that come her way and often the process and results are hilarious, spiced up with the help of her loving and crazy family and friends.

As Holly lived each month for Gerry’s letters, I, too, lived for my husband’s text messages and phone calls. Each message from him, each call, had the power to bring sunshine into my dreary life. Though I could not touch or see him, Erick’s communications somehow bridged the distance between us and I could feel him beside me.

Through this contact, both our husbands helped us feel we were loved, thus boosting our spirits to loosen and slip free from the grips of emotional breakdown.

P.S., I Love You, a book about death and how it leaves you shattered, lost and aimless, is about the torments of grief, loneliness and depression. It reminds its readers that life can end anytime, regardless of age and sex, despite the wonderful dreams you made, or how many people loved you and you loved in return. It will make you cry. It will make you sad.

And yet. Nobody’s life is filled with perfect little moments. And if they were, they wouldn’t be perfect little moments. They would just be normal. How would you ever know happiness if you never experienced downs?

P.S., I Love You is a book about finding and having life again after death. It tells us that, no matter how broken you are over losing someone you love, there are always opportunities out there for you to find happiness; that no matter how bleak your world has become, at one time or another, the sun will always come out shining, bringing life and hope. It’s about dealing with being alone; recognizing that we need friends and family, people who refuse to give up on us after we have given up on ourselves. It reminds us of Helen Keller’s words – that when one door of happiness closes, another one opens; that if we remain focused on that closed door, we could miss seeing the other doors opening. It points out that when faced with problems, we cannot dwell on them for too long; we cannot hide; we cannot ignore them; that at some point in time, we have to face these obstacles or they will take over our lives, sucking out our will to live. It is about dealing with the past and getting on with the future by living each day, taking one step at a time.

Reading this wonderful book made me smile and laugh. I found myself giggling and gaining courage to deal with my pain.

"P.S., I love you." Gerry always wrote this phrase at the end of each of his letters to Holly.

"Honey, I love you," Erick always tells me that at the end of his calls or texts.

If you, too, want to find inspiration and strength to deal with whatever difficulty you are facing now, read Holly’s story and see how Gerry never stopped loving her after his death. It will fill your heart with sadness, then laughter, and then love.

NOTE:  I POSTED THIS ESSAY (AHEM, IT WAS CHOSEN AS WEEKLY WINNER FOR THE ESSAY-WRITING CONTEST CONDUCTED BY THE NATIONAL BOOKSTORE AND THE PHILIPPINE STAR AS PUBLISHED BY THE SAID NEWSPAPER ON THEIR NOVEMBER 19, 2006 ISSUE) HERE

BECAUSE, ONCE AGAIN, I AM SUFFERING FROM LONELINESS;

BECAUSE ONCE AGAIN, MY HUSBAND IS OCEANS AWAY FROM US;

BECAUSE THIS BOOK IS NOW A MOVIE (PLEASE READ THE BOOK RATHER THAN WATCH THE MOVIE..SORRY HILARY SWANK!)

BECAUSE, WELL, I'M STILL VERY PROUD OF MY ONE-TIME FAME AND PUBLICITY..  HEHEHE..

first love (a confession)

I've always been moved by this excerpt from the short story, "FIRST LOVE (A CONFESSION)" by Frank Harris.  i don't know why.  not that i suffered, or am suffering, from a case of unrequited love; after all, i got my man, married him, and bore him a beautiful son..  but until now, after more than a decade since i came across this excerpt (by the way, i don't like the whole story, just this part), i still feel a little tug at the heart whenever i read it.  maybe it's the passion of the woman-character, or her longing for the man who was so oblivious of her presence, or maybe, i am just sucked in by the drama of it..  i don't know..  maybe if i share it with you, you might share, in turn, with me your comments about this..  (feel free to post your thoughts here.)

here it is.  enjoy every word... (by the way, i hope Mr Harris will not be insulted that i used our dog, an-na, as my model here.  i rather think this picture, with her dramatic pose, is perfect with the excerpt.)

"The truth is very simple", she said, "and very hard to tell.  i loved you.  it transformed me; the tide of it swept through me, and ebbed and flowed in me, and bore me a way out upon it until sweet tears scalded my eyes and made my heart ache.  i invested you with every grace and every power;  you were the lay figure, i was the artist.  you brought me the wild fresh air of struggle and triumph into my close narrow life, and i made a hero of you...  i've stopped in the hall to talk to your coat.  how i used to kiss and  stroke it and put my cheek against it and whisper sweet things to it! 'Tell him, dear coat', I used to say, 'that i love him, and he mustn't be sad or lonely.  tell him - tell him that i love him.'"

well, what do you think?

message for enrickquito

for so long,

we waited for you...

9 years of praying,

of waiting.

9 years of disappointment.

then when all hope seemed lost,

and our hearts could no longer summon an ounce of strength

to wish and expect one more time,

YOU CAME...

You entered our lives,

bringing sunshine and boundless joy.

now as we cuddle you in our arms,

we beam with pride as our hearts overflow with love for you.

for we know, we do not only hold a very precious gift from God,

but in our grasp is our own flesh and blood,

more than a wish came true,

more than a prayer answered,

more than a dream realized,

but our own child,

OUR OWN SON..

out of control

this afternoon, i did a very terrible thing to my son, something that i never thought i could do, especially so that he was just 6 months old..  and until now, i am so laden with guilt that i cannot breath without feeling remorse for myself for having done that..

o god, please forgive me, please Lord...

yes, i was tired.
yes, i was sleepy.

and maybe, i was a little bit depressed.

but these were not enough to excuse me for being a terrible mommy, even if it was just for a few seconds...

what happened then?

we just arrived from town, having bought groceries for his needs this week.  after changing to clean clothing, i turned on the air con and readied ourselves to settle for an afternoon nap. 

then, he started crying. 

i tried giving him milk, he just brushed it aside.  thus, i tried water.  that too, he brushed aside, and quite angrily, might i add.  by this time, he was crying his heart out, his wail so loud that his face began to darken. 

with soothing words, i scooped him in my arms and rocked him back and forth,slowly massaging his back.  still, that did not have any effect on his crying.  my mind was then racing with thoughts on what could i do to stop him from this terrible tantrum.  i even tried changing his diaper.  tried showing him pictures, talking animatedly, making funny faces..  everything i did, nothing worked. 

frustration was building up inside me as his cries accelerated to screaming wails.  then, my patience ran out. i took him by the shoulders and suddenly shook him out of his wits.  it was a deed so unexpected that it took us both by surprise.  how could have i let my emotions, my anger get the better of me?  there was simply no excuse to have done that.  it could have broken my son's bones or worse, his neck could have snapped.

o god, please forgive me.  please lord...

he stopped crying after that.  though there was not a trace of fear on his face, i was, however, pained on the way he was looking at me.  it seemed, with his innocent gaze, he was telling me it was okay, that he had forgiven his mommy for her bad, bad deed. he was still so achingly trusting, his bright, round eyes were still filled with love for me despite of what i did.. 

right then and there, i wanted to pull him in my arms and hold him tightly.  but right then and there, i was too afraid to touch him, not trusting my hands to even go an inch near his small body...

for a few seconds of uncontrolled anger, i had forgotten how precious my son was.  for a few seconds, memories of how much we prayed and wished and longed for him for 9 years, and on how hard we had fought for him during a very difficult and dangerous pregnancy, had been erased by a sudden bout of rage and frustration. 

tsk..

it might take a long time for me to forgive myself for putting my son's life in danger. 

or, i might never be able to.

o god, please forgive me.

please Lord?

NOT I

i am whispering your name,

yet it is not i whom you are calling for.

i am longing for you,

yet it is not i whom your heart is missing.

i am thinking of you,

yet it is not our memories that are flashing in your mind.

i want so much to touch you,

yet it is not my hand you want to hold.

i want to bask in your embrace,

yet it is not my warmth that you want to feel.

i want to talk to you,

yet it is not my voice you want to hear.

i want to get lost in your eyes,

yet it is not my soul you want to glimpse.

i want to see your smile,

yet it is not i who could give you happiness.

i want to share my dreams with you,

yet it is not my future you want to see.

in short,

i want you to love me,

yet it is not i

it may never be i...  JESUS CHRIST