Last night my parents came in home late but I was lucky enough to catch a few minutes’ time of chatter with my mother, as she was finishing up her late dinner.  Apparently they were late because she had to do this web-conference call thing with some company people from Canada.

Anyway what really struck me was her next news: another lola of mine just passed away yesterday.  I’m not really sure how we’re connected and all because my mother’s family tree is a spidery web that makes me dizzy each time I understand it.  Besides, I didn’t really know this particular grandmother; I wasn’t really conscious yet when she frequented our house.

Now this is starting to freak me out, really.  This is the third death we’ve had this year and the first quarter of the year’s hardly even over.  So far we’ve lost a relative once per month and at this rate, I’m scared for our family tree.  I’m not usually one for superstitions but you have to admit that this is kind of odd, right?

Anyway this loss was very much felt in this house.  My mother was listless during breakfast and even committed herself to speeding off to Valenzuela to attend the wake this very day, when she has a ton of work piled up on her desk. 

My brother’s affected, particularly, because he was very much acquainted with this particular lola.  I guess it’s just one of those perks of having been born first; he was doted upon by every lola and lolo in our family.   Since he spent the weekend in our other house in Valenzuela he wasn’t supposed to go there this weekend (with all the added traffic the South Expressway Skyway expansion program is giving us) but he’s decided to go there and pay his respects.

Now I don’t know exactly how my father’s feeling about this particular death; I mean he knew the lady, but he’s not really related to her.  I guess he’s doing fine?

As for me I am saddened that she died but in no way am I surprised.  Not to sound crass, but it really wasn’t much of a surprise; I mean she was pushing ninety years old this year, after all.  But because I was born late in her years I only got to see her during those holiday visits.  I know that it’s not an excuse, but it is the reason why I’m not particularly grieved or anything.

I gathered from the stories my mother told that this particular grandmother was very kind; it was a trait that everybody from that side of the family had.  Even though she didn’t have a degree in college, she still provided a comfortable life for her family.  From what I hear they were never in want of anything and from what I can see, her children have grown up to be good people. 

All I can remember of her these past few years is the image of her wearing a shawl and sitting in a wheelchair.  It’s a shame that I can’t remember anything else; but it is to be expected since I’ve only seen her during All Saints’ Day at the cemetery. 

But when I search back I can sort of remember an image of her in the old wooden house my aunt had, sitting with a few other ladies who all have shawls and payneta’s in their hairs, chewing on betel nuts and leaves.  Although I’m really not sure if this memory really happened or if it was just a result of a dream or the figment of my imagination; I must’ve been really young when it happened, if ever. 

I guess I’ll miss her, in my own way.  She’ll forever be that particular lola in my eyes, after all.