A large, exquisite black and white butterfly with a long tail greeted me and two companions as we entered Funeraria Paz at the Manila Memorial Park in Sucat last Saturday afternoon.
As we emerged from the administration office, the butterfly followed us into the restroom.
I’ve long associated butterflies with departing souls. I told my two companions that the butterfly was my mom, greeting us and bidding goodbye.
My mother Otilia breathed her last on April 25, so I’m writing about Mother’s Day two weeks early. She was 90; among our Chinese relatives, reaching that age is associated with a good life. We had checked out her remains at Manila Memorial when we saw the long-tailed butterfly.
I mourned my loss, but I was also relieved to see her resting in peace, her suffering from Alzheimer’s finally over. People who have dealt with the various forms of dementia in their loved ones call it the long goodbye. It’s a cruel disease, turning the afflicted into a different person, and in the final stage at the complete mercy of others.
Humans have gone to the far side of the moon and developed artificial intelligence, but have yet to find a cure for Alzheimer’s and the other forms of dementia.
Even as my mother progressively lost her memories, her ebullience and many physical abilities, and began calling me by what I called her – ‘mommy’ – she never forgot one thing: the ability to love.
She would whisper into my ear, as I massaged her hands that swelled from constricted circulation, ‘I love you so much. Do you love me?’ I am so glad that I was able to tell her many times, as she clutched and kissed my hand, how much I loved her.
In her final days she would raise her arms to the heavens as if in supplication, mouthing words without sound. Sometimes she called out names, including that of my late father Oscar, or those of her departed siblings, and we knew that she was preparing to join them soon.
My cousin – her favorite niece – called from the US last week, worried about my mom. My cousin said she had dreamed that she and my mom had gone on a trip together with me and my brothers; she said my mom was so happy.
Stories of similar dreams before someone’s death are common in many funerals I have attended. As are stories of lovely butterflies fluttering around the bereaved, even in Metro Manila where butterflies are a rare sight.
Who can explain such phenomena? There are so many things in this world with no scientific explanation. In a way, the unexplainable brings me comfort, allowing me to accept matters beyond the physical realm, and to believe we live on, even when our body gives up on us. Believing in life everlasting brings solace in grief.
My mom expired less than a day after we brought her back from the hospital, where we were taught home palliative care. An oxygen tank, an oxygen concentrator, a blood pressure gauge, pulse oximeter – all brand-new – plus many other elderly care paraphernalia are in her room.
The prospect of seeing her in the coming days with an oxygen mask perpetually attached to her face, unable to even sit in her wheelchair to join me for lunch, pained me. In her passing, I console myself that she has been spared from further suffering.
Like most bonds between parents and children, we had our difficult moments. But with her suffering over, and in my grief, all the good memories are the ones that flood in.
Someone I know sighed to me recently that she was having an unusually difficult time with her mother, whose personality had changed dramatically and who kept picking on her. I saw it as a classic early symptom of some form of dementia, so I told her not to take it personally, and to just love her mother.
Mommy gave me many gifts, but one of my favorites is a small decorative item featuring the popular poem, ‘Footprints in the Sand.’
One night I had a dream…
I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord, and across the sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand; one belonged to me, and the other to the Lord. When the last scene of my life flashed before us, I looked back at the footprints in the sand. I noticed that many times along the path of my life, there was only one set of footprints.
I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest
and saddest times in my life. This really bothered
me, and I questioned the Lord about it.
‘Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,
you would walk with me all the way;
But I have noticed that during the
most troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don’t understand why in times when I
needed you the most, you should leave me.’
The Lord replied, ‘My precious, precious
child. I love you, and I would never,
never leave you during your times of
trial and suffering.
When you saw only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you.’
My mother also carried me, for much of her life.
Farewell for now, mommy. One day soon, we will be together again, in a place where memories are vivid and sorrow has given way to joy.