BLESSED MEMORIES
Remember the theme song from the movie The Way We Were that begins hauntingly with "Memories light the corners of my mind?" Now, I want you to close your eyes and try to remember anything. What was the first thing that came into your mind? Was it a happy, sad or rather dull memory of a person, place or event? Could it be something extraordinarily melancholy or ecstatic and so unforgettable? Maybe, none of the above, or you simply can't remember a thing?
Me? I can't even memorize any one of my pin numbers; and I have to use the same password over and over again so that I don't forget it. But I can never forget the first time I met my wife Vangie on a blind date at a small Filipino bienvenida party in Englewood, New Jersey, on September 1981. When I first saw her, she had a radiant smile on her porcelain-liked silky face, with full and sensous lips which I was immediately attracted to, and strikingly Korean and non-Filipino eyes which mesmerized me. When she opened her mouth, I noticed that she had an air of confidence of a New Yorker which made her look even more sophisticated. I didn't know what got into me, but when I noticed that somebody brought a guitar (there was no karaoke back then) and can accompany me with it, I started serenading her: first with a Filipino love song Gaano Kita Kamahal/How Do I Love Thee, and followed by Andy Williams' ballad from Love Story---Where Do I Begin? Obviously, she was very pleased, and I was able to relax a little bit. During the buffet dinner, I explained to her our custom in my province of eating a lot of noodles/pansit with new acquaintances, for good luck, long life and fortune. She obliged with that radiant smile again, and we both enjoyed a good serving of pansit. That night, I felt like we had a connection, and that she could be my wife. And so, before the evening ended, I asked her for a second date, and she told me to call her and gave me her phone number. What a blessed and enjoyable night!
Today, I don't have to repress my traumatic memories of child sexual abuse anymore, because I have blessed memories to replace them. Also, I have a website to share and retrieve these wonderful memories that I have written down through the years, for our family to cherish and healing of our memories.
Now, when I close my eyes and try to recall something beautiful, the first thing that pops in my head is the birth of our son Osbert. Here is my blessed memory of that event that I wrote my Mom in the Philippines, ten days after he was born.
Dearest Mama,
I am typing this letter with all the joys and excitement of a new father! I'm very happy to tell you that Vangie and I are now the proud parents of baby boy OSBERT---a 7lb. and 7 oz., 20-inch bouncing bundle of joy, born on the 18th of this month, at 2:54 a.m., under natural childbirth.
Thank God, Vangie and Osbert are doing fine. I couldn't worry less before the big event because Vangie's tummy was just enormous, and she was already five days late. Anyway, on the eve of Osbert's birth, we were still all over the place. I drove Vangie to church for the 12 noon Mass. Then, we had our new car (a 1983 Datsun Sentra Hatchback) blessed, joined Uncle Bas's relatives visiting from Guam for lunch and sightseeing, and attended our friend's daughter's Christening party in a chinese restaurant at 3 p.m. We came home at 6 p.m. very tired and not talking to one another (I was upset because, contrary to her doctor's advice, she ate too much chinese food---which was a blessing in disguise because she needed that extra energy during labor) and went our separate ways to relax and have some breathing space. She retired in our bedroom and reviewed the book I gave her about childbirth, while I watched TV and read the Sunday's paper in the living room. At 10, we were still not in the mood to eat dinner, and so, we ate the cake given at the party instead. At 11, I finished watching the movie special and was ready to go to bed, and found Vangie still awake. Just after kissing each other goodnight, we were jolted by a popping sound in her. Vangie rushed to the bathroom and came out feeling no pains or contractions whatsoever, but with water dripping down her knees. "This is it!" I said to myself. After going through the Lamaze class, we knew for sure that her water bag broke and could have the baby soon. I immediately called Dr. Landers, her obstetrician, and told him about it. But when he learned that there were no contractions yet, he advised us to sleep through the night, get enough rest, and go to the hospital the following morning. With our Lamaze confidence broken, we went back to sleep. Neither of us could sleep because Vangie kept going back to the bathroom, and I was just too uncomfortable in bed with my shirt, pants and socks on. At about this time, Papa (who came from another Christening party almost simultaneously with Kuya Bert who went for more sightseeing in Central Park) got very excited and wanted me to bring Vangie immediately to the hospital. Even with much explaining, I couldn't make him wait for the doctor's go-signal. Anyway, at 11:30, I became tense and more excited myself when I saw Vangie writhing in pain. I started timing her contractions just like the way we did in class and was alarmed to find out that they were already five minutes apart. I grabbed the phone to tell Dr. Landers who told us to go to the hospital at once. I picked up Vangie's maternity bag which had been ready for two months, and went to get the car. Vangie wouldn't let me go and was clinging to my arms in pain. I told her to do the breathing and relaxation exercise and she'll be fine. But she couldn't because the contractions were just too intense and came one after another . So, I told Papa to call Uncle Bas to drive us to the hospital.
Dr. Landers was already there waiting for us when Vangie was wheeled to the Labor Room for immediate checkup while I was asked to wait outside. Then, the nurse came out and told me that Vangie was almost fully dilated and should start pushing immediately. I felt relieved because she'll have a short labor and we'll have the baby soon. I donned on my hospital gown and proceeded to the Labor Room to coach Vangie in pushing the baby out. She smiled a little upon seeing me. I could see that her heartbeat and the baby's were being monitored on the machine's screen and her contractions were being recorded on a graphing paper. As soon as the monitor lines go up, her contractions start building up, and with great confidence, I grab one of her feet and the nurse the other towards her body, tell her to put her chin on her breast, take a deep breath, and PUUUUUUUUUUUUSHHHHHHHHH. . .
It was two and a half hours of long and hard pushing. Between those hours, I had to put up with all her demands, such as: "Wipe my head with wet cloth, massage my forehead, put icecubes in my mouth, stop talking I can't concentrate, get me this and that at once, etc." I kept my calm, continued to cheer her up (even though it seemed hopeless to do so), and stuck with her until the very end. And, she was very courageous and determined herself till the last second, even refusing to take Epidural and Demerol shots when the pain seemed unbearable. The doctor did nothing except to check the monitor twice.
At 2:30 a.m., I could see the baby's hair showing, and the nurse told me to put on my mask and boots and help her transfer Vangie to the Delivery Room, so we can have the baby. Never in my life did it cross my mind that I will someday see with my own two eyes the birth of my son. But, I did! It was simple, quiet, peaceful and without funfare. Yet, it was the most wonderful experience I had ever seen in my life! It was God's miracle before my eyes! It only took five minutes--so incredible moments, that I couldn't tire of rewinding and replaying them frame by frame in my head. After the doctor gave Vangie an episiotomy, she gave a big push, and from the mirror, Vangie and I saw the baby's head slid down with lots of fluids. Then, the doctor turned the baby's head a little to the left and asked Vangie, who at this point was speechless, to give another big push, and the baby's arms and body came out fast. And before I knew it, I could hear the baby crying while the doctor was holding him. I started kissing Vangie who was still speechless, and telling her excitedly in hushed shouts, "We have the baby! we have the baby!" Then, the doctor gave drops to the baby's eyes, sucked the fluids in his nose and mouth, and cut the umbilical cord. There was no fuzz whatsoever from the doctor, nurse and anesthesiologist on standby, but they were swift in congratulating us, while Vangie and I were still wide-eye opened. Vangie saw the baby's sex first, but just said, "My baby! My baby!" But, when Dr. Landers told us it's a boy, I exclaimed, "Osbert!"
Then, the nurse wiped the blood and mucus covering the baby from head to foot, put him in the heated bassinet, attached the id tags around his wrists and ankles, and took his hand and footprints. Afterwards, she put the baby on Vangie's chest so she could see him. And, I looked at her face and it seemed like all her pains just evaporated upon seeing Osbert. And then, the nurse gave him to me. He was still crying from the trauma of birth, I guess, because he looked so helpless outside her mother's womb. I held him in my half-confident arms (I was afraid that I might drop him), and began cradleing and assuring him in a soft fatherly voice, while at the same time looking at and examining his face whether it resembled mine. All of a sudden, he stopped crying and began focusing his eyes on me. I don't remember exactly how I felt at that moment, but I knew he was my baby! I could sense already the bond existing between us. He was so cute and lovable, so tiny yet complete, and he was mine. Then, I realized that he was not mine alone, because there laid his smiling Mom who couldn't care more about her nine months ordeal, the labor pains she went through, the afterbirth, and that she was still being sewn up by the doctor. I could see her eyes glowing at a glimpse of Osbert.
After the doctor and nurse were done, they left the room, and Vangie , Osbert and me shared our first thirty minutes of our lives together, and I felt that we were a family. I put the baby on Vangie's chest and examined again his facial features closely. He got thick black hair running down his cheeks like Daddy, cute but prominent nose like Daddy, full wide lips and rounded chin like Daddy, thick long brows like Daddy, clear Oriental eyes, but may get round and wide later, like Daddy, right ear curved like Daddy, and left ear that looked like Mommy's!
Immediately, I called up Papa from the phone in the room to relay the good news, and he felt relieved and happy. Next, I dialed Tatay and Nanay in Jersey City and they too were joyous. It was 4 o'clock in the morning when the nurse took Osbert to the Nursery Room and Vangie was wheeled to the Recovery Room. I stayed with her for another hour and went home at 5 a.m., feeling great.
How we came up with the name Osbert is another story that I'll reserve for my next letter, But I must admit that, yes, there is no saint named Osbert, yet. However, it's a real name of German origin and very spiritual in its meaning. Osbert means divine and bright.
I can go on and on telling you about Osbert, and this letter will not come to an end. For now, I must say that Vangie and I am just enjoying every minute that we spend with your adorable grandson. We have to because children grow so fast, just like our lttle angel Osbert who already gained 10 ounces in 7 days!
Less we forget, thank you for all your prayers. Vangie, Osbert and I am proud to be in the same loving and caring family. God bless us all.
Love,
Oscar, Vangie & Osbert
Me? I can't even memorize any one of my pin numbers; and I have to use the same password over and over again so that I don't forget it. But I can never forget the first time I met my wife Vangie on a blind date at a small Filipino bienvenida party in Englewood, New Jersey, on September 1981. When I first saw her, she had a radiant smile on her porcelain-liked silky face, with full and sensous lips which I was immediately attracted to, and strikingly Korean and non-Filipino eyes which mesmerized me. When she opened her mouth, I noticed that she had an air of confidence of a New Yorker which made her look even more sophisticated. I didn't know what got into me, but when I noticed that somebody brought a guitar (there was no karaoke back then) and can accompany me with it, I started serenading her: first with a Filipino love song Gaano Kita Kamahal/How Do I Love Thee, and followed by Andy Williams' ballad from Love Story---Where Do I Begin? Obviously, she was very pleased, and I was able to relax a little bit. During the buffet dinner, I explained to her our custom in my province of eating a lot of noodles/pansit with new acquaintances, for good luck, long life and fortune. She obliged with that radiant smile again, and we both enjoyed a good serving of pansit. That night, I felt like we had a connection, and that she could be my wife. And so, before the evening ended, I asked her for a second date, and she told me to call her and gave me her phone number. What a blessed and enjoyable night!
Today, I don't have to repress my traumatic memories of child sexual abuse anymore, because I have blessed memories to replace them. Also, I have a website to share and retrieve these wonderful memories that I have written down through the years, for our family to cherish and healing of our memories.
Now, when I close my eyes and try to recall something beautiful, the first thing that pops in my head is the birth of our son Osbert. Here is my blessed memory of that event that I wrote my Mom in the Philippines, ten days after he was born.
Dearest Mama,
I am typing this letter with all the joys and excitement of a new father! I'm very happy to tell you that Vangie and I are now the proud parents of baby boy OSBERT---a 7lb. and 7 oz., 20-inch bouncing bundle of joy, born on the 18th of this month, at 2:54 a.m., under natural childbirth.
Thank God, Vangie and Osbert are doing fine. I couldn't worry less before the big event because Vangie's tummy was just enormous, and she was already five days late. Anyway, on the eve of Osbert's birth, we were still all over the place. I drove Vangie to church for the 12 noon Mass. Then, we had our new car (a 1983 Datsun Sentra Hatchback) blessed, joined Uncle Bas's relatives visiting from Guam for lunch and sightseeing, and attended our friend's daughter's Christening party in a chinese restaurant at 3 p.m. We came home at 6 p.m. very tired and not talking to one another (I was upset because, contrary to her doctor's advice, she ate too much chinese food---which was a blessing in disguise because she needed that extra energy during labor) and went our separate ways to relax and have some breathing space. She retired in our bedroom and reviewed the book I gave her about childbirth, while I watched TV and read the Sunday's paper in the living room. At 10, we were still not in the mood to eat dinner, and so, we ate the cake given at the party instead. At 11, I finished watching the movie special and was ready to go to bed, and found Vangie still awake. Just after kissing each other goodnight, we were jolted by a popping sound in her. Vangie rushed to the bathroom and came out feeling no pains or contractions whatsoever, but with water dripping down her knees. "This is it!" I said to myself. After going through the Lamaze class, we knew for sure that her water bag broke and could have the baby soon. I immediately called Dr. Landers, her obstetrician, and told him about it. But when he learned that there were no contractions yet, he advised us to sleep through the night, get enough rest, and go to the hospital the following morning. With our Lamaze confidence broken, we went back to sleep. Neither of us could sleep because Vangie kept going back to the bathroom, and I was just too uncomfortable in bed with my shirt, pants and socks on. At about this time, Papa (who came from another Christening party almost simultaneously with Kuya Bert who went for more sightseeing in Central Park) got very excited and wanted me to bring Vangie immediately to the hospital. Even with much explaining, I couldn't make him wait for the doctor's go-signal. Anyway, at 11:30, I became tense and more excited myself when I saw Vangie writhing in pain. I started timing her contractions just like the way we did in class and was alarmed to find out that they were already five minutes apart. I grabbed the phone to tell Dr. Landers who told us to go to the hospital at once. I picked up Vangie's maternity bag which had been ready for two months, and went to get the car. Vangie wouldn't let me go and was clinging to my arms in pain. I told her to do the breathing and relaxation exercise and she'll be fine. But she couldn't because the contractions were just too intense and came one after another . So, I told Papa to call Uncle Bas to drive us to the hospital.
Dr. Landers was already there waiting for us when Vangie was wheeled to the Labor Room for immediate checkup while I was asked to wait outside. Then, the nurse came out and told me that Vangie was almost fully dilated and should start pushing immediately. I felt relieved because she'll have a short labor and we'll have the baby soon. I donned on my hospital gown and proceeded to the Labor Room to coach Vangie in pushing the baby out. She smiled a little upon seeing me. I could see that her heartbeat and the baby's were being monitored on the machine's screen and her contractions were being recorded on a graphing paper. As soon as the monitor lines go up, her contractions start building up, and with great confidence, I grab one of her feet and the nurse the other towards her body, tell her to put her chin on her breast, take a deep breath, and PUUUUUUUUUUUUSHHHHHHHHH. . .
It was two and a half hours of long and hard pushing. Between those hours, I had to put up with all her demands, such as: "Wipe my head with wet cloth, massage my forehead, put icecubes in my mouth, stop talking I can't concentrate, get me this and that at once, etc." I kept my calm, continued to cheer her up (even though it seemed hopeless to do so), and stuck with her until the very end. And, she was very courageous and determined herself till the last second, even refusing to take Epidural and Demerol shots when the pain seemed unbearable. The doctor did nothing except to check the monitor twice.
At 2:30 a.m., I could see the baby's hair showing, and the nurse told me to put on my mask and boots and help her transfer Vangie to the Delivery Room, so we can have the baby. Never in my life did it cross my mind that I will someday see with my own two eyes the birth of my son. But, I did! It was simple, quiet, peaceful and without funfare. Yet, it was the most wonderful experience I had ever seen in my life! It was God's miracle before my eyes! It only took five minutes--so incredible moments, that I couldn't tire of rewinding and replaying them frame by frame in my head. After the doctor gave Vangie an episiotomy, she gave a big push, and from the mirror, Vangie and I saw the baby's head slid down with lots of fluids. Then, the doctor turned the baby's head a little to the left and asked Vangie, who at this point was speechless, to give another big push, and the baby's arms and body came out fast. And before I knew it, I could hear the baby crying while the doctor was holding him. I started kissing Vangie who was still speechless, and telling her excitedly in hushed shouts, "We have the baby! we have the baby!" Then, the doctor gave drops to the baby's eyes, sucked the fluids in his nose and mouth, and cut the umbilical cord. There was no fuzz whatsoever from the doctor, nurse and anesthesiologist on standby, but they were swift in congratulating us, while Vangie and I were still wide-eye opened. Vangie saw the baby's sex first, but just said, "My baby! My baby!" But, when Dr. Landers told us it's a boy, I exclaimed, "Osbert!"
Then, the nurse wiped the blood and mucus covering the baby from head to foot, put him in the heated bassinet, attached the id tags around his wrists and ankles, and took his hand and footprints. Afterwards, she put the baby on Vangie's chest so she could see him. And, I looked at her face and it seemed like all her pains just evaporated upon seeing Osbert. And then, the nurse gave him to me. He was still crying from the trauma of birth, I guess, because he looked so helpless outside her mother's womb. I held him in my half-confident arms (I was afraid that I might drop him), and began cradleing and assuring him in a soft fatherly voice, while at the same time looking at and examining his face whether it resembled mine. All of a sudden, he stopped crying and began focusing his eyes on me. I don't remember exactly how I felt at that moment, but I knew he was my baby! I could sense already the bond existing between us. He was so cute and lovable, so tiny yet complete, and he was mine. Then, I realized that he was not mine alone, because there laid his smiling Mom who couldn't care more about her nine months ordeal, the labor pains she went through, the afterbirth, and that she was still being sewn up by the doctor. I could see her eyes glowing at a glimpse of Osbert.
After the doctor and nurse were done, they left the room, and Vangie , Osbert and me shared our first thirty minutes of our lives together, and I felt that we were a family. I put the baby on Vangie's chest and examined again his facial features closely. He got thick black hair running down his cheeks like Daddy, cute but prominent nose like Daddy, full wide lips and rounded chin like Daddy, thick long brows like Daddy, clear Oriental eyes, but may get round and wide later, like Daddy, right ear curved like Daddy, and left ear that looked like Mommy's!
Immediately, I called up Papa from the phone in the room to relay the good news, and he felt relieved and happy. Next, I dialed Tatay and Nanay in Jersey City and they too were joyous. It was 4 o'clock in the morning when the nurse took Osbert to the Nursery Room and Vangie was wheeled to the Recovery Room. I stayed with her for another hour and went home at 5 a.m., feeling great.
How we came up with the name Osbert is another story that I'll reserve for my next letter, But I must admit that, yes, there is no saint named Osbert, yet. However, it's a real name of German origin and very spiritual in its meaning. Osbert means divine and bright.
I can go on and on telling you about Osbert, and this letter will not come to an end. For now, I must say that Vangie and I am just enjoying every minute that we spend with your adorable grandson. We have to because children grow so fast, just like our lttle angel Osbert who already gained 10 ounces in 7 days!
Less we forget, thank you for all your prayers. Vangie, Osbert and I am proud to be in the same loving and caring family. God bless us all.
Love,
Oscar, Vangie & Osbert
Here is my blessed memory of our daughter Claire-Voe which I retrieved from the letter my wife and I wrote her on the eve of her high school graduation at the Academy of Holy Angels in Demarest, New Jersey.
To Our Dearest Daughter Claire-Voe,
Congratulations! Praise the Lord! You’ve done it, Claire!
Yes, Sweetheart, on this day of your graduation party, your Mom and I want you to know, how proud we are of you and your achievements. You have accomplished not only the goals you have set for yourself academically by being a consistent honor student and getting into the Principal’s List, but also in proving your creative and leadership skills by mounting the first International Night at the Academy of the Holy Angels as President of the Asian Cultural Society. As usual, you have surpassed yourself whenever you put your heart and mind in all your endeavors.
But do you know what we’re even prouder of? That through the years, since you were just in kindergarten, you have kept in your soul what really matters most in life – that is, the goodness of your heart, your compassion for those in need, and your tremendous love for and service to God.
Your Mom and I delight in recalling how at a tender age of three, you refused to go to bed whenever you sensed that we weren’t talking to each other.
And, how about the time when I had to confront Sister Lucy, the principal of St. Therese – when she reprimanded you for bribing your classmates to vote for you because you brought them goodies from our store – and explained to her that that wasn’t a bribe but rather you’ve always been a very giving person, whether you were running for office or not.
Nothing could be truer when you gave your toy collection and $1000 you got on your 16th birthday party at home to your aunts, uncles, cousins, and the poor children in the Philippines when we went there for your Sweet Sixteen celebration.
But most of all, as a parent, what we’re truly most proud of you is when you serve the Lord conscientiously at St. John’s as an altar server, choir member, sacristan, and Eucharistic minister. And we know how sincere and deep is your love for the Lord because even at home, when we pray as a family, you are always asking God, and the prayers of the angels and saints in heaven to help take care of us and Osbert, your relatives and friends, and all the poor people in the world, instead of asking favors for yourself.
Sweetheart, we know that you have been preoccupied with so many things lately – college, proms, finals and graduation – but please don’t ever forget how we and your brother Osbert love you so very much. And if there’s one thing that we want you to remember as you leave for college, is this unconditional love we have for you – that we’re always here for you, no matter what.
Lastly, we know that you’re going to do exceedingly well at Northeastern University. But should there be any doubt that might linger in your mind once in a while when you’re in Boston, again, just look into your heart and focus on what matters most inside you – your natural goodness, your compassion for others, and your awesome love for the Lord – and you’ll be fine.
Always your loving,
Mom & Dad
A Father's Prayer to Our Father in Heaven
in Blessed Remembrance of His Father on Father's Day
Our Father---I praise You,
Who art in Heaven---I adore You,
Hallowed be thy name---I thank you for my Dad, Pedro Aguila Ocampo.
Thy Kingdom come---Lord, teach me how to be a hero to my children, just like my father.
Thy will be done on earth---Lord, encourage me to work diligently and persevere in times
of hardship, just like my father.
As it is in Heaven---Lord, help me to become a model of generosity, just like my father.
Give us this day our daily bread---Father, bless the soul of your loving servant, Pedro.
And forgive us our trespasses---Father, have mercy on the soul of your humble servant, Pedro.
As we forgive those who trespass against us---Father, welcome into your Majesty the soul of your faithful servant, Pedro.
And lead us not into temptation---Abba, touch Papa with your Spirit for all eternity.
But deliver us from evil---And, grant Papa perpetual joy through your Son, Jesus.
Amen.
Who art in Heaven---I adore You,
Hallowed be thy name---I thank you for my Dad, Pedro Aguila Ocampo.
Thy Kingdom come---Lord, teach me how to be a hero to my children, just like my father.
Thy will be done on earth---Lord, encourage me to work diligently and persevere in times
of hardship, just like my father.
As it is in Heaven---Lord, help me to become a model of generosity, just like my father.
Give us this day our daily bread---Father, bless the soul of your loving servant, Pedro.
And forgive us our trespasses---Father, have mercy on the soul of your humble servant, Pedro.
As we forgive those who trespass against us---Father, welcome into your Majesty the soul of your faithful servant, Pedro.
And lead us not into temptation---Abba, touch Papa with your Spirit for all eternity.
But deliver us from evil---And, grant Papa perpetual joy through your Son, Jesus.
Amen.
5.6.2010: Next Sunday is Mother's Day. I can't think of a better way to celebrate Mom's day other than to honor her legacy, in blessed remembrance of her.
.
MAMA’S LEGACY
(Reflection delivered by me at the memorial service for Mama--
Maria Diaz Ocampo, at St. John’s Church, Bergenfield, NJ, March 25, 2007.)
Today is Mom’s 93rd birthday. I know that at this very moment she’s looking down at this celebration, smiling, with that beautiful smile on her face, and saying: thank you all for coming; and please, don’t forget to come to the reception.
With your kind indulgence, allow me and my family to honor our Mom today, just like what we’ve always done during her past birthdays and wedding anniversaries with Dad, by reflecting on her life and legacy. I’ll try to be brief by focusing on her Christian life and its impact on her children and grandchildren. I’m sure that my sister and brothers have more wonderful and memorable stories to tell you about Mom because they’re older and have more experiences with her. But being the youngest in a typical Filipino family has also its few privileges. I get to speak in front of you today in behalf of my brothers and sister, and give honor and respect to Mom—which I think is priceless.
Mama, as she is fondly called by everyone, from toddlers to elders, who knows her in the village where she lived, because that’s the name they have come to hear us call her all the time, was born in the small town of Sta. Maria, Ilocos Sur, in northern Philippines. The youngest of five children, she was baptized and named after the town’s patron and mother—the Blessed Virgin Mary. Her parents died when she was seven years old and was sent away to be cared for by her unmarried, elderly cousin—a devout Catholic—who raised and nurtured her lovingly like her own daughter in the Catholic faith.
She studied to become a teacher and finished up to junior college in Manila, which at that time would have qualified her to get a certification to teach in elementary school, but somehow, she never did. Well, actually, she did. She was our first teacher at home who taught us her favorite subjects, which were English, Geography and Music.
When she came to the United States with my Dad in 1985, she didn’t just come to help us take care of our children, Osbert and Claire-Voe, aged one and two. She also taught them how to count, how to read and sing the alphabet, watch Nature and Geography channels on TV, and the most important of all—not to fight but to love each other, as brother and sister. In return our children would visit them periodically when they retired permanently in the Philippines, and showed their appreciation for them by presenting their diplomas and honors certificates, including the first college diploma Mom received from Osbert when he graduated from Georgetown University two years ago. You can just imagine how proud Mom was for Osbert, even telling our neighbors and relatives who came to visit her at the hospital when we arrived (her health started to go downhill at that point) that Osbert graduated from the same university where Presidents Clinton and Macapagal-Arroyo went.
Mama’s passion for education permeated our college life. She came with Dad to Manila every semester to check our grades, and brought us lots of food to feed our brains, including eggs, dried fish and meat, and live chickens. Fortunately, we all finished college, and my sister Ofel, brother Bert and myself followed in her footsteps, by becoming teachers ourselves.
But of all the things Mama had taught us, I praise and thank the Lord for giving us a Mom who shared with us her faith in Jesus Christ and her devotion to the Blessed Mother. Every night at six o’clock, she gathered all of us in front of the altar with Papa and led us in praying the Angelus or the Rosary, in English of course. Every Sunday and holy days she and Papa took us to the parish church in town to attend Mass and receive communion. Even in her old age she never failed to light a candle and invite us to pray the Rosary with her every night, or sit in front of the television and hear Mass on TV and receive Christ from a visiting Eucharistic minister every Sunday morning.
Three years ago she was introduced to the Catholic charismatic renewal when her favorite homilist on TV, Father Sonny Ramirez, whom I invited and who was also in the renewal, celebrated Mass at home in the Philippines for her 90th birthday. She loved to listen to and sing with the charismatic group, which my aunt brought home to pray over her, especially when she was in and out of the hospital. After her operation last month, I tried to divert her attention from her pains when her pain medication wore off, by singing to her praising songs to the Lord and shouting, “Praise the Lord,” after each song; and she always answered by whispering, “Alleluia.” And even with her frequent lapse in her memory, I knew that her praising of the Lord was not just an automatic lip-service to her faith in God because we saw her lived a simple Christian life. She took care of us almost all the time when we were young because Dad was busy earning a living for us, as a traveling salesman in the remote islands in the Philippines, half of the year during the dry season.
Looking back, life was hard, we were poor, but we didn’t know it. Why? Because we never heard her complain about not having any money. And, the Lord always provided food on our table, because she grew vegetables, raised chickens and pigs, and asked her brother to send us rice, every now and then. She made dresses for our sister, and shirts, pants and pajamas for us boys. Every year she prepared rice cakes for me and my friends on my birthday, with two conditions. I had to go to church and clean the house. None of her children was exempted from helping her with household chores.
One day she surprised us when a relative delivered our brand new radio which Mom bought for us from the money she saved. I thought she bought the radio for me, because I used to hang out at our neighbor’s house to listen and sing to music. I felt so special around her that I would sometimes ask her, “Who do you love the most?” with the singular thought that her obvious answer would be me, because I always assumed that I was her favorite son. But she just smiled and said, “You are all my children; I love you all equally, the same way God loves you equally.” And, when Vangie and I called her long distance while her memory was still sharp, she never forgot to ask about all her grandchildren in the U.S. and how my sister and brother were doing. She would end the call by saying that she would continue to pray for all of us and our children.
I believed her because praying was her way of trusting in the Lord. It’s what kept her strong and gave her a long life. Nothing illustrated this trust better than when I questioned her, “Why did you and Papa allow us to go to college in Manila when you knew that it was dangerous to live in the city, particularly just before Marcos declared martial law?” Her answer was simple, “I wanted you to get the best education. And, as soon as you closed the door behind you and left for college, I never stopped praying for you. I knew that God would take care of you.” And, God always did.
There were times when I tested her patience and resolve by my mischief, around the time Dad transported the whole family to another province to start a furniture business. But, Mama always kept her cool, never yelled at us, nor laid a hand on any of us. That’s what I liked the most about Mama. She didn’t punish me even when I truly deserved it. She just looked at me straight in the eye with that sad look on her face, didn’t say a word, and walked away. Which, by the way, was very effective.
Mama’s love for her family was matched only by her love for her siblings, friends, relatives, and our neighbors. She reprimanded us if she heard us criticizing other people’s looks. She said that we would beget ugly children if we persisted in doing so.
Except for her sister, majority of her relatives are non-Catholics. But we were close to each other and got along pretty well because Mom and Dad were kind and loving to them, and vice-versa. But every time we got together, Mama made sure that we didn’t discuss about religion, so that they couldn’t convert us.
Whenever our eldest brother Romulo who lived in Zambales sent Mama a box of sweet mangoes, fresh vegetables and dried fish, she would cook her favorite dish, pinakbet, and shared it and the mangoes to our next-door neighbors, uncles, aunts, and cousins. And when she was dying, they kept a vigil around her with my brother, by praying the Rosary—her favorite prayer.
Mama died peacefully in her room two weeks ago, three hours after she came home from the hospital. My sister, brothers and I tried very hard to keep her alive because we loved her so much. We loved her more and more as she got older, and even when the end became inevitable. But even now, I know that she will never stop being a mother to us. I know that she’s listening. And, I want to tell her this on her birthday.
Mama, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there to bid you farewell during the funeral. I felt you didn’t want me to, and that you had always wanted me to remember you praising the Lord and smiling beautifully, as ever, just like the last time I saw you, a month ago. Thank you for being a good Mom and a great Grandma. I will never forget you. I miss you. Please say hello to Papa. I miss him too. I know you are closer to Jesus and his Mother Mary, now, more than ever before. So please, thank them for me for giving you the grace and assistance to accomplish everything that you had done for us. You always trusted in the Lord, and I know that you’ll continue to pray for us. Happy birthday, Mama! I love you . . . Thank you Jesus . . . Thank you.
(Reflection delivered by me at the memorial service for Mama--
Maria Diaz Ocampo, at St. John’s Church, Bergenfield, NJ, March 25, 2007.)
Today is Mom’s 93rd birthday. I know that at this very moment she’s looking down at this celebration, smiling, with that beautiful smile on her face, and saying: thank you all for coming; and please, don’t forget to come to the reception.
With your kind indulgence, allow me and my family to honor our Mom today, just like what we’ve always done during her past birthdays and wedding anniversaries with Dad, by reflecting on her life and legacy. I’ll try to be brief by focusing on her Christian life and its impact on her children and grandchildren. I’m sure that my sister and brothers have more wonderful and memorable stories to tell you about Mom because they’re older and have more experiences with her. But being the youngest in a typical Filipino family has also its few privileges. I get to speak in front of you today in behalf of my brothers and sister, and give honor and respect to Mom—which I think is priceless.
Mama, as she is fondly called by everyone, from toddlers to elders, who knows her in the village where she lived, because that’s the name they have come to hear us call her all the time, was born in the small town of Sta. Maria, Ilocos Sur, in northern Philippines. The youngest of five children, she was baptized and named after the town’s patron and mother—the Blessed Virgin Mary. Her parents died when she was seven years old and was sent away to be cared for by her unmarried, elderly cousin—a devout Catholic—who raised and nurtured her lovingly like her own daughter in the Catholic faith.
She studied to become a teacher and finished up to junior college in Manila, which at that time would have qualified her to get a certification to teach in elementary school, but somehow, she never did. Well, actually, she did. She was our first teacher at home who taught us her favorite subjects, which were English, Geography and Music.
When she came to the United States with my Dad in 1985, she didn’t just come to help us take care of our children, Osbert and Claire-Voe, aged one and two. She also taught them how to count, how to read and sing the alphabet, watch Nature and Geography channels on TV, and the most important of all—not to fight but to love each other, as brother and sister. In return our children would visit them periodically when they retired permanently in the Philippines, and showed their appreciation for them by presenting their diplomas and honors certificates, including the first college diploma Mom received from Osbert when he graduated from Georgetown University two years ago. You can just imagine how proud Mom was for Osbert, even telling our neighbors and relatives who came to visit her at the hospital when we arrived (her health started to go downhill at that point) that Osbert graduated from the same university where Presidents Clinton and Macapagal-Arroyo went.
Mama’s passion for education permeated our college life. She came with Dad to Manila every semester to check our grades, and brought us lots of food to feed our brains, including eggs, dried fish and meat, and live chickens. Fortunately, we all finished college, and my sister Ofel, brother Bert and myself followed in her footsteps, by becoming teachers ourselves.
But of all the things Mama had taught us, I praise and thank the Lord for giving us a Mom who shared with us her faith in Jesus Christ and her devotion to the Blessed Mother. Every night at six o’clock, she gathered all of us in front of the altar with Papa and led us in praying the Angelus or the Rosary, in English of course. Every Sunday and holy days she and Papa took us to the parish church in town to attend Mass and receive communion. Even in her old age she never failed to light a candle and invite us to pray the Rosary with her every night, or sit in front of the television and hear Mass on TV and receive Christ from a visiting Eucharistic minister every Sunday morning.
Three years ago she was introduced to the Catholic charismatic renewal when her favorite homilist on TV, Father Sonny Ramirez, whom I invited and who was also in the renewal, celebrated Mass at home in the Philippines for her 90th birthday. She loved to listen to and sing with the charismatic group, which my aunt brought home to pray over her, especially when she was in and out of the hospital. After her operation last month, I tried to divert her attention from her pains when her pain medication wore off, by singing to her praising songs to the Lord and shouting, “Praise the Lord,” after each song; and she always answered by whispering, “Alleluia.” And even with her frequent lapse in her memory, I knew that her praising of the Lord was not just an automatic lip-service to her faith in God because we saw her lived a simple Christian life. She took care of us almost all the time when we were young because Dad was busy earning a living for us, as a traveling salesman in the remote islands in the Philippines, half of the year during the dry season.
Looking back, life was hard, we were poor, but we didn’t know it. Why? Because we never heard her complain about not having any money. And, the Lord always provided food on our table, because she grew vegetables, raised chickens and pigs, and asked her brother to send us rice, every now and then. She made dresses for our sister, and shirts, pants and pajamas for us boys. Every year she prepared rice cakes for me and my friends on my birthday, with two conditions. I had to go to church and clean the house. None of her children was exempted from helping her with household chores.
One day she surprised us when a relative delivered our brand new radio which Mom bought for us from the money she saved. I thought she bought the radio for me, because I used to hang out at our neighbor’s house to listen and sing to music. I felt so special around her that I would sometimes ask her, “Who do you love the most?” with the singular thought that her obvious answer would be me, because I always assumed that I was her favorite son. But she just smiled and said, “You are all my children; I love you all equally, the same way God loves you equally.” And, when Vangie and I called her long distance while her memory was still sharp, she never forgot to ask about all her grandchildren in the U.S. and how my sister and brother were doing. She would end the call by saying that she would continue to pray for all of us and our children.
I believed her because praying was her way of trusting in the Lord. It’s what kept her strong and gave her a long life. Nothing illustrated this trust better than when I questioned her, “Why did you and Papa allow us to go to college in Manila when you knew that it was dangerous to live in the city, particularly just before Marcos declared martial law?” Her answer was simple, “I wanted you to get the best education. And, as soon as you closed the door behind you and left for college, I never stopped praying for you. I knew that God would take care of you.” And, God always did.
There were times when I tested her patience and resolve by my mischief, around the time Dad transported the whole family to another province to start a furniture business. But, Mama always kept her cool, never yelled at us, nor laid a hand on any of us. That’s what I liked the most about Mama. She didn’t punish me even when I truly deserved it. She just looked at me straight in the eye with that sad look on her face, didn’t say a word, and walked away. Which, by the way, was very effective.
Mama’s love for her family was matched only by her love for her siblings, friends, relatives, and our neighbors. She reprimanded us if she heard us criticizing other people’s looks. She said that we would beget ugly children if we persisted in doing so.
Except for her sister, majority of her relatives are non-Catholics. But we were close to each other and got along pretty well because Mom and Dad were kind and loving to them, and vice-versa. But every time we got together, Mama made sure that we didn’t discuss about religion, so that they couldn’t convert us.
Whenever our eldest brother Romulo who lived in Zambales sent Mama a box of sweet mangoes, fresh vegetables and dried fish, she would cook her favorite dish, pinakbet, and shared it and the mangoes to our next-door neighbors, uncles, aunts, and cousins. And when she was dying, they kept a vigil around her with my brother, by praying the Rosary—her favorite prayer.
Mama died peacefully in her room two weeks ago, three hours after she came home from the hospital. My sister, brothers and I tried very hard to keep her alive because we loved her so much. We loved her more and more as she got older, and even when the end became inevitable. But even now, I know that she will never stop being a mother to us. I know that she’s listening. And, I want to tell her this on her birthday.
Mama, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there to bid you farewell during the funeral. I felt you didn’t want me to, and that you had always wanted me to remember you praising the Lord and smiling beautifully, as ever, just like the last time I saw you, a month ago. Thank you for being a good Mom and a great Grandma. I will never forget you. I miss you. Please say hello to Papa. I miss him too. I know you are closer to Jesus and his Mother Mary, now, more than ever before. So please, thank them for me for giving you the grace and assistance to accomplish everything that you had done for us. You always trusted in the Lord, and I know that you’ll continue to pray for us. Happy birthday, Mama! I love you . . . Thank you Jesus . . . Thank you.
