Lola Taling died in her sleep last Sunday. Her granddaughter, an ex-girlfriend of mine, said there was hardly any pain- just a little difficulty in breathing, and then she was gone. The doctors at the hospital where she was taken could hardly find any cause of death other than a mild stroke. Well, she was 90 years old. Lola Taling’s lifeless face seemed to be smiling in a contended sleep. As if she didn’t mind leaving us at all. I told my friend that I don’t want to grow that old but if I did, I’d like to go that way too. Happy, fulfilled, and well-loved.
I first met Lola Taling when I ran away from home after a particularly bad fight with my mother. Ten years would pass before I’d make up with my mother again. I sought refuge at my girlfriend’s house, where she was staying with her lola, four siblings and a dog. It was my first sojourn into life outside my parents’ house. My fascination about how different other people were brought up was equaled only by my astonishment at how they could survive in a house with no responsibilities, no rules, and no order. As a result laundry piled in one corner outside the bedrooms, dishes piled in the kitchen sink, sometimes visited by a rat, and dirt gathered all over the house. The fact that their parents were abroad trying to find enough income to sustain them aggravated the individualistic attitude in this family. My girlfriend’s sister even brought her own supplies to the bathroom, and took them when she’s finished.
The thread that kept the family together was Lola Taling, whose pension money from the Veteran’s fund provided enough for three square meals a day and paid the bills. Everything else was left to each’s creative devise. My friend’s siblings were working students but money always seemed to be short. I and my friend already had full time jobs so I shared in the marketing, groceries and cooking. Lola does the laundry, cooking, cleaning and the occasional reprimanding. Despite all the hardships Lola Taling managed to provide motherly care and concern for all of us. Whenever we were alone she’d ask me why I ran away from home or what my family was like. She never quite believed that my parents could be so harsh on us. “But then again, maybe that’s what it takes…” she’d half-whisper, looking at the dust all around her.
Lola Taling never criticized my lifestyle, and always believed one could be happy with one’s life choices. She had a sweet laugh and gentle hands. She never turned away guests, even when unexpected. She always accommodated relatives in trouble, and gave what little money she could afford to lend. She started getting depressed when one by one her own siblings or friends died. She’d go to her hometown in Santa, Ilocos Sur to recuperate, and then get right back to being our dear old Lola. Sometimes she’d play sick and ask for a box of prunes, which I’d readily buy for her at the local grocery store.
When I was able to afford my own studio room near the university I said goodbye to Lola Taling and left the house. But I’ve never forgotten the prunes Lola loved, and I always remembered her whenever I see a box at the grocery store or on a table. Somehow I thought I could always buy her a box one of these days when I wasn’t busy, until I went abroad to work for several years. There was only one Christmas party a couple of years ago when I saw Lola Taling again. That was the last time I would talk to Lola Taling. She had almost forgotten me.
Watching the video prepared by my now former girlfriend at Lola Taling’s wake I realized that Lola truly had one happy and fulfilled life. She was loved by all her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Not many people die in their own quiet glories but Lola did. And she will be missed.
I first met Lola Taling when I ran away from home after a particularly bad fight with my mother. Ten years would pass before I’d make up with my mother again. I sought refuge at my girlfriend’s house, where she was staying with her lola, four siblings and a dog. It was my first sojourn into life outside my parents’ house. My fascination about how different other people were brought up was equaled only by my astonishment at how they could survive in a house with no responsibilities, no rules, and no order. As a result laundry piled in one corner outside the bedrooms, dishes piled in the kitchen sink, sometimes visited by a rat, and dirt gathered all over the house. The fact that their parents were abroad trying to find enough income to sustain them aggravated the individualistic attitude in this family. My girlfriend’s sister even brought her own supplies to the bathroom, and took them when she’s finished.
The thread that kept the family together was Lola Taling, whose pension money from the Veteran’s fund provided enough for three square meals a day and paid the bills. Everything else was left to each’s creative devise. My friend’s siblings were working students but money always seemed to be short. I and my friend already had full time jobs so I shared in the marketing, groceries and cooking. Lola does the laundry, cooking, cleaning and the occasional reprimanding. Despite all the hardships Lola Taling managed to provide motherly care and concern for all of us. Whenever we were alone she’d ask me why I ran away from home or what my family was like. She never quite believed that my parents could be so harsh on us. “But then again, maybe that’s what it takes…” she’d half-whisper, looking at the dust all around her.
Lola Taling never criticized my lifestyle, and always believed one could be happy with one’s life choices. She had a sweet laugh and gentle hands. She never turned away guests, even when unexpected. She always accommodated relatives in trouble, and gave what little money she could afford to lend. She started getting depressed when one by one her own siblings or friends died. She’d go to her hometown in Santa, Ilocos Sur to recuperate, and then get right back to being our dear old Lola. Sometimes she’d play sick and ask for a box of prunes, which I’d readily buy for her at the local grocery store.
When I was able to afford my own studio room near the university I said goodbye to Lola Taling and left the house. But I’ve never forgotten the prunes Lola loved, and I always remembered her whenever I see a box at the grocery store or on a table. Somehow I thought I could always buy her a box one of these days when I wasn’t busy, until I went abroad to work for several years. There was only one Christmas party a couple of years ago when I saw Lola Taling again. That was the last time I would talk to Lola Taling. She had almost forgotten me.
Watching the video prepared by my now former girlfriend at Lola Taling’s wake I realized that Lola truly had one happy and fulfilled life. She was loved by all her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Not many people die in their own quiet glories but Lola did. And she will be missed.
