They Grew Old But Not Their Love

What one thing have you first-handily witnessed during your living years that was true and lasting and never ceasing? I have one – my grandparents’ love for each other. This entry was inspired by the episode of Maalala Mo Kaya last Saturday about an old couple growing old together. I thought I could not miss relating too the true love I have seen in the company of my grandparents, my father’s parents, to be specific. (My mother’s parents have the same streak; only they were not as showy as my father’s parents were.) I basically grew up in the loving care of my grandparents when I was young. What with my working mother trying to get our expenses meet and my father toiling with the heat of Saudi Arabia. It was private school since Nursery for me back in the province and my classes were always later than my brothers’. Everyday of the school week, my mother would drop me at my grandparents’ house with my usual straight-from-the-bed form requiring serious conditioning before coming to school. I had always the pleasure of being the first to eat my grandmother’s home-cooked lunch alongside Daddy (+), my grandfather. And always, Mamang, my grandmother, would see to it that everything is in place before we eat altogether – the three of us. She would put rice on my Daddy’s plate primarily and automatically, before she’d turn to me to fill mine. We never ran out of things to discuss over those meals. I could still recount how Daddy would jokingly relate to me the ‘adventure’ of eloping with Mamang. If not because of the robust smell of burnt rice filling the kitchen, my great grandparents would not discover Mamang was missing. Thereupon started the great love story of my grandparents that endured and proof to the ‘till death do us part’ thing. These two significant people showed me true love in more than one way – not only for each other but also their true love for me. Let me give you a brief about them. Daddy, bless his soul, was every inch the craftsman – carpenter, driver, fisherman, MacGyver. More than that, he was the best grandfather (equally the best with my other grandfather)! He was my Bible storyteller – I heard the likes of David & Goliath, Joseph and his brothers, the birth of Jesus Christ, etc. from him first. The books he gave me were like some precious stones to me. He was my backup, my kakampi. He was my number one fan. He was my father figure when Papa was away. He built my confidence. He adored my tiny feet and thin legs. With that he called me ‘tingaw’ because I was really small then. He fetched me from school when none of my uncles were available to do just that. He would fairly listen to me when I tell him how my day went. He cut that part of the newspaper that bore my name when I passed the DOST scholarship exam. He highlighted my name. Did I tell you he was my number one fan? He would remind me not to get a cop or a military man for a boyfriend. And he said, if I could avoid it, not even a seaman. I have always been keeping his memories in my heart. And although he already passed away, I have always known he is never busy looking after me and interceding for my prayers. Daddy, you are sorely missed. Mamang seriously portrays the role of taking charge of the house chores. She is a superwoman! She knows the nooks and cranny of the house more than the house mouse. She cooks good food. It’s no wonder where my uncles and aunts get their waistlines that they do not really bother measuring. Mamang has her ways of showing me her loving-kindness. She would put extra do’s in our before-school routine. A classic example is the demonstration of wearing the socks. She taught me how to do that – that cute bows attached to my pair of socks should stand out so they have to be displayed on the outer part of my legs (I just don’t know how to put it. Mamang could explain better.). She would tell me that over and over until I thought I had mastery doing it, even with a blindfold. If Daddy would require me to have siesta every afternoon so that I could outgrow my ‘tingaw’ monicker, Mamang would simply make the task easy for me by her pats-to-sleep method. Even before Papa’s song cartridges from Saudi Arabia stirred my interest to music, Mamang has already taught me to sing ‘Ako Ay May Lobo’, a piece that always splendidly drew an audience as I delivered. Mamang, like Daddy, never failed to express her admiration to whatever I accomplish – then and now. And just as Daddy has advised, she would reiterate whenever I would come to visit her, never to get a cop clod or a military twit for a partner. I just have this feeling God would not allow me to. ;) Looking back, there were times when I saw them at the brink of arguing and Daddy would bark, ‘Nengneng mo tan ya akulaw,’ referring to Mamang still with that tinge of endearment and patience. Mamang knows better when to inject silence at those times. When Daddy died, I saw grief in Mamang’s eyes that I never saw before. She was differently silent. Mourning to an extent, wishful thinking to another. She verbalized my theory when she said, ‘Daddy, alam ak la!’ That made me cry. It gave me shivers thinking their love could surpass death too. I love them both.