Remembering Inang on Mother's Day

There are many ways to address a mother depending on one’s culture, language, race, and so forth. And so a mother can be called “Mommy”, “Mom”, “Mama” (accent either on the first or second syllable), “Nanay”, “Inay”, “Inang”, “Ima” or whatever. But no matter how she is called, every mother is unique to every son or daughter and she leaves her own mark in a son or daughter that will remain there forever no matter what.

I call mine "Inang". And remembering Inang on Mother’s Day, is to remember who she was for me, which not only made her uniquely as my mother but also made me who I am today.

Not so long ago in the past, family roles between fathers and mothers were still pretty much clearly delineated – fathers took care of earning a living for the family and mothers took care of the home and the children. In a way, one can say fathers took care of the body while mothers took care of the soul.

It was so in our household years ago when we were growing up. Tatang took care of making money; while Inang took care of the household cleaning, cooking, washing and taking care of us children, and looking after our early formation including our spiritual formation.

Inang taught me my earliest notions of God, the saints, about prayers, heaven, and hell. I remember too that as a daily family ritual she would gather all of us regularly at 6pm as the time for the “oracion” comes. She would then lead us through the “Angelus” in a mixture of Tagalog and Spanish after which all of us children would line up to kiss the hands (“mano”) of our parents and all other elderly persons who happened to be with us then. It was Inang too who would gather all of us on Sunday and then herd us to church for mass. At the church entrance she would first dip her hands into the holy water basin and then seek every one of us children to bless us with her holy water-moistened hands.

I also learned as I grew up that her spirituality extended not only to external religiosity such as prayers but also to her personal values such as her deep caring for others especially those in need. We did not have much in terms of material possessions, but it was she who had taught me and my siblings not to turn away a beggar who would come knocking at our door without offering food or even a handful of rice or a few centavos to tide him over. She also never turned down a neighbor in need, whether it was for money or food, as long as she could afford it.

Inang and me

Fathers, they say, mold a son’s character through discipline and raise him to achieve his full potential until he is ready to raise his own family. Mothers, however, imprint themselves on a son in a way only a mother can and in the process cling to his soul.

As I grew up in Inang's loving motherly care, her simple faith and deep religiosity gave me courage to ask to be allowed to go the seminary after I had finished high school. I knew then that it was a most difficult decision for her to let me go because I was young and inexperienced to be separated so soon. But this was a call from God. In the end, I was sure it must have been her faith in God and divine providence that clinched it for me. With a heavy heart, she gave me her permission and even accompanied me all the way to the seminary gates for a tearful good-bye scene on the day I entered to start my seminary studies.

Some twenty years later, her faith would be tested once again when I decided to leave the ministry after an agonizing period of discernment to seek God’s will. I knew my decision to leave would hurt her. How could it not? Thus, I was already imagining all kinds of things she would say. That she could not understand my reasons for leaving and would not let me leave. That I would only cause an embarrassment to the family, that I should go back and think things once more, that I should go and confess my sins instead (as holier-than-thou others have suggested), that it is a great sin turning away from God (as if leaving the ministry was to turn against God), and so forth.

One day, after a retreat I finally found the courage and strength to tell her the truth that I had left and already requested Papal dispensation from Church authorities. What followed next was a scene I will never forget. She took my hands and said with her eyes almost in tears: “I have been waiting for you… I already know, but what can I do? I just prayed to God to take care of you if this is His will for you… If you are happy with your decision, then I also am happy.” We then embraced each other.

Prior to this talk with Inang, my life was unstable and aimless, my tomorrows were dark and unchartered specially after my decision was met with hurtful coldness and biting indifference by some friends colleagues, and even prospective employers. In contrast, Inang’s words were like soothing balm to my wounded spirit; assurance enough for me to start living once more from then on and to set out building my new life as a layman. After obtaining my Papal dispensation from my priestly and religious vows and with Inang’s blessings, I got married that same year and started a family.

Inang’s prayer

Inang also had such an unshakeable faith in prayer. She would always say that God has always heard her prayers. And one of her most ardent prayer, according to her, is for God not to let her see anyone of her children die before she does. She said she would rather die first because she could not bear to bury anyone of us.

God answered Inang’s wish. She died peacefully and joined her creator at the age of 92 in November of 1999. Although none of us her seven children were around when she breathed her last, all seven of us were around when she was buried beside Tatang, her beloved husband.

That is “Inang”, my mother!