Fading summer

Our family is coming off the joyful stress of planning a family reunion, A.'s side, where each family takes their turn. This year was ours. We'd been planning since October. Given five elders' deaths in less than two years, it was an opportunity to celebrate connection in the moment. 

When we returned to northern Virginia, I noticed that one plant by our front door in particular
had grown so much in nine days -- creeping along the concrete step. And the native tree we planted in memory of our loved ones has started to flower. 

And today, our teen daughter turns fourteen years young. We are deep in the throes of teendom. August just began, and yet it feels like it's wrapping up at the same time. 

-----
how do we say no to the rush,
no to the push to put on our best face,
no to the chase of the material rat race

how do we say yes to penning that poesy
that stirs in our hearts, 
yes to crooning the melody that allows us 
to yearn and breathe in the moment

sometimes the summer storm
takes over our minds
but what if, just what if, 
we take the time to taste the flavor
of the fading summer
the peanutbutter frozen custard
on the boardwalk, 
how the Jersey Shore's waves
crash against our bodies,
how we have delighted in an eight-hour day 
together on the sand
how in being intentional with our time
we have reconnected in love
grateful to be family

Summer Mother Sun

We visited a short while for Father's Day weekend last month, had the chance to bring our moms together and celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary, 23 years together. No more Chart House, we delighted in a lovely lunch at Liberty House. Our moms are in their eighties, and with every visit, they move a little more slowly than last. Truly a gift to spend time with our moms and have them connect with each other too.

the sun radiates
she shines and embraces
everyone and everywhere

she does not distinguish
between white and brown
she provides light to all

she is hope that believes 
in joyful connection
families along the shore
children splash and thrash in the pool

the sun kisses every forehead,
every cheek,
every shoulder

every day, the sun wakes
and shares her beams
gives source 
to every living and just being

Grieving through the heaviness

The world is heavy, and so is my heart. A couple of weeks ago, I took a quick train ride up to Connecticut to check on our family elders, including my mom, auntie and uncle. My cousins flew in from California and Georgia. Uncle was supposed to have a simple medical procedure, but taking him off his blood thinnners puts him at high risk for stroke. Grateful our visit was not due to crisis because those kinds of visits seem more frequent in this phase of life. As the daughters and sons of aging parents, with every visit, we observe that our parents are walking a little slower, and their short term memory is a little more challenged. Discussions around plans to put into action when the time comes are stressful. I have to laugh until I cry my way through the weight and urgency of the future that feels like, is here now. So much laughing. 

And on top of that? Being the springboard and repository for my teenager's rollercoaster emotions, sometimes hormonal. Constantly reminding myself that her prefrontal cortex is still developing. Sometimes in the loneliness of the car while I scream, sometimes in the early morning waking as my mind races with worry and frustration as I work to calm myself in morning meditation. Grateful that we are learning to have those hard conversations. 

Not to mention all that is destroying humanity in our country as I try to disengage from the news. I have one good friend protesting the concentration camps just 15 minutes from where she lives and a cousin on duty 24/7 advocating for immigrants' rights while I try to do my share in my small corner of the world supporting volunteers and agencies that serve the food insecure or unhoused, those formerly detained and trying to make a new lives for themselves. 

Still, we try to sell to our kids that there is goodness in the world, just not Stateside, not this government at this moment. But in the people working hard to make good trouble. 

How do we find the strength and resilience to keep caring? 

Pious Angel

Sadly, my mother-in-law has lost four siblings and her husband in less than two years. Most recently, A.'s beloved Tita Lita died. He has shared many affectionate stories of her by his side as a young boy growing up in the Philippines as well as in his adulthood, her wisdom in finding a life partner. I am deeply grateful to have had many occasions to just sit and visit with her and chat about Life. Also thankful that N. will always have the memory of enjoying breakfasts and 'real bacon' with Lola Lita. 

In loving memory of Angelita Branam
b. 7.2.44 - d. 4.25.26

stories relayed to me of a most devout angel's
comforting presence --
tita who served a soothing force in his times of loneliness
guidance --
tita who offered warmth and protection
healing love --
tita who ferried peace to his broken heart
her mighty faithfulness and resilience
an angel's grace so soft and light
his guardian Tita Angelita

Easter tending

tending to myself

in the season of renewal
a 7.2mile run
around the circles of America's Athens
-- Westgate
-- Church
-- State Capital
on the hallowed grounds of St. John's 
tending to ourselves
on the river Severn
retreat on the water
so that we may feel refreshed
amidst the baroque byways of Annapolis

Sprouting spring

behind the curtain, life can be messy
you too? yes, me too
life can be hard, the world is mad . . .
how much more wonderful would it be
if we leaned into each other
embraced each other 
tightly, lovingly
especially when we need to
especially when it feels difficult
especially when circumstances exhaust us,
and we can be in our truth

Today is my peaceful day

So far this winter season, we've had a week off of school due to an ice storm. Today's another snow day, mostly slush. Grateful for the chance to take a much needed long walk with the dog and time to process another family death because that is the stage of life we're in, amidst celebrity passings too. Like everyone else, I took to a box of tissues to view Eric Dane's 'Last Words.' As he looked into the camera and intimately shared with his girls, I tried. Absolutely heart-wrenching. Reminded me so much of my last few weeks with my Dad before he passed peacefully at home almost eighteen years ago. His last words to me included, Was I a good father?

Auntie Nita Torqueza, my Dad's first cousin in California, recently died. Their moms were sisters. The Torqueza family lived in Jersey City before settling on the West Coast. I have strong memories of playing with my cousins -- Rowena, Rosalie, Rosanne and Regina. Because I grew up alone, their departure from New Jersey had a deep impact on me. Perhaps I inherited my Dad's sensitivity and connection to others. I have been participating in Auntie Nita's nine-day prayer novena and am mindful of the close family bond my Dad had with his first cousins, living together during their college years in the Philippines, along with buddyihng it up with his cousins' husbands, all from the same province of Narvacan, Ilocos Sur. I strive to keep those connections with family that my Dad so delighted in. He never missed holiday phone calls to California, Chicago and the Philippines. Long gone are the times of handwritten letters, he keyed in on his turquoise typewriter, but first wrote his letters on legal pads.

w

Grateful for this afternoon's winter walk . . .

from the woodspath
i listen intently to the winter wind
whooshing, slush dripping
from the trees
today amidst the weight of the 
winter's wet snow 
i glimpse our neighborhood fox
he lurks about
like memories
their tenderness creeps
into my heart
as i view them
in my mind's eye
i think
despite the gravity of heartache
i can breathe and resolve
to make today
my peaceful day

May peace ripple everywhere

I have been a mindfulness practitioner for some time, including day-long retreats of guided meditation, movement and eating in silence. I would never claim to be an expert, just someone who tries . . . everyday. What a gift it is to remember our breath and be in the present as much as possible. Easier said than done in a culture that subscribes to media scrolling or overachievement even before your child is out of the womb.

I have been following the monks since October and their Walk for Peace from Texas to DC. I have been listening intently to their evening talks of mindfulness. Deeply grateful that I had the opportunity to be in their presence this early morning. I could barely sleep last night excited to visit with them! And it was well worth the wait. 

I recall from my day-long retreats the importance of a simple slightest smile, eye contact, silent communication. Just like my previous teachers who were students of Thich Nhat Hanh, each of the monks offers his attentive light, gaze and stillness. The ability to convey loving compassion and kindess that way is so valuable, especially in a world mad with all kinds of negativity. Grateful to the monks who make it their life's work to share their discipline of mindful breathing and being in the moment. 

Please let me pay it forward to you. Give yourself permission to find a quiet corner and may you find a moment to breathe in, breathe out, and be filled with loving kindness, be well, be peaceful and at ease, and be happy.

We need this fiercely warm reminder. Our country and our world need this. Now more than ever. 

Recovery

We have a tradition in our family. We keep a gratitude jar, and through the year, each of us writes moments for which we are thankful. On New Year's Eve, we open each other's slips of paper, reflect and share them. This past New Year's, A. & N. pointed out that two thirds of mine were about my work. Last week, I had the opportunity to witness how amazingly church volunteers and community agencies' staff partner to prevent hypothermia. 

--

recovery is exhausting
holiday pressures, family dynamics
and disappointment
everyday recovery
from the political antics of instability
and at the same time
recovery from the mood swings of a teen
while raising her
amidst global chaos,
our own fears and frustrations

do we not long to fill the space
with compassion
that will fight against wrongdoing? 

i devotedly follow the monks who walk for peace
and hope to get a glimpse
when they come through, to be in their presence

i make room under God's roof
for grace and humanity to meet me
in the eyes of strangers
who sleep on floor mats 
to avoid the bitter freeze
and in their eyes
i see social justice revolutionaries
some of whom are employed
yet unable to afford rent
some of whom are veterans
yet cast away by their government
some of whom speak 
more than one language and have families
yet unable to connect with loved ones

they are of every race and walk the streets
hungry. and cold. more than a bad break. 

maybe together
we can take a communal breath
and promise to take care of each other
maybe together
we can  take up space and draw closer
we can welcome grace, 
we can look deeply into each other's eyes
and we can honor each other's humanity

Hygge up

First snow of the season, and I am hygge'ing it up. Morning started with a stroll in the peace of the falling snow with the dog. No one else out in the neighborhood. I could breathe. Slowly. And now I have my homemade cuppa joe, dark roast and french pressed, splash of almond milk, dash of cayenne and cinnamon, with my candle lit and acoustic indie christmas tunes in the background. This past week, I have had a couple of opportunities to reflect on this season of cozying up and how hope shows up in our lives. 

Pastor Shannon at Lord of Life, where I work, invited me to share my reflections on hope. It was definitely an opportunity to stretch my courage as it has been a long time since I have been in front of a crowd, let alone an older white one which pushed me a bit beyond my comfort zone. 

Reflection on Hope 
If you are inspired by Psalm, tune in at 20:00. Otherwise, start at 22:00.

The next morning, it was my turn as a staff member to lead our weekly devotion (meditation). Would not consider myself super Christian, definitely spiritual and connected to the values of kapwa (internconnectedness), social justice and healing (wellness). So we hygge'd it up with the first Advent candle, and I am reminded that even the slightest glimmer gives us cause to hope amidst our personal struggles and global chaos. 

The beginning of the holdiay season is always wrought with bittersweetness. Longing for those moments with those who are now beyond the stars. Especially miss my Dad savoring the turkey's butt and innards after we have all had our Thanksgiving eats and all the roasting our family does of each other around the table as we refill our wine glasses. 

At your next holiday meetup, I wish you a moment of hygge -- a heartful breath, a thoughtful pause. May you soak up an intentional moment of cozy.

Parent's lament

When I'm inside my own head about what I might be doing wrong as a parent, I search for literature to support my stance or hunt for inspired wisdom. Parenting is only hard for the fully engaged, overly invested and deeply loving parents (so they say). And sometimes . . . 

parenting a teen
feels like
falling up a mountain 
-- upside down

Summer's pause

when my foot 
pauses
between rocks
in the creek
arms flail and
i plunge --
exhilarated
by the cool depth 
of Nature's tears
like the Natives whose feet
kissed the path along this creek
their courageous connection
no bothersome breeze 
just unbounded, blessed glee
in the valley within the valley

Along The Sound

When you can come off a week-long stay with cousins, their spouses and kids, elders and your own family all under one roof for the first time in 11 years, that is courage, grace and love all at once. As our parents are in their golden years, it becomes even more apparent that living middle aged means making sure that we create more moments for connection and recreate the childhood memories our parents worked so hard to ensure that our family knew we

were fiercely loved. So when we get together, it means reinvigorating our familial love -- even with the family dramedy and dynamics that are sure to surface. Just like the movie The Family Stone, we love and accept our family members for who they are, flaws and all, to grow stronger and more meaningful relationships, all the while with a deep sense of care and support for each other, with family central to strength and resilience. And that, folks, was my New London (CT) reconnection.

be still and listen

to the voices that belong

to our past, present and future,

to the voices that belong
to the sea wall
along The Sound

find our earnest wishes
on the sands under our feet

Human condition

What a week it's been as we recover from my father-in-law's funeral and a long haul of supporting my mother-in-law in her 57 years of caregiving to her husband in their marriage. Our family would undoubtedly agree that she is a saint given her unwavering dedication to her husband in sickness and in health, mostly in sickness the last three years. 

Obituaries always share the best of someone, and they can differ immensely from the complicated components that others experience of a person. Three children in a family can have three completely different relationships with the same father. A grandchild can sense the deep tension between Grandpa and each of his kids.

Marrying into a family can be met either with a warm welcome or a lukewarm undertone, depending on expectations. Still, we can choose to make the best of it and struggle to understand that all parents, even when they are not our own, are human too. Through the years, my father-in-law and I engaged in our own banter, and I distinctly remember him firmly stating that he disliked Hillary Clinton as a presidential candidate because she was 'too strong' (code for 'she's a woman') as we sat in the family waiting room for A. to come through his open heart surgery. 

As we waited for my father-in-law to die, I could not help but reflect on my Dad's cancer journey and his death. Grateful that I did not have sibling dynamics to work through and analyze. What a challenge it is to sit with all the lovely images everyone else has of my father-in-law and reconcile the images I have of him as a hard, most demanding man, especially of his wife and in the years his health declined, along with the experiences that his oldest son, my husband, has shared with me. 

Such is the human condition, and we meet it with compassion and grace. 

prayer
is the heartache's
grieving everything
you would have liked to say
(to those who are dead)
and prayer
is the heavy heartedness's
mourning everything
you would like to say
(to those who live)

Grateful that my father-in-law and mother-in-law raised a son of deepest integrity and discipline. In memory of my father-in-law, Rosendo Torres, b. 3.1.1939 - d. 04.30.2025

Inner work

Spring brings transition. As the lavender hyacinths begin to pop up through the dirt covered in an unending stockpile of dried leaves, I feel that I am coming home to myself too as I prep for two new part-time job opportunities outside of the home that start this week. One as a seasonal reader of admissions applications for MIT and the other as outreach director managing volunteers and short/long term community projects for a local nonprofit, both super flexible as I make my reentry.

Before the flowers push through, so much germination happens: Abosorbing the world around me as I have contributed to different communities, almost ten years since our move to NoVA. Roots have taken anchor in those communities that have fed my soul. Through various projects, offshoots have invited others to join inspiring connections that encourage our circles to bloom into something more worthwhile and colorful.

This inner work we do requires mindful intention. It has been my looming battle to justify to myself - working at home as a parent, not to be confused with working from home and contributing to the household income with a tangible salary. It is a conscious choice that our family made to raise our daughter, which means living within our means, no big suburban home, no fancy cars, no extravagant vacations. All worth it as my tween recently brought up in conversation that she suddenly realized that not everyone has a work-at-home parent. We discussed the necessity of working parents outside the home (like so many of her friends' parents, Lola and Lolo, Grandma and Grandpa), choice and sacrifice to have a work-at-home parent, along with the impact of the pandemic and parenting as essential labor, how important and sometimes undervalued, parenting can be misunderstood. How blessed that we have been able to make our choice work for us. 

Now as our almost teen continues to come into her own, the timely opportunities for me to reemerge into the world of work outside the home have presented themselves. The anticipation of setting firm boundaries and maintaining availability for family needs comes with some nervous excitement, (not to mention tech week and N.'s upcoming ballet performance, La Fille Mal Gardeé) .

May we embrace Spring's invitation to resurface, unfurl and return home to ourselves.

Shift in time

where the vixen Maple pauses,
crosses my path and stares,
she is my spirit guide
who intuits --
embrace change with grace, 
flow with life's
ever shifting currents
even in all the
unconstitutional trickery.
the snow flakes begin their waltz
and the trees lure
my soulful worries to quieten.

Lallygag

i am not these thoughts that constantly worry, 
want to problem solve,
too concerned about
what the future holds
for my only daughter
who thrives
in the company of her tween tribes.
young, burgeoning ladies
like vibrant winter candycane amaryllis buds
who support each other, 
growing in their own individual ways,
figuring out how to
fulfill their most untamed dreams.
--
these thoughts pass through my mind. 
these thoughts are not me.
where there is so much hurt and frustration
and i am unable to help, i feel powerless. 

all i can do is listen.
i am not the one fearful
of acknowledging the (im)perfections
about family who gather for the holidays,
oblivious to each other's truths.
loving family is more. 

i stand on the sidelines unable to speak up.
shhh. know your place. 
the urge to offer saving grace embraces me.
these thoughts are not me.
i am that voice whose heart
is out there in the open.
feel that snowy wind on a brisk traipse
that suddenly brings a depth of comfort?
this, my heart, is what I am.

In loving memories

It's been a couple of months. Never expect cumulative or compounded grief to hit us, always unexpectedly. Haven't felt this kind of heavy heartedness since the beginning of the pandemic. This time, it's the season of life that envelops our day-to-day, checking in on elders, making sure that they are eating healthy, going to their scheduled medical appointments, disciplined about taking their meds and daily exercise, not overexerting themselves with house matinenance. A. and I also underestimated the impact on our 12yo, toting her up and down to Jersey to visit with sick and dying elders. We have been back and forth more in the past couple of months than we usually are in a given year. She has been overwhelmed with the most recent family news.

Since Tito Mading's death in October, our families have known three other deaths. In their loving memory, I scribe their names:
* Dennis Austria b. 04.27.69 - d. 11.09.24
* Jimmy Asuncion b. 06.1.43 - d. 11.29.24
* Olivia Salgado b. 05.24.47 - d. 12.03.24

Each one has touched my life in a specific way. Dennis is a distant cousin, disabled like my brother. His mom and my mom came to the States as nurse recruits from the Philippines and lived together in the nurses' dormitory, part of Margaret Hague Maternity Hospital in Jersey City.

Tito Jimmy was our typical Filipino tito in the neighborhood, kidding around with his friendly jabs, knowing how to just almost push your button as a teenager. The dad everyone delights in joking around with and by the time you're of age, appreciate a good drink and conversation.

And Tita Oli is one of A.'s beloved aunties more like an older sister ever present in his life since his childhood years in the Philippines, joining him for afternoon merienda. Funny enough, she and her husband were good friends with my Ninang and Ninong (godparents), all Connecticut residents. When A. and I first started dating, she did her diligent research on me. Tita Oli and Ninang chatting it up on the phone, the chaotic tsismis that ensues among Filipina older women. Deeply grateful we made the time to visit with Tita Oli twice in the past two months while she was in the hospital and at home. 

May they all continue to be loved beyond the stars. 

In loving memories

i breathe better
when i walk among the trees
where branches crisply crack
in the winter winds, where leaves flurry,
where i release my heartache.

what seems so convincingly worrisome
whips past my face
need the chill to hush my quiet grief
that swells like each timed arctic snow eater

the universe in her unassuming way
with every passing loved one
seems to scream,
this is life
love and be loved

she is my teacher 
who lulls me with her lesson,
this is the cycle of life --
may we welcome the invitation
to open our hearts 
with awe inspiring warmth

peaceful mother embraces me
invites our fretful selves 
to sit in her lap
to weep and live love

Fall whispers

 Amado Lopez
b.01.26.39 - d.10.21.24

just after noon
after mid morning minutes stretch
i reach for comfort
i stroll
under the golden, apricot, pumpkin,
and butterbeer canopies
and scour the leaves for life's truth
beneath the sacred scarf of oaks and maples
the autumn softly beckons
one whisp, one leaf at a time --
let go,
release
i sorrow with my hands open
ready to receive
he is here
she is here
they are here
all of our loved ones
beyond the stars
in the changing colors
of the tumbling leaves
we are here
i place my hands on my heart
they are right here. 

The muscle memory of grief

Working hard to stay grounded while we wait for A.'s beloved uncle to die from pancreatic cancer. He has been the kindest and wisest father figure to A., a constant reminder of how his grandfather raised him during his early childhood years. I am truly grateful to have had many opportunities to get to know Tito (Uncle) Mading through our conversations during family gatherings, along with email and written correspondence through the years.

I remember Tito Mading's gentle expression when he was at my Dad's funeral and repast. I am deeply touched that he made the time to attend and celebrate my Dad's life. Since then, both A. and I have made tremendous effort to stay connected with him especially when we moved to NoVA. 

This past weekend, we visited with Tito Mading and engaged in a lovely and reflective chat about fishing, family and the cycle of life. Clearly weak from not being able to eat anymore, he was alert and very much at peace with his brave and thoughtful decision to die with dignity and hospice care at home. 

As we sat with him, I worked very hard to keep it together despite welling up when he shared that he appreciated all of my notes through the years, and grief bubbled up in my body as I recalled sitting with my Dad many days while he was dying, having heart-to-hearts with him, asking him for his wisdom about life. And he asked me, Have I been a good father?

When grief becomes muscle memory, my heart is heavy as I make an intentional effort to sit with my body and acknowledge the gravity of my feelings, allow myself to cry. While I can reflect on happy moments, I still feel the deep sadness in the loss of my Dad. From the time he decided to stop all treatment to his death from cancer, it was three weeks. Waiting for him to die was the most difficult and the longest three weeks of my life.

I requested the following from Tito Mading -- that he visit us in our dreams and also say hi to my Dad. A devout Catholic, still he curiously wonders if they will meet in the same place beyond the stars. I have no doubt that Tito Mading's memory will be a blessing to all of us who love and know him.