Paalam, Tita Norma

My aunt, Tita Norma, passed away on 18 June 2013, at the age of 62. She is a mother of 5, and the only sister of my mom. I was not particularly close to her, because we were not really given much of a chance. And most of our relatives don't take her seriously, mainly because she is a chatterbox. She loves to talk, but she does it so repetitively, and most of it were her personal woes, it does get tiring after a while.

Tita Norma at the St. Bartholomew Church for final blessing.

As my mom points out, Tita Norma was not so lucky in life. Her husband abandoned her, leaving her to raise five kids on her own. She was not able to hold a regular job, despite being a college graduate. Yet she managed to send her kids to school, and all five of them finished college. 

I have a confession to make, something I should have asked her forgiveness for. When I was in college, I used to take a bus from Samar to Manila (my mom is so frugal, she would not let us take a plane). A few minutes before the bus was supposed to leave, Tita Norma dropped by the bus station and asked me to bring a bag of dried pusit (squid) for Tita Edna, because apparently, it was a Samar delicacy that Tita Edna loves. I refused her, saying the squid was not properly wrapped, and I don't want to arrive in Manila with a bagful of stinky clothes. Besides, there was honestly no more space in my bags. She relented, and just asked me to send her regards to the relatives in Manila. 

Of course, as the bus drove away, I realized what a mean girl I've been. Tita Norma does not have much, and god knows how she scraped that money to buy those pusit. But she is the kind of person who never let her poverty get in the way of doing good, especially to relatives. If someone in her family celebrates a birthday, she would make sure a plate of pansit finds its way into our table. 

From that day, every time I see Tita Norma, I feel like I am always trying to make up for that bus incident. When I started working (and earning), I would make sure I slip some money to her. She would of course furiously refuse it, so you have to be firm. When she lived close to us, I bought her a box of biscuits because being diabetic, I know she has to frequently eat, in small doses. I am not a very patient person, but I stretch the limits of my patience whenever she tells me her stories and her family problems. Because really, it is a very small price to pay for the slight I did to her on that bus. 

Traffic at a standstill, as the funeral march makes it way into the church.

When I left home, my sister Pop would do the same and buy her a can of biscuits and give her money every now and then. Later, I would hear how Tita Norma treasured those little acts of kindness. She told Bam (my brother's girlfriend) that she kept that box of biscuit close to her, and when she feels lonely, she would hug it. And she would show her wallet, saying the money inside was given to her by Pop, etc. And she would always tell people how grateful she is to my mom, because without my mom, her kids would not have finished college. It probably was only half-true, but again, that's just the kind of person she is. Someone who never forgets a good deed done to her. 

On the day I learned that she died, I am filled with regret because I know I did not do enough for her. I had the opportunities, surely, but I did not take them. I suffer the same regrets as those who do not know how to love: I always thought there would be more time later. 

During the eulogy night, my relatives shared how religious and prayerful Tita Norma is. She goes to church practically every day, and does not forget to offer mass for every birthday or death anniversary of our family. One time, she went by our house several times to remind us not to miss mass that day, because it was a holiday of obligation. We still somehow forgot and prepared to leave for the mall. As we were waiting for a ride at a corner street, she suddenly sprung behind us and demanded to know why we're not heading for the direction of the church. It was a funny moment.

Every morning, she would pick flowers from the gardens of the neighbors. We were afraid the neighbors would start complaining. Tita Norma would then offer these flowers at the altar at home. As my Tita Edna points out in her eulogy, who among us in this age still appreciates flowers? Tita Norma did, and it may well be that her appreciation for the mundane beauty of this world that she was able to care and love despite her sufferings. 

Aaron and Royce bid farewell to their aunt who looked after them like a mother, as was her promise to their late father.

Rest in peace, Tita Norma. We will all miss you.