Not to be taken for granted

In the list of people we often take for granted, our families are pretty high up on that list. We make excuses to avoid going on holidays, or family gatherings, or just spend time with them, saying that we’re tired, or we’re busy, or we simply do not have enough time in the day. They should understand. We do what we do for them in the first place. But at what point will we have earned enough to say that we can finally have time to waste on our families?

As an angst-y teenager, I used to HATE going out with my family. I felt like they didn’t understand me, me this extroverted introvert who could not be bothered to do any chores or wake up on her own. I was emotional, sensitive, and brooding. Growing older, I became more outspoken, and not just about what clothes I should wear for family pictures. I learned how to speak out, protest, and fight for my rights, even if it was just my right to use the bathroom at home first. I would shut the door on my dad as he was asking how my day was. I would argue with my mom about staying out late for debate training. I would ignore the presence of my grandparents because I didn’t think they were interesting enough. And I would angrily shout at my cousins for borrowing my clothes without my permission. It wasn’t everyday. Some days, we had fun. But most days, even I could acknowledge I had a fractured relationship with them. And, as I entered the workforce, though I wasn’t an angsty teenager anymore, I forgave myself for missing birthdays and family outings, trying to reason with myself saying they’d understand. They’re my family.

In 2012, my grandfather died. It was one of the most difficult things my family had to go through. We had been caring for him at home for close to five years, and even when doctors said he wouldn’t get better, we tried to give him the best care we could possibly afford. When he was diagnosed with diabetes and had to had a leg amputated, our family vacations were put on hold, gatherings had to accommodate a wheelchair or had to take place at home so lolo could attend. And when he got sicker and became bedridden, there was an overarching sense of needing to not be too happy. The entire time, I thought about how painful it was, not only to see my grandfather suffer, but to see my family suffer as well. In my eyes, I thought my family didn’t seem to be happy at all. What could be exciting and adventurous trips around the world had to be much simpler. What could have been happier occasions had to be mired by the countless mini-fights my family would get into over respecting my grandfather’s sleeping hours, and what would have been his thoughts on the way we were acting. On the first of November 2012, he had been in a coma for two days and his blood pressure was fast decreasing. My family finally decided that this was my grandfather telling us to let him go. So we pulled the plug.

In 2014, my paternal grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She lived in Australia but had nobody to care for her there full time, so my father’s siblings sent her here to live with my aunt. She seemed to get better for about a year. She could recognize her children and grandchildren. She still remembered how to use a spoon and fork, where the bathroom was, and how to make her famous lasagna. But, health care in the Philippines was a private affair, and we could not help her more than what the Australian government could, and so we had to send her back to Australia so my other aunts could continue to care for her. There were so many opportunities to visit her. My father would make plans for us to travel to Australia so we could spend a week or two with family there. But, as always, we had stuff to do that we could not leave behind. Last year, my aunts to my grandmother to a nursing home where they could take care of her full-time. A few months after, my grandmother peacefully passed away in her sleep, in the nursing home, surrounded by her doctors and nurses.

Early this year, my maternal grandmother had not been feeling well. For a time, we knew her mind was slowly deteriorating. She was always an overbearing matriarch. She would counsel us about the smallest things, like how we wore our hair, the proper attire for church, and coming home late from school. But, as she grew older, her mind would drift to images of the war, and of the betrayal of her friends, and of being taken away by angels. One time, she was looking out at Manila Bay with the people caring for her, who had become family to us, and she asked them what they saw out at sea. There was a beautiful sunset view, and so one of them, Kuya JR said, “Sunset, lola.” My grandmother got riled up. No. It was not the sunset she saw, rather Japanese warships approaching land, trying to take away their homes. She broke her hip sometime in January. We just do not have any idea how and why. So they tried to do a scan on her and figure out what the problem was, but they couldn’t because apparently you had to have a certain level of creatinine to conduct the test. They didn’t tell me the details but they did tell me that she had to be treated for it. She had to undergo dialysis. It was working for a time, but then, it didn’t. And in April, we found ourselves in the hallways of the hospital, discussing final arrangements for my grandmother. We took her home early the next day, and a few hours later, after hearing mass on the television, she too peacefully passed away.

I could have spent more time with my family. I realized late that we weren’t miserable. We didn’t deprive ourselves of family vacations because we felt we needed to be sad. We didn’t laugh as loud as we wanted because we thought we didn’t deserve to. We had led a simple life because this is what would keep us together, what would give us more time with our loved ones, and what would allow us to make more memories with them, with the little time they have left here on earth. We were content. But still, I cannot help but wish I spent more time and effort on them.

Work-Life balance doesn’t mean working yourself to the ground in the hopes that you can one day afford all the promised trips abroad and extravagant gifts for your family. It means spending an ample amount of time working to afford a life which you can enjoy with the people you love the most. My company, and the respective companies of my mother, my father, my cousins, and aunts, and uncles, are all companies that provide us with enough vacation leaves each year so we can plan ahead and spend time with the people we love. We are paid enough with bonuses and extra pay so we can save up for something the family has always dreamed of owning. And we are given a reasonable work load and flexible schedules so we can maximize our time at work and can come home in time to have dinner with the family. I know not everybody is blessed to have found places of work that provide us with what we need, but the people in my family are, in fact, undeniably blessed. We only have to choose to use our time wisely. Because we never know when we have little left.

Last September 2017, during Depression, Mental Health, and Suicide Awareness Month, I found out that my second cousin had been suffering with depression for three years now. When she felt alone, she cut herself, and she’s been brought to the hospital twice in the past two years. I never really paid any attention to her when they would come for family reunions, on Christmas and New Year. She and her family would always come and visit, and we’d exchange a few pleasantries, eat together, say “Peace be with you” during mass, and they’d go home and the whole thing will repeat the following year. But, as I was reading her brave admission on Facebook, I felt like I was being hit by a train running at the speed of light. I loved my cousin. I LOVE MY COUSIN. And a part of me would die inside if she ever suddenly ceased to exist (Why am I crying right now?). I would NEVER forgive myself if anything happened to her, especially knowing that I could have been there for her. I could have stopped her. I could have told her that she was not alone, that I was there for her. That night, when I messaged her on social media, I told her that even though we didn’t talk often, I wanted her to know that ate is always there for her. I will never not listen to her stories. I will spend more time with her. And I will always, always, always make her feel important. I told her I love her, and to tell me how she felt, no matter how late at night, or early in the morning. I could not bear lose her.

I saw her yesterday, November 1. We usually come together as a family, and hold mass by my grandfather and grandmother’s graves. I rushed to her and gave her a big hug, and without any words, tried to convey all my love for her. She hugged me back equally as hard. I asked her how she felt today, she said, “Okay lang, ate.” I said, “Good.” She didn’t have to be overwhelmingly happy every day. She just had to be okay every day. And I was determined to ensure that.

I will no longer make excuses for missing out on occasions I can spend with family. All of the things I am is thanks to them. And all I ever do is so that I can make them proud, so that I can provide for them, and so that I can make them feel that they are special. There will always be work to find. But I only have one family. I will not take them for granted.