Outside, everything signals celebration. Lights blink. Carols repeat. Shop windows insist on cheer.
Inside some homes, it’s heavier than that.
For some of us, this season doesn’t feel wonderful. It feels tiring. Or lonely. Or unexpectedly sharp. And when you’re not okay at a time when happiness seems mandatory, that mismatch can be its own quiet burden.
Some time ago, almost on a whim, I uploaded my high school graduation photo to Nano-Banana, an AI image generator. There was no big goal behind it. I was curious, that’s all. I wondered if a machine could somehow connect the sixty-eight-year-old woman I am now with the sixteen-year-old girl I used to be, or at least the version of her I still remember.
The result stopped me for a moment. I didn’t expect it to. It felt quietly unsettling. Familiar, yet not quite. Like running into someone you recognize but can’t immediately name. In the image, my past and present selves seemed locked in an awkward digital hug.
Christmas doesn’t start for me when December hits. It doesn’t begin with shopping or wrapping paper either. It starts the moment someone switches on the lights and the room changes.
That soft glow. That’s it.
I’ve always loved Christmas lights. It sounds ordinary, but it isn’t. Not for me.
They’re not just there to look nice. They carry memories. They settle me. They pull me back to a time when things felt simpler and more secure. When I think of Christmas, this is what I see first.
This letter is a promise to my 85-year-old self. Choose safety over pride. Say yes to help. Don’t make life difficult for the kids or caregivers.
Dearest me, at 85,
Hello from an earlier chapter—less experienced, still full of plans. I can see you now with that playful twinkle, a little glam as always, baby bangs and all.
A small request from your younger self: when the kids offer advice, really listen. They love us fiercely. Sometimes their ideas feel inconvenient or a bit pushy toward our independence, but they come from care. They notice things we might miss. That perspective is gold.
Same with our doctors. We spent years building a strong body and a steady mind; this is when we honor that work. Take their guidance on medicine, food, movement, and daily habits. Treat them like partners in our health. Listening is a form of self-love. Read More →
Leafing through the yellowed pages of my diary, I found a journal entry written on February 14, 1979. The wonderful thing about keeping a journal is one is able to relive those youthful years and feel giddy all over again. Oh my, were we that cheesy!? Looking back that day, I wrote I saw him through the window carrying a single red rose and a gift. Clutching the red rose, Butch chuckled at the scene unfolding before him. Just like the movies, he muttered. Three pages of sweet nothings where my sappy ex-boyfriend declared his undying love and our dreams in my paper journal. In the last part of my journal entry, he had whispered “Let’s make Valentine’s day the whole year through”. kilig. Today is our 43th Valentine’s Day celebration.
Though our love endured, it was not all roses and sweet nothings.
The childlike scribble of the I love you that my son wrote in his handmade Valentine’s day card never fails to bring tears. Tears of joy, of course. Reading through the same journal entry of February 14, 1979, Butch and I wove dreams of our first-born son who we called Jose Luis back then. (Jose, because both our fathers are Jose’s and Luis for Butch’s actual name.) Many years later, the dream of our Jose Luis materialized, whom we nicknamed Luijoe, for short. The reality lasted for six glorious years. I caress the crayon drawn heart in this card to remind myself that death may have taken our son away but his love and memories remain alive and pure in our hearts.
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As with the past 44 Valentine’s Day , we celebrate it at home with my husband. Since we could not spend Christmas Day together in 2020 except via Zoom so today, we wore our ugly Christmas shirt. Never too late to celebrate love and life. 
Let’s remember what love truly is…
Love is patient. Love is kind. Love isn’t jealous. It doesn’t sing its own praises. It isn’t arrogant. It isn’t rude. It doesn’t think about itself. It isn’t irritable. It doesn’t keep track of wrongs. It isn’t happy when injustice is done, but it is happy with the truth. Love never stops being patient, never stops believing, never stops hoping, never gives up.
Love never comes to an end
<< 1 Corinthians 13 >>
“Because I think the Filipino is worth crying for”. David Briscoe, February 25, 1986
I felt my baby tumble with joy inside my belly as the announcement from the radio blasted out that indeed Cory Aquino was our new president. My baby is turning 34 years old just as we celebrate the EDSA People Power celebration this year. Yes, it has been 34 years since my joy came in a stream of tears. There were many reasons worth crying for: a sign of relief from the threats of a civil war, the challenges facing the new President, for the citizenry who finally showed the courage to challenge the Marcoses.
I smiled and caressed my belly, assuring my unborn baby that she will now be born in a democracy. As a new mother, I desired nothing else but peace, not the turmoil that was about to explode with the election cheating done under a dictatorial regime. Fighting the dictatorship was a struggle I fought for as a student in the state university.
Ang sarap maging Filipino.
For many years, I idolized Cory Aquino. I looked up to Cory Aquino for having the courage to fight a dictator and restore a democracy. I am forever grateful for that. Never mind if her government faced many power struggles. Never mind if Kamaganak Inc allegedly gained from her presidency. Many years in denial. It took the same daughter to shake off that “romantic affair” with the People power revolution. It is easy to romanticize while pondering at what EDSA meant.
The same daughter that somersaulted inside me 34 years ago questioned my initial support for Noynoy Aquino when I wrote the entry, Noynoy Aquino- The Gate Changer. What were his qualifications? Just because he is the son of a beloved president? I mused and perused. It took my wise daughter born at the peak of the People power revolution fever to awaken me from that stupor. I thought I knew all the answers for the future citizens of the country. Mommies can make a mistake too. This time around, I did not allow my “cory fan mode” to cloud my judgement over the euphoria of People Power. I soon got disillusioned with her presidency.
I agree that despite the people’s victory at EDSA 36 years ago, the Philippines remain beset by serious social problems. The mere changing of presidents – from Marcos to Aquino to Duterte–were not enough to change the rotten system. We should not rely solely on our leaders to achieve change.
Mommies know what is best for their children, but this time, my children knew what is best for them.
Listen to your children. Discuss the issues and their future,
Mommy power is in our hands.
Yesterday marked my blog’s 16th anniversary and this blog transcended beyond just a grief advocacy blog. The domain name, aboutmyrecovery.com not only speaks about my personal recovery.
My blog aboutmyrecovery.com now encompasses the recovery of our country and the struggles to achieve it. It is now about a mom trying to make a difference for the future of my children and the future of my country.
“Enemies of democracy will as usual try to use the last 30 years of failed governance to downplay 1986. Not because they care about addressing the failure of both pre and post ’86 governments, but because they want us to forget that the people hold the true power to create change.”, says Diego Magallona
I hope that the current generation continues to uphold the lessons of “people power” and continue the struggle for national freedom and democracy. We should continue to intensify our collective struggle because we cannot rely on government or any politician to achieve radical, thoroughgoing change.
“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.”
(this is an update to my post originally written ten years ago)
I know I will embarrass my husband with this post. I wrote this list a couple of years ago but I just want to revive this for Valentine’s day. He tells me that his friends read my blog but I assure him I only write the good stuff. haha.
1. I love the way my husband smiles across the room as I sit down and write this entry. To this day, my husband gazes at me lovingly (on random moments) as if it’s the first time he met me. As if I am the most attractive woman in the world.
2. I love my husband’s persistence. He refused to let me go when I told him that “I have had enough. I want a separation”. With courage and love, we got our second wind.
3. I love his courage to change, the way he let go of unhealthy behavior patterns as we worked on achieving our new normal after the death of Luijoe.
4. I love living with him one day at a time which requires so much faith in us. We don’t look back at the past unless healing from the past is part of today’s work. We look ahead to make future plans. We focus on this day’s activity, living it to the best of our ability.
5. I love that we sit down and laugh over our favorite show, or laughing together at the silliest things on TV.
6. I love the way my head fits nicely on his chest when we cuddle in front of the TV set.
7. I love that he does the grocery every weekend.
8. I love the warmth of his hands as we hold hands in the mall.
9. I love those random wet kisses even if I tell him “not now, the kids!”. The random display of affection in front of my horrified girls who often shriek ““Dad, Mom..no!” Their disgusted looks are priceless.
10. I love the way he took care of me at the hospital when I broke my leg and needed surgery. I had already left him that time and insisted that I live with him.
11. I love the affirmation. He assures me that I am beautiful even during those days I feel ugly or just having a bad hair day.
12. I love his frugal nature even if it means buying roses close to midnight of Valentine’s day.
13. I love our inner child moments when we play with our imaginary cats in “Neko Atsume”. It’s just good that we can giggle and let our hair down more often now.
14. I love to reminisce over our love story and the ups and downs that came along in our marriage. We like to look back and laugh at our stupid mistakes.
15. I love that he allowed me to own a pet cat knowing that he is allergic to cat fur.
16. I love the fact that he tries to treat everyday as Always Valentine’s Day.
17. I love watching the sunset with him while holding hands along Manila Bay.
18. I love our emails. I always close my email or chat with ““your loving wife”, or ““love and kisses” or ““your sexy wife” ““love you”. In turn he affirms my email with ““Dear Loving Wife..” or ends our chat ““see you , dear or I love you”. We never tire of saying sweet nothings to each other.
19. I love the daily text messages that affirms his love for me. And vice-versa, of course.
20. I love the recipe books that he regularly buys me.
21. I love the way he pretends to be shocked when I suggest something “sensual”.
22. I love random romantic moments. Buying me flowers when there is no occasion. Butch rarely buys me flowers but there are those days when he buys a bouquet just because.
23. I love our movie dates and munching popcorn. Just being there , holding hands and acting as if we are still steadies on a date.
24. I love his endearment to me which is calling me a punk. I don’t know why he calls me punk but I find it such an original endearment. I admit I can be a punk and a bitch.
25. I love that the good stuff I listed above more than surpass his annoying ways.
There are more than 25 ways my husband shows his love to me. We often say that we will love each other till eternal life. Our wedding vows are ““till death do us part” and should end there. Our belief that our son is in heaven gives us hope for eternal life. We look forward to more loving years of togetherness.
They say marriage is for better or for worse. Couples try to support and care for each other, through good times and bad. Usually, when one of us hits rock bottom, the other can try to be the mainstay for a little while, to help the other along. But what happens when our child dies? The couple is now cast into the same dark place, struggling with the worst thing they have ever faced. Couples are there together, but they may discover that they are also there alone.
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Now not all couples in grief experience this dilemma. I believe that marriages with “wounded bird syndrome” suffer the most. What is the “wounded bird syndrome”?
Many times a nurturer will marry a wounded bird who is extremely dependent. They need their spouse to fulfill their every need. As a result, it puts a lot of pressure on the relationship. The person who is the nurturer feels as if the weight of the relationship is upon them and they feel smothered. The wounded bird is frustrated with the nurturer because they never can take care of every need that they have. What the wounded bird is trying to do is to have their needs met by someone who is not able to meet them.
A wounded bird in grief will seek someone to fulfill this unmet need.
I never knew what this meant until I got a text message one day from Cecile (names and events are changed to protect their identities). She asked “How can I tell Peter,my boyfriend to move on without being insensitive?” Then Cecile and I talked on the landline phone. She explained that her boyfriend lost his 5 year old daughter , Samantha in a car accident over 6 months ago. Not that I am nosy or anything like that, I asked if she was the mother of the girl.
“No. Peter and his wife were already separated a year before the accident” Cecile said.
Would it have been rude of me to ask: “Where’s the proof they are separated?” I just treated Cecile as a support system to Peter. For the next three months, Cecile and I were in contact. She wanted to comfort her boyfriend in his most difficult moment. Knowing how important support is, I gave tips on Handling the Bereaved. Then one day, a friend asked me to help a bereaved mother.
My friend said “Emma lost her 5 year old daughter to a car accident a few months ago. Can you talk to her? “.
DING-DONG. Something rang inside my mind.
I asked my friend “Is Samantha the name of her daughter who died on May 13, 2005?”
My friend affirmed.
What a small word our grief circle is!
The succeeding text messages infuriated me. I felt like a fool. I found out that Emma and Peter are very much married.
I immediately texted Cecile and confronted her about this revelation.
Cecile pleaded “Please don’t mention we talked”
I shouldn’t have given advice to Cecile in the first place. She used Peter’s grief to her advantage so they could get close and continue their trysts. Like a wounded bird, Cecile nurtured Peter with the grief support I provided. I was so mad.
I met up with Emma finally. I wanted to tell her about her husband’s girlfriend. A couple’s grief gets even more complicated with a third party. I waited for the right opportunity and allowed her to unload her thoughts and feelings. I found out that she knew about the existence of the girl even prior to Samantha’s death. As far as she knew, that relationship ended. I felt that I could not continue talking to Emma until I revealed the truth. I felt like a hypocrite if I withheld that tidbit.
I released the bombshell.
Emma’s face crumpled.
I wanted to cry when I saw her pained expression.
I thought she would kill me with this revelation but thank goodness she was full of gratitude.
I told her that she is not alone with the wounded bird syndrome. Another bereaved mother experienced the same situation with a “girl friend” of her spouse. What helped the couple was the knowledge that couples grieve differently. The Compassionate Friends, helped with this revelation. The spouse found comfort and strength in talking to other parents who have battled through similar difficulties and survived them. There is hope in Emma and Peter’s marriage. I introduced her to Angie, the bereaved mother who almost lost her spouse to a cunning girlfriend.
It is often said that a relationship is like a dance: we have to find a tempo that works for us both, but then each of has our own steps. Grieving will probably intensify our awareness of each other and our sense of ‘together yet alone’. The need to remember our child and to share memories will always be there. But our lives do continue, and the insights into our relationship that have been so painfully discovered as we grieve may enrich our partnership in the years ahead.
When a child dies, it’s not the natural order of things. For many years, I struggled to find the meaning of my son’s death. Five years and a lot of pain later, I finally found the answers. It all started with an email to Cathy after I invited her to join as co-founder for the Compassionate Friends Philippines.I have to mention that this support group is not around anymore, but I continue to offer comfort in my aboutmyrecovery.com blog.
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She replied and readily agreed to join. What struck me was her statement:
I now know that we are called to serve in different ways because we have different missions. Setting up Compassionate Friends in the Philippines is clearly yours as Migi’s Corner and Grief counselling and death education are mine.
How could that be? If I wanted a mission, a foundation seems a more noble idea. “The Compassionate Friends” is not an original idea. So there I was thinking, Alma, Cathy and Pia initiated foundations all in the memory of their children. I don’t have any memorial or foundation in Luijoe’s name. I felt a bit sad, but Cathy’s words stuck in my mind for many days until I remembered a conversation with my son during Holy Week.
The actual picture that Luijoe pointed out in his prayerbook
This is what I wrote in Luijoe’s memorial site almost 21 years ago:
Then one night while we had our usual prayers before bedtime, he pointed to the picture of St. John the Apostle which was found in his Rosary Prayer book. I explained that Jesus told John to take care and comfort his mother when he dies. Luijoe seemed to be touched by St. John and the following nights, he kept repeating the same question and this time he was asking how John was related to Mother Mary. I found that to be a very deep question, and I just said he was one of Jesus’ apostle.
Now I realized the meaning. It was like Luijoe was making sure I would remember John. I did remember our conversation during the wake .It touched my heart that my son was worried about my grief.
I realized Luijoe wanted me to carry on the comfort to others. The St. John symbolizes compassion. By working with The Compassionate Friends, I would act like a “St. John” to other bereaved parents. This memory brought tears of joy and nostalgia. Even if I am no longer around in this mortal world, this grief support group will still continue on. Truly, God works in mysterious ways and He uses our children to help us find and shape our ministries. It is our children who remind us of the bigger work that God has set out for us in this world.
I wrote this post a long time ago when I was still active with “The Compassionate Friends”. But I continue to talk to parents who have lost a child through my blog and sharing this podcast. My son never let me forget that there are many “St. Johns” in my life. Today, Good Friday reminds me Luijoe is never entirely gone
Luijoe is never entirely gone.
Luijoe’s favorite prayer book
“Being an 80s child & why today’s youth never had it so good” brings back sweet memories of my youth. Hence, I’ve come up with my own version of the 70’s child. (yes I am that old. High School in 1970 and college in 1974).
We didn’t have Oculus Virtual Reality headsets, PlayStation, Nintendo 64, X boxes, video games, cable TV with over 100 channels, VCR’s, surround sound, cellular phones, computers, online chatrooms.
Instead we had…
1. Dance parties that started at 4:00 PM because martial law imposed a curfew at 12:00 midnight. A permit was required whenever there were more than 5 guests.
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2. Portable typewriter instead of a laptop. When you made a typing error, you had to use a correction fluid . No delete buttons. And you had to have your content ready before typing.
3. Four TV channels: Channel 3, Channel 7 and Channel 9 and Channel 13.
4. No call waiting. No direct dialing. One time, I had the shock of my life when an operator rudely interrupted a telephone conversation with my suitor because of an incoming long distance call.
5. No Automated Teller machines. Since I resided at a dormitory in the UP campus, my allowance was sent through telegraphic transfer. Queuing at PNB for 30 minutes or so was not fun at all.
7. No email. I wrote letters to my siblings with a pen, of course, and rode a jeepney to drop my letter at the post office. Often it takes a week for our letter to arrive. If we wanted instant messaging, we had to use the telegram such as RCPI.
8. No World Wide Web. Research had to be done in the library. And nope, there were no search engines. One needed to be proficient in the Dewey Decimal Classification System and use the card catalog to get the right book.
9. No bottled water. I drank water from the faucet or from a hose in the backyard.
10. No portable music player. No Napster. No. torrents. No MP3 ‘s. No IPod. No Spotify, Apple Music. No podcasts. Vinyl records and cassette tapes were so cool. I brought my friends over to the house to groove with the music and dance along with the music- 12 steps (not the 12-step program, duh), LA walk, the Swing.
12. No USB flash drives. No CD’s or floppy disk either. Instead, we used cassette tapes to store computer data. If the tape got torn, you splice it.
13. No computer schools. I did my own self-study on BASIC programming .
14. Groovy . Not astig.
(I will add more when I remember something. )
To the children of this decade: I hope you take advantage of the new technologies to enhance your God-given talents. You never had it so good.
Photo via pxleyes.com