Eulogy to My Magic Mom
Growing up, I never had any doubt that Mom would be at home whenever I got back from whatever adventure (or misadventure for that matter) I had gone off to.
From biking around with friends when I was a kid, to living with a girlfriend (hah) for a year (or 8), to being my Dad’s scapegoat in his own misadventures (what? you didn’t know? but that’s stuff for a different time)…she was there, much in the same way that we know that when we inhale, there’ll be air that fills our lungs.
She was many things to many people, not just to my siblings and me.
She was Mother and Friend to all lost and wayward souls who saw the figurative candle in her window.
Sensei and Mentor to seekers of literary enlightenment (and vindication aka acknowledgement of worth.) This one’s self explanatory, but just to highlight the fact, I’d often find strangers, friends and acquaintances sitting across from Mom at our dining table when I got home from my own wanderings. People of all ages would find their way to where we lived, some seeking solace or advice. It wasn’t just her friends and peers that ended up there, but our friends as well. She was the owner and keeper of a sanctuary. You just knew that once you were in her immediate vicinity, you would be safe, and no one would judge you.
We grew up being voracious readers, familiar with the intermingling sights, scents, and odors of cigarette smoke, coffee, food cooking on the stove. We knew the smell and texture of books, paper, canvas, along with pastels, brushes, pens, pencils and typewriters.
Growing up, I had almost always found it funny (to the point of feeling it was ridiculous) how serious some people would be about writing or painting, and generally expressing themselves and what they felt. Until one day I realized…oh crap…of course they’d be serious…they never had the same sort of playground we had, with a role model who actively encouraged the inner-child in us to come out and explore the world.
She’s finally up there in Heaven, among the stars.
Rest in peace Mom, and try not to fight with Dad over who owns which books, okay?
I’ll leave you with a little secret I discovered from trying to imitate Mom.
While growing up, I would sometimes catch Mom just sitting quietly in the morning sun, smoking a PallMall or a Kent or a Camel or a Kool, eyes slightly squinting (presumably from the sun hitting her.)
I think I found out what she was doing.
When you wake up one of these sunny mornings try this.
Of course, you’d have to go outside haha.
Once outside, find a place to sit that’s more or less facing the sun.
Squint your eyes just enough so you can still see your surroundings, but through your eyelashes.
Silence all the inner noise by focusing on all that you can hear around you, near and far.
Once your mind is quiet, turn your head so it’s at an angle where the morning sun hits your face but does not blind you in its brightness.
How will you know when you’ve pierced the veil of ordinary-ness that covers our world and are glimpsing the magic that is around us?
You’ll start to see rainbows of color overlaying what you see around you.
Now listen to the cacophony of sound while looking through the rainbows.
Feel, really feel, the morning sun slowly warming you up, in counterpoint with the coolness of the morning breeze.
Magic.
So, when you wake up feeling tired and sad and ordinary (for whatever reason haha), go outside and do this. It reminds me that I live in a world of magic.
Thank you Mom.
Note: This is a eulogy I gave in honor of my mother, Tita Lacambra-Ayala, during the memorial event held to commemorate her passing at the Ponce Suites on January 16, 2019.
Originally published on DaddyTechie, August 16, 2022.
This tribute later inspired the song Magic Mom. Read the story behind the song and follow the link to the video.