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There was a time when my mother could command a room with just a glance. It was the look that would brook no arguments, or it would be the clothes hanger on our rears. She was the ultimate “Dragon Mama,” but to me, she was “Mudra.”
Mudra, or Mommy Dionisia (Mommy D to some), has always been a force of nature. She never backed down from a challenge, and her ferocity contributed to the strong foundation my father built for our family.
At a young age, I have often wondered how she was able to manage raising three kids while keeping house, and then juggling several jobs all at once—sales agent, selling fruits, vegetables, clothes, and cosmetics. She was a raketera long before the term had been coined. She was always working tirelessly for her family. Despite her many tasks, we would come home to a home-cooked meal on the table and freshly ironed clothes.
Mudra was also not one to coddle her children. While not a violent woman, Mudra was also not averse to meting out little punishments to transgressions, like making us kneel down while balancing a couple of books on our hands. One time, she caught me lying when I told my classmates in Grade 1 that my father was working abroad so that I could join a school event. I was afraid that she would tell my teachers; she did not. However, she made me kneel down and made me say over and over again, “Di na po ako magsisinungaling” (I will never lie again). As additional punishment, she told me that my father would not be fetching me from school that whole month, and she would take on that chore. That was not a palatable prospect for me because she was wont to walking home from school, which I hated, and I would not be able to persuade her to buy me ice cream, unlike dad, who was much easier to talk to.
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Then there was that time when I fell from the back of a truck because a playmate pushed me. Like a dragon, she went to my playmate’s house and fought with the kid’s parents. When we went home, still high strung from the day’s events, she put me to bath and abrasively scrubbed my wounds and I had to bite my tongue from crying.
Sometimes her side jobs would take her to faraway places, and we worried that she might not find her way home. When I was already working, I had a tracker put on her phone so we would know her location all the time. One time, she was again running late, so I asked where she was. “Malapit na (I am close by),” she said. I gasped when I checked the tracker: what was she doing in… Laguna?!
A few years ago, I had nanny problems and I asked Mudra if she could look after my child while my husband and I were at work. Rather than staying with us, she shot down the idea and said she would prefer the daily commute from Manila to our place in Mandaluyong, being the “lakwatsera” (wanderer) that she was. That was just the way she was. She could be happy just looking after her grandchildren, and working until her right hand trembled.
It was just a slight tremor at first. Her right hand—her working hand—shook ever so lightly. She dismissed it at first. But then age caught up with her, and the tremors grew more pronounced. As the symptoms progressed, I knew something wasn’t right. Her eye doctor told us to get her checked with a neurologist.
In 2018, the diagnosis came: Parkinson’s Disease. The same disease that struck Michael J. Fox, Robin Williams, Linda Ronstadt, Mohammad Ali, George H.W. Bush, and Pope John Paul II — all great men slowed down by this progressive neurological disorder. Aside from trembling, a person with Parkinson’s can also experience slow movement, rigidity, balance problems, sleep disturbances, cognitive difficulties such as memory loss, fatigue, constipation, and even pain.
Worse, there is no cure, and the cause is unknown.
After explaining to her what it was, I saw something flicker in my mother’s eyes—not fear, not sadness, but determination. “Okay lang ‘yan (It’s all right),” she told me, as if it was just an ordinary ailment that could be remedied by paracetamol or cough syrup, just another life obstacle that she has already hurdled in the past.
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In the days that followed, her movement became slower, her hands trembled when stressed. She walked using a cane, and had to be accompanied most of the time, especially when climbing or descending the stairs. There were bouts of sleep problems, rigidity, constipation, and speech changes as well.
But her outlook in life never changed. She was the same old Dragon Mama whose single stare would not take no for an answer, and a voice that to this day, frail as it was, still commanded attention from her children and grandchildren.
There was no escaping this one challenge, but she accepted her lot and made the most of it. To us her family, the situation was frustrating, painful even, to see someone whose strong presence in our lives suddenly be reduced to a disease that now made her appear fragile.
Her neighbor friend once asked, “Baka hindi ka hiyang sa gamot. Mag pa second opinion ka kaya (Maybe your medicine just doesn’t agree with you. Why don’t you get a second opinion)?”
My mom told her, “Walang gamot ang Parkinson’s ko (There’s no cure for my Parkinson’s).” Matter-of-factly, somewhat with an air of detachment. That was my mom through and through — no frills. She accepted her condition with the bravery most people only read about. I’ve not heard her complain, nor ask for sympathy. Instead, she focused on doing what brought her joy, simple things that her body would allow—a morning walk and chat with fellow grandmothers, a hot cup of coffee and her favorite pandesal and peanut butter, her afternoon soap, and even our neighbor’s dog.
Sometimes, she would enjoy a trip to the mall for a game of bingo. Her zest for life is admirable, though there was a time when she told me, “Tumatanda na talaga si Mama mo (Your Mama is getting old).”
If at all, Parkinson’s revealed Mudra’s inner strength. Her hands may not be as steady as they once were, but they still reach out to comfort me, steady enough to embrace her grandchildren. Her steps may have become slower, but she still moves forward with purpose.
More than anything, my mother’s battle has taught me the meaning of strength: It’s not the absence of struggle but in the refusal to surrender to it. I am honored to have been raised by this Dragon Mama, whose resilience sustained us all, our ever formidable hero and warrior. And though the road ahead may be uncertain, I know that she would continue to walk it with the same grace and strength she always has. And I will be right beside her, every step of the way. /edv
Editor’s Note: Tetch Torres-Tupas is INQUIRER.net’s senior reporter currently covering the judiciary beat