No Greater Love: A Family's Journey

By Thelma Tan

The author’s son drew the cover for the book as a tribute to his grandmother whom he loved and adored. The single rose represents the love and affection that the author’s family shared with each other as a single unit. The spool of thread represents her son’s recollection of his grandmother who did a lot of sewing and as the common thread that seamed the family together. The brown leather casing as the background represents an album of memories and visual images, with the focal point as the old family picture displayed in an antique frame symbolic of its age but had withstood the test of time.
A family is like a rose, always blossoming with new petals that add to its luster and grandeur. The beauty of the rose that represents the family is the combination of all the petals that makes the flower something to behold. Yet the petals on the outer rim that surround and protect us must eventually fall away, like his grandmother, to make room for the layer of petals that represent the next generation of parents.
This nonfiction book portrays the life of a family in a rural town in Southeast Asia. It is a daughter’s recollection of her childhood that revolves around her parents who played a major role in their children’s lives in strengthening their love of family and in inculcating moral values and standards that set the yardstick in the conduct of their lives. It talks about her parents’ struggles and determination to send their five children through college.
Narrated by a daughter who was born in World War II, the ugly remnants of the war as seen and felt by a five-year-old whose family had survived the war are painful eye-openers on the atrocities and destructions wrought on war-torn countries and its ripple effects on the lives of the victims.
The book gives a glimpse of a culture and way of life that is far-fetched from what the youths in America are enjoying today. It’s a culture devoid of amenities that the youths here might find too primitive and unreal. Yet the reality of it all comes in the form of the author’s triumph over the adversities that she encountered. Her experiences send a message to the youths to make something of their selves as she had done with hers.
The author’s coming to the US was a dream come true. She taught for twenty-eight years in secondary education where she took an early retirement at the age of 55 so she could spend more time with her mother who was already 84 years old. Among her four children who had immigrated to the US, her mother picked the author as the offspring she wanted to live with in her old age.
The last leg of the daughter’s journey describes her caregiving experiences as she took care of her mother until she passed away at the age of 95. The incidents are typical and not out of the ordinary in an aging person’s life cycle, but they are heart-wrenching and enlightening in their implications and impact. The daughter’s challenges were great and her life was turned upside down as she coped with her mother’s mental and physical decline. But as a survivor with the will to topple the odds that confronted her, she was able to make sense out of her relationship with her mother as she waded through the emotional turmoil with love, compassion, and devotion. Her social work and master’s degrees in education provided her the capacity to look at things on a higher plane of understanding and frame of mind. She hopes that this book will benefit the baby boomers who will have their roles reversed with their parents if they are not already doing it, the caregivers and future caregivers of their loved ones, the parents who are the recipients of their caregiving, and the young generation who are witnesses to their grandparents’ situation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thelma Tan
• Release date: Dec 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301526017

Thelma Tan

Author in the Pacific Northwest. Retired teacher.

Book preview

No Greater Love

A Family’s Journey

By Thelma Tan

Copyright © 2012 Thelma Tan

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to MAMA

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Reason for Being

Chapter 2: The Beginning of a Journey

Chapter 3: World War II

Chapter 4: School System

Chapter 5: Elementary Grades and Parental Influences

Chapter 6: High School Education

Chapter 7: College

Chapter 8: Career Shift

Chapter 9: Pandan Bay Institute

Chapter 10: A Dream Come True

Chapter 11: A Promise Kept

Chapter 12: Home Life

Chapter 13: Changes and Adjustments

Chapter 14: Values and Considerations

Chapter 15: Coming to Terms

Chapter 16: Turning Point

Chapter 17: Adult Home

Chapter 18: Coming Home

Chapter 19: Saying Goodbye

Chapter 20: Parting Thoughts

Chapter 21: Conclusion

Appendix

The Book Cover and the Fallen Petal

Son’s Eulogy (December 14, 2009)

Daughter’s Eulogy (December 15, 2009)

Chapter 1: The Reason for Being

Never in my wildest flights of fantasy had I thought of writing a book. I have done some writing, but on a small scale. It was my son who encouraged me to write. He thinks that aside from leaving my family a legacy, I have so much to share and impart that others can benefit from.

When I was six years old and in the 2nd Grade, my parents thought that I might be a good contender in the English declamation contest that was held that year in our school district in my hometown in the Philippines. My mother wrote my declamation piece and titled it, No Greater Love. She spent ten minutes with me every night at bedtime to help me memorize two paragraphs at a time.

This is my first stab at being an author. Where to start but on a subject that is dear and close to my heart – my family, especially my mother whom I called Mama. And what better way to honor her than name this book, No Greater Love.

This book is a daughter’s recollection of her childhood, her perceptions as a child, her memories of her parents and family life, her life as an adult, and her experiences and reflections on caregiving. It talks about a mother’s determination to provide her children a better life than what she had and her resolve to be independent and not be a burden to her children. The daughter’s journey with her mother was fraught with challenges but bolstered up by a keener understanding of the fragility of life as she coped with her mother’s old age, declining health, physical limitations, and Alzheimer.

At this day and age, it is no longer uncommon to see a reversal of parent-child relationships especially with baby boomers. Their parents have reached the time in their life where they need assistance in managing their daily activities from the simple task of making sure that they take the right medication, through keeping track of their medical problems, to the enormous task of their children actually taking care of them. Their children have now become their parents and the parents, in turn, have become dependent on their children for guidance and support.

I have been through all that. Mama has been gone for almost three years now but my memories of her linger and live on. I’m sharing with you the highlights of my life in the Philippines, my life in the United States, and my journey with my mother as I took care of her until her last breath. They give you a glimpse of my parents’ central role in helping me become the person I am today and the depth and essence of my relationship with them. Please do not misconstrue what I write about my parents and myself as bragging. There is no point or merit in my doing so. Instead, take my account in the spirit it is given – as an honest recollection and narrative of events, experiences, and circumstances from a daughter who is proud of her parents and her heritage.

A lot of the experiences I write about my life as my mother’s caregiver are also being felt or have been experienced by you in varying forms and degrees of intensity. I am articulating and verbalizing them for you. I hope that my experiences and the lessons gleaned from this book will provide some valuable insights that are helpful to those who are now taking care of their loved ones, to those who will eventually be put in that situation, to those who have already been there, to parents who are at the receiving end of their child’s caregiving, and to the youths in their quest to make something of themselves.

I am using an autobiographical approach. Firstly, because it is an introspective account of events that happened in my family from my personal perspective; to stress the tremendously significant role my parents played in influencing and impacting their children’s lives in many different ways. Secondly, because it is my way of showing how the fabric of our lives as parents and children are interwoven and sewn together as a family unit. Thirdly, to pave the way for those who desire to write about their own experiences with their family, and to assure them that taking the first-person angle makes writing it easier to accomplish because they are their own resource, their own source of content, inspiration, and drive. Fourthly, to encourage others, especially the young generation, to take stock of who they are, what they are, and where they are as an integral part of their family and as a contributing member of society. It is my attempt to help them see the positive side of things and provide them the impetus that would make them feel proud of their own heritage, the ingredient that could spur them to greater heights as they raise the bar of achievement in their own generation. Lastly, to set an example and urge you to write about the significant events and turning points in your life while these are still fresh in your mind. It’s your own history in the making.

Different times, different eras. My world was very much different from what the youths of today have when I was their age. They are very lucky to have all of life’s conveniences and advances in science and technology that are making life easy for them. It’s a tribute to man’s ingenuity and creativity in meeting the needs and challenges of the times.

Chapter 2: The Beginning of a Journey

Every journey has a beginning. Mine began in the Philippines, an archipelago that lies in Southeast Asia and has 7,100 islands. The three principal regions of the Philippines are Luzon in the north, the Visayas in the middle that is made up of several islands, and Mindanao in the south. I hailed from the Visayas in the island of Panay that has four provinces; namely, Iloilo, Capiz, Aklan, and Antique.

I was raised in Pandan, Antique. The province of Antique had twelve municipalities when I was growing up, and Pandan was the farthest municipality in the north that bordered the province of Aklan. Primarily a fishing and farming community, the town of Pandan is 127 kilometers (76 miles) south of San Jose de Buenavista, the capital of Antique. It is 56 kilometers (34 miles) to the airport in Kalibo, Aklan, and 32 kilometers (19 miles) south of Caticlan, Malay, Aklan, which has the pier to Boracay, an island of national geological wonder that has gained recognition as a tropical paradise. During my childhood, the airport in Kalibo was not in existence and the island of Boracay was unheard of.

The town of Pandan is nestled between the mountain and the sea that basked in the beauty and abundance of its natural resources. To the east were hectares (2.47 acres per hectare) of rice fields and rolling hills graced by groves of coconut trees. The forest beyond was lush with green vegetation replete with wild fruits and rich with raw materials that supported the cottage industry. The sea provided a secure livelihood for the fishermen, fresh catch for its townspeople, and fun and frolic for the young. The blue skies were spectacular and the magnificent sunset ended a glorious day. Pandan was a place of beauty as far as the eyes could see.

I am proud of where I came from. Distance and the passage of time have not obliterated my love for Pandan nor have they blurred the memories of my childhood days. It was home, a way of life. It was a safe place where I belonged and where so much of my life has been shaped. It was sparse on culture and amenities but the town had a solid base of Christian values where the residents knew each other and looked after one another. The townspeople came together in triumph and in tragedy. It was a very good town, so simple in its elements yet so profound in its effect. It was my father’s hometown.

My parents were public school teachers in the elementary grades. Mama came from the town of Sibalom, seventy-four miles south of Pandan and five miles away from San Jose. They met each other when Mama was assigned to teach in Guia, a barrio of Pandan, although before they met Mama already knew who my father was. When she enrolled in Antique High School in San Jose as a freshman, my father was already a junior in the school. She told me that she had heard of my father and had seen him around the school campus because he was very popular, a student leader, known to be very smart, and the captain of the debate and volleyball teams of Antique High School.

Mama was a 1st Grade teacher and my father, whom I called Tatay, was a 5th Grade teacher. There are five children in my family: four daughters and a son, the youngest. I’m the second child. When Mama was 92 years old and dementia had set in, I would ask her, Mama, who am I? She would look at me trying hard to remember my name and then say, My second daughter, or My good daughter.

There were two religions in our town – Aglipayan and Roman Catholic. We had more Catholics than Aglipayans. Mama was an Aglipayan but she became a Catholic when she married Tatay. She embraced the Catholic beliefs and became more devout than Tatay. She raised us as Catholics and made sure we went to mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation and attended catechism classes every summer.

The sun rose at 6:00 AM and set at 6:00 PM. every day of the year. Our first wake-up call came from the roosters at 4:00 AM. The people, especially in the villages, estimated the time of day by looking at the location of the sun in the sky and the length of the shadows of the trees on the ground. The Catholic Church bells pealed the noon hour and the Angelus at 6:00 PM. During the Angelus, the whole town came to a standstill. People stopped wherever they were and whatever they were doing, stood motionless, and prayed until the ringing stopped. The Angelus was also the children’s curfew. As soon as the Angelus bells stopped ringing, we ran home because Mama told us that after the Angelus the horns, ears, arms, legs, and feet of the devils protruded from the ground. The thought of stepping on them barefoot terrified us. Mama taught us to pray and we prayed the rosary when we got home.

The town plaza was approximately 300 x 75 feet of grass and was our common playground where we played ball and other group games, raced against each other, and chased each other. At both ends of the plaza was a cement bench where people sat to rest, watch the passersby on their way to the market and back, or watch the children play. There was a big talisay tree in one corner of the plaza that provided a refreshing breeze and shade on very hot days. At the center of one end of the plaza was a partly ruined concrete structure that had steps. It looked like a miniature balcony and was used by emcees for events taking place in the plaza.

We had a park along the provincial road that we called the bandstand. It was parallel and identical in size to the town plaza that was a block away. The park had a stone statue of Jose Rizal, our national hero. There were cement benches around the park. At the center of the park was a circular paved area that was about sixty feet in diameter surrounded by cement benches. It was the venue for social dances that were part of our town fiesta’s nightly shindig. In the middle of the paved area was an elevated gazebo where the band played. It was also used as a stage for speeches and programs. Spectators watched the programs and social dances from the provincial road. The children used the park as another playground.

We also played in the streets since there were no cars to worry about. I don’t remember anyone in town owning a car. Our two Catholic priests from Holland went to the barrios and villages in their big motorbikes for special masses, religious rites, and other celebrations. We knew when they were leaving town for places unknown because the roar of their motorbikes intruded into the stillness of our peaceful town. A few people owned bicycles and the rest of us walked. Children roamed the town barefoot.

There were two buses that left town in the morning, one going south and the other going north, and came back in the afternoon. The bus terminal was in the marketplace but we could wait for the bus by the roadside and get dropped off the same way. To ride the bus, we extended our hand outward to signal the driver to stop. The right side of the bus was open and had long benches the whole width of the bus every twenty-four inches. The benches reminded me of church pews where we had to squeeze our way in sideways to get to an empty seat. When we wanted to get off the bus we shouted, Para! (brake) over the noise of the engine and had to be good at calculating the distance when we shouted it over the din so the bus would come to a stop close to where we wanted to get off. When we were children, we rode the bus back to town if we had a big load of firewood or a whole branch of the banana clusters to take home.

It takes a stranger to notice things that we just take for granted or sometimes don’t think of as out of the ordinary. Here are two instances: 1) We had no bus stops. The bus had to make several stops every so many feet because the riders didn’t come together for the bus to make only one stop for everybody. I never thought of this as unusual until our Dutch priest mentioned his observation to me; 2) In 2002, my husband went with me to the Philippines. We took a bus to San Jose to see my maternal relatives. This time the bus was identical to the ones we have in the US where the door was at the front side of the bus that was level with the driver’s seat and had an aisle in the middle between the seats. When we were back in the US, our American friend asked my husband how he liked the Philippines. My husband told him he enjoyed his stay in my hometown. He said that the bus driver there didn’t stop for young male riders but simply slowed down and opened the door. The young rider had to run after the bus, grab the handle bar by the door, and hop onto the step to get on the bus. He demonstrated the rider’s hop to our friend which looked amusing to me. Thinking back, though, I realized that he was right. It just didn’t occur to me as something unusual and quite a feat as it did to him.

Our town did not have electricity. We cooked our food in open fire. For kindling and firewood, we used the dried coconut’s palms, branches, husks, and shells, dried sticks we collected from under the trees, and driftwood that we gathered from the beach. I remember that Mama got mad at us one evening because we had no firewood. We got carried away playing on the beach and when the Angelus bells rang we ran home and forgot to gather the driftwood lying around the shore, the reason we went to the beach in the first place. Mama grabbed our legs threatening us to use them for firewood. From then on we made sure we always had firewood in the house.

We had tap water from our faucet that was outside our house but by 8:00 AM the faucet had run out of water. At around 7:00 PM we had water again so we filled up a big drum for next day’s washing needs and a 15-gallon earthen jar for our drinking water. We had to take our bath early in the morning and the water was chilly. We scooped the water from the tin basin with a coconut shell dipper, poured it on our body and repeated the process in rapid succession until our body had adjusted to the water’s temperature. We used rough stones to gently rub our skin and coconut milk as our hair conditioner and body lotion.

At night, we used kerosene lamps, petromax or propane lamps, candles, and flashlights. To get rid of the pesky mosquitoes that annoyingly buzzed around the house at dusk, we poured a few drops of coconut oil on a tin plate and spread it all over the front and back surfaces of the plate. We walked around the house swinging the tin plate back and forth, up and down. The mosquitoes got stuck on the plate, immobilized by the oil.

The full moon was the children’s much anticipated time of the month. We looked forward to playing outdoors with the other children in our neighborhood under the light of the full moon which made our surroundings glow with a magical touch. If we played tug of war in the street, we poured water for our demarcation line on the dirt road so we could see the line better. We would go to the plaza to check if the children from the other parts of town were there and we played all kinds of competitive games with them.

If it was our summer vacation, our parents let us go to the beach during the full moon. The openness of the shore that stretched for miles and the sheer beauty of the sea with its ripples fanning out over the water’s surface reflected the moonlight into shimmering splashes of color. The fishermen’s lanterns looked like fireflies in the distance. The spectacle transformed our world into a make-believe paradise. We had foot races, tug-of-wars, and ball games on the shore. Not too far from the shore and not too deep in the water, we