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Honoring my Mother: The way we are

The family reunion last week, on the occasion of our father’s 90th birthday had been so full of many pleasant surprises. For one, untold or unheard-of tales relating to genealogy and fam history began to emerge, and like fruits in season, these were openly shared among the brood.

In one particular instance for example, when my brother brought out an old photograph of my grandfather as a boy, with his family, from the turn of the century, it had clarified (at least for me) once and for all, how he was related to a so-and-so neighbor of ours in Ponciano street during our childhood. Hah, that had likewise explained why I would get an occasional freebie soft ice cream every time I intended to buy one back then, as he began to make the rounds with his ice cream cart. First cousins rule indeed.

Our fascination with movies had also been another commonality that, at least surprised me no end; especially when we attempted to make sense of the current Marvel cinematic universe. Our small talk somehow brought to light discussions on this-and-that, and who-really-was-who, in whatever Avenger flick was scheduled to be shown this month. Unlike our fleeting talks about a guy named Musk, we’ve finally realized there was no rocket science in all that, thanks to Stan Lee.

Among the more important facts I had gathered however, was when the topic of my brothers’ children’s real names was brought up. We were for a moment caught in a quandary, as to why the three kids’ names started in D, while the youngest began with A.

Only then did we learn that their mom had mistakenly written their dad’s first name in the blank intended for the baby’s and it couldn’t be undone. Thus, the dad’s name stayed.

Then there was my eldest son’s visit, which, along with my two brothers’ coming over from far-away places, had made our pops more ecstatic and jovial.

All these may have seemed to be trivial little things that one pass up and ignore amidst bigger life moments. Truth is, our getting together again during our father’s birth day have, at the very least, recaptured lost moments that usually come hand-in-hand with drifting apart once siblings start their own families, and nieces and nephews begin to find their bearings in the world.

Just the same, as one passes out bread across at the breakfast table, even the briefest reaching-out moments will have made a huge semblance of being whole again, and that is enough. Bolt in, bolt out, the circle turns.
Ryan Montbleau says it best, “Ships in the night are we, miss each other entirely…”

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