Remembering Nene

Nene died in 2005. She died due to complications related to her diabetes. She was in terrible pain, I was told. She died in her hometown in Negros Occidental, while I was facilitating a workshop in Guimaras, just an hour away from Bacolod. I had been meaning to visit her after my workshop but I guess, she didn't want me to see her in extreme pain.

Nene, of course, is my yaya. One time in grade one, a classmate chided me for being disrespectful to my yaya, saying: "Why are you calling her by her first name Nene?" I said Nene means Nanay. Her real name is Fely. Nene said that when I was really young I would call her Nanay. She told me that she was not my Nanay but my yaya. I said I would just call you Nene then. And so she became my Nene, not yaya but still my Nanay.

I grew up telling friends that I have two mothers. Mama, of course, was there to ensure that we are healthy, finish school, and be upright. Nene was there to help.

Nene was there even before I became Nilo. She was the one who helped Mama and Papa come up with my name, Ni-Lo, after combining their names Nicanor and Loida.

I've always wanted to write about my Nene but I would cry so hard that I could not even begin with a decent sentence.

I'm writing now because I think Nene deserves it. And I hope to finish this before my laptop gets soaked with my tears.

My earliest childhood memory is waiting for Nene to come home after taking a leave. She went back to Bacolod to visit her parents. I would sit outside the door and wait for her return. And I remember vividly how I sprinted toward her when I saw her enter the garage gate.

Nene was there when I had my febrile seizures. She was there when I finished daycare and went to kindergarten. She was there everyday, bringing lunch to school from grade 1 to high school. She was there when I finished college.

Nene was there when I had my "skip-work" moods early in my professional career. She would tell me that people do make mistakes and that you learn from these mistakes.

Nene was there when I got married. She was hesitant, though, to go up the altar to join in the family picture, saying she would have a solo shot with the newlyweds later. She kept that photo in a picture frame when she finally retired and went back home to Bacolod in 2004. Aires and I went with her to Bacolod where we spent a few days before hying off to Boracay for our own vacation.

I saw her about five hours after her death. Her body was still a bit warm. She laid on a bed, her relatives were still waiting for the funeral parlor for her coffin. A few days later, my Mama, my four other siblings, Aires and I laid her to rest. We were the family she spent half her life with. She was 68 when she left us.

And in the 30 plus years she was with us, I learned that love knows no education. She would say that she finished only grade 6 but after taking care of us, she must have earned a master's degree already. She thought low of parents who had education but could not give love to their children. She had none but she gave us a lot.

I went to Bacolod last week for work. I had a few hours free to squeeze in a visit to Nene. I almost did not find where she was laid to rest. But a cemetery caretaker helped me out. Her remains were removed, I was told, when her brother died a few weeks ago.

I saw her resting place. She was with her parents. The tombstone reads: Felicitas Tadina. Just that. No birth nor death dates. Just Felicitas Tadina.

I will be back someday. I will know where she is. I will be back with a more fitting tombstone. "Here lies Nene, our Nanay. Felicitas Tadina: October 17, 1938 - March 30, 2005".