I’m so used to Kris Aquino’s theatrics when she airs out her dirty linens in public. Like when she became pregnant with Philip Salvador’s baby, who was almost twice her age, and then when they suddenly called it quits. When she blurted out all the nasty details of her relationship with Joey Marquez in national television.
Please don’t get me wrong. I like Kris Aquino, and I certainly admire her gumption. She may lack tact most of the times but you have to admit only Kris Aquino can get away with it.
Last Sunday afternoon I was channel surfing. Most of the local channels were airing news regarding the demise of Tita Cory. I am a big Cory fan. I was there in Edsa more than twenty years ago, even though I was too young to know what was happening back then (ehem), and what the people were fighting for. But my mom said: “we need to go there.” So we did, carrying with us 500 pesos worth of pandesal so we can share it to all the people who stayed there in Edsa despite the heat, rain and hunger to fight the dictator and to fight for democracy.
I turned to channel 2 currently airing "The Buzz"
I stopped pressing the button of my remote when Boy Abunda said in his booming voice “Susunod! Ang pag lalahad ni Kris sa mga huling sandali ng kanyang ina.” My sister joined me on the couch to watch and hear Kris Aquino’s story.
After a lengthy commercial break, Kris was on. The program was airing at the wake of tita Cory’s in Greenhills. With Boy and Kris and tita Cory’s coffin in the background.
Kris started her story. So unlike the bubbly Kris that we usually see on TV, the Kris Aquino that I was hearing and watching was so grief stricken she didn’t even care if her crying was ruining her mascara.
As I was listening to each and every painful detail of her mom’s fight with cancer, I can’t help but blink away tears that were threatening to fall from my own eyes. Then I looked at my sister beside me, and she was just letting her tears fall.
We lost our own mom to cancer seven years ago, and almost everything that Kris experienced, during her mom’s last few weeks, our family experienced it too.
Like Kris Aquino, I am the youngest child and a proud mama’s boy. We learned that mom had cancer four years before she finally succumb to the decease. But when we discovered the cancer it was already on its 4th stage, so it has metastasized to the surrounding tissues of her body by then.
The last four years with my mom was the hardest but at the same time the happiest moments of our lives. I, together with my sister were my mom’s cheering squad. We’d cheer her on whenever she was undergoing chemotherapy. We try to cheer her up whenever she feels like giving up to give her hope. And we never stopped showing how much we loved her.
The week before my mom died was one of the most painful episode in my life.
Like Kris, I know how it feels when you see your mom try to be strong for the family. I know how it feels to be helpless when you see your mom cry in pain and you can’t do anything to help her.
And on my mom's dying moment, I know how it feels to finally let go, to let your mom rest, and to let your mom stop fighting. To let her know that the family will be just fine without her because we’ll take good care of each other. To let her move on to a better place where there’s no more pain. When in truth, deep inside, you just want to hug your mom and keep her with you forever.
To Kris, moving on is easier said than done. Like you Kris, I lost my mom and then my dad three years later. I know Christmases and birthdays and any special occasions won’t be as happy without them. I know we’re going to miss them in every waking moment of our lives. But their memories will live on. In every lesson that they’ve taught us when we were growing up and the love they’ve given us would remain with us forever. Let us take consolation to the thought that they are in a better place and that they are together again. Thank you Kris for sharing your story I can only imagine the courage you had to muster so you can tell your mom’s and your family’s story during your time of grief.