Category: Filipino-American

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Forty-plus Days

In the Catholic-Filipino tradition, a 9-day novena is held immediately after the death of a loved one. On the 40th day, a mass is held in commemoration of this loved one as it is believed that this is the day they’ve ascended into the heavens. It’s also the day where the act of “mourning” (wearing black, for example) officially concludes. It’s supposed to be the time where a person is supposed to outwardly “show” that they’ve began to “move on” with everyday life.

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Yet another "borrowed" picture from another cousin

Except … anyone that has ever mourned the loss a love one (or heck, even the loss of anything in life — like the ability to have children, for instance) knows that grief doesn’t last for a set moment in time. Life doesn’t just miraculously get better after 40 days, several months or even years. If anything, grief is a process that must be worked through completely before a person can successfully move on.

Sometime last week was the 40th day anniversary of my Grandma Rose‘s passing. In all honestly, the date escaped me. It wasn’t until I saw pictures of a celebration at my Uncle’s house on my cousin‘s Facebook page that I remembered. And if the rest of my Mom’s family in the U.S. didn’t live on the East Coast, I might have been there celebrating with them. Instead, I celebrated with them in spirit; once again reflecting back on the incredible life my 99-year old Grandmother.

This past Monday, on Memorial Day of all days, I happened to get the first part of an incredible gift in my email inbox. This same cousin, who posted pictures of the 40th day celebration, sent me … along with the rest of my cousins and Aunts/Uncles in her email address book … a scanned copy of a notebook written by Grandma Rose.

290About 32 pages in length and written about twenty years ago, this handwritten notebook told the most basic lifestory of my grandmother in her own words. She had left it to my cousin, who took it upon herself to scan in each page and send it to all of us.

It was absolutely wonderful to read these pages and physically see it my Grandma’s own handwriting. Many of the accounts she documented were stories that I can remember her telling me. Other stories were ones that were passed down to me from my own Mom. But reading them now … well, they brought back such warm memories of listening to my Grandma Rose tell these stories and being fascinated on how life in the Philippines was so different than my own.

For years, we had told Grandma that she should write all these stories down … that she had lived such an interesting life. While many of these stories never made it into writing, I still feel incredibly blessed that Grandma left her own legacy behind and in her own words.

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Last night, after I finished reading these pages I, once again, felt this incredible closeness with my Grandma Rose. It felt as if she was right there next to me, telling me these stories like she did when I was little. It felt as if I could put my arms around her and hug her, while she read aloud to me what she wrote.

And just like that, the tears sprung up again. Because then I realized how much I missed her and still miss her. Even after these 40-plus days.

***

And because the number 40 always reminds me of this song … I have to pay homage to one of my favorite bands of all time. I have this vivid memory of being home sick one day in high school and watching “Live at Red Rocks: Under a Blood Red Sky” … so it’s this clip I had to post.

For those that don’t know, this song is based on the Bible’s Psalm 40. Which … given how spiritual my Grandma Rose was … is incredibly appropriate. Enjoy.

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Keepsakes and Legacies

Years ago, I had a conversation with a co-worker about keepsakes. And when I mean keepsakes, I mean personal items that an individual wishes to pass on to a family member or friend that would appreciate the sentiment behind such a gift. It could be anything from a simple chotski to artwork, or even large pieces of furniture.

This co-worker told me the story about a bedroom set that belonged to her grandmother, which was also passed down from her grandmother from the mid 1800’s. It was a beautiful set, she told me. Very simple, yet classic. It was also something that her grandmother passed down to her, as her grandmother knew that she loved the set.

So then this co-worker asked if I ever had anything “passed down” to me from the previous generations. I admit, I had to think about it for a second. The nurse in me thought … “Duh, yeah. My big butt for instance. And my nose. And the shape of my head.” But then I realized, those were physical genetic traits that were passed down to me from my parents and their parents, etc.

The short answer to the question my co-worker asked me was no. Yes, there have been clothes passed on or an occasional headboard or shelf or table. But those were more for utilitarian purposes. Actual “keepsakes” or “antiques” (if that’s what you wish to call it … )? No. Not really.

Not having any real “keepsakes” from other family members isn’t because I come from a family that doesn’t “believe” in passing things down to the next generation. For me, I believe it’s more or less because I am a first generation Asian/Filipino-American.

Both my Mom and my Dad were born and raised in the Philippines; coming to this side of the hemisphere (separately, and not knowing each other at the time) once they were done with their studies. As they were both young, neither of them traveled with more than what they needed to live in what would be their new “home.” With that said, when they eventually met and married … there was little for them to combine once they moved to Detroit and settled into daily living. In fact, much of what they bought for their new home, again was utilitarian more than something of significant value or sentiment.

And perhaps because it’s something that women often think about, my Mom and I have had random conversations in the past about what she wants to pass on to her children. While, she has already passed on her love of books and art (along with her knowledge in science) to both my brother and me, there is one thing she’s told me is that she’s always wanted to pass on to us. And that would be those special stones or rings or necklaces/earrings that my Dad has given to her over the years; those sentimental “jewelry” pieces that she still keeps. Because, as she herself said, there isn’t much other than her jewelry that she feels she can “leave behind” for her children. Or her grandchildren.

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While cleaning out his side of our dresser last week, Hubby stumbled on a jewelry box. And inside this jewelry box were two rings made of Chinese gold. Other than size, these rings were identical and, if pressed into hot wax, would produce a heart-shaped “embroidered” Chinese floral pattern.

Hubby holds these rings dear to him … not because they’re made of Chinese gold and represent his half-Filipino/half-Chinese heritage. And not because they were simply a gift from his parents.

Rather these rings were something that Hubby wore when he was just a child. The first ring was given to him when he was just a baby; most likely to celebrate his birth. And the second ring … that one was given to him before his parents (who met and married in the Philippines) left to prepare a home for him and his sister in the U.S.

Both rings remind him of his youth; of his time back in the Philippines. And anyone that knows Hubby, he has always had a hard time with memories. So for him to reflect back at what little he remembers from his early years in the Philippines … well, that’s just something to treasure.

286When Hubby found the jewelry box that held these rings this past Sunday, I couldn’t help but feel sad. After all these were rings that I know Hubby hoped to pass down to his own children. Those same children that would be his legacy. The children that would pass on all of his heritages; his Chinese, Filipino and American backgrounds. The children that would make up half of his genetic traits (perhaps a future comic book artist?). Those same children who would pass on his name.

As I looked up at Hubby, I knew he was thinking the same thing. And all I could say to him was “Sorry.” Yet, (and I must add, I know this is illogical … ) somehow that just never seem to be enough.

Because honestly … not only do I feel as if I’ve deprived him of the ability to be a wonderful father, I feel as if I’ve “robbed” him of the ability to pass on his traits, his skills … his legacy.

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Goin' With The Flo

The Pioneer of Modern Nursing
The Pioneer of Modern Nursing

I made the mistake of heading into the Hallmark store in my office complex yesterday. What part of me thought that taking that little detour on my lunch break during this time of year was a good idea? Yeah, silly me.

Lucky for me, every year Mother’s Day happens to be only a “day” in the midst of another important week of the year. Well, at least for those that happen to be “tight” with Florence Nightingale, anyway.

Yes, every year Nurse’s Week is celebrated in the US from May 6th to May 12th. Why those days specifically? Well, it’s because May 12th is the actual birthday of the “Pioneer of Modern Nursing.” And May 12th is officially known as International Nurses Day.

So yeah, having a whole week “dedicated” to my profession … it certainly takes the focus of the one day of the year that practically the whole nation celebrates the one thing in the world that has eluded me the most. The one day that celebrates the biggest disappointment I’ve encountered thus far in my life.

But going back to the whole Nurse’s Week thingy … I have to say that I find it pretty humerous that I ended up in the profession I did … and “liking” it.

Click on image to read the pledge and Detroit's history in it ...
Click on image to read the pledge and Detroit's history in it ...

First of all, there are waaaay too many Filipinos in this profession. And in my youth, I was constantly trying to break out of the stereotypes that follow my culture. But ultimately it was the whole “respect your elders” part of my culture that had me ending up pursing a career in nursing. In other words, rather than spend my undergrad years “pondering” what I wanted to do in life while my parents (most graciously) funded my university education … the suggestion was made by many-a-relative that nursing would provide me a lucrative* career while I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life. Lucky (or unlucky, depending how it’s looked at) for me, while I still don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life (as motherhood obviously hasn’t worked out) … at least there are enough “avenues” in the profession of Nursing that I’ve been able to dabble in other areas other than bedside nursing.

I do have to add this though … no matter where I’ve worked (in an office setting or at the bedside), I am constantly being asked when I’ll be bringing in pancit or lumpia to any potluck. Totally sucks for my co-workers who have the perception that all Filipinos are able to cook. Hah!

And speaking of different “avenues” of Nursing … I have to point out that this is probably the reason I do “like” the profession I’m in. Because believe me, in this modern day and age of health care … burnout in the “bedside” aspect of Nursing is pretty darn high. That’s because despite the advances in medical care, people that are admitted to the hospital are much much more “sicker” than they were in the past. And despite the higher acuity in patient care needs, the nurse-to-patient ratio has not improved in years. In fact, in many parts of the nation, the number of patients assigned to one nurse has exponentially increased; leaving Nurses at the bedside with more to do with less resources.

My Nursing School's reknown "Nightingale Award" (click on image)
My Nursing School's reknown "Nightingale Award" (click on image)

This is why I am glad I’m no longer doing “direct patient care.” This simply means that I’m not physically reaching out and touching a person. (Not to say that I’m not “caring” for them, though.) Rather the aspect of Nursing I’m part of is Case Management. So what’s the role of an RN Case Manager? Well, in a basic explanation, a Case Manager assists in coordinating the care of a clinically complex person in order to maximize this person’s ability to care for themselves.

Confusing, right? Well, let’s just say that instead of physically caring for a patient while he/she — I don’t know — is “tossing their cookies” … I’m the Nurse that, once the acute illness “settles down,” is helping to make sure that these patients follow up appropriately with their physicians or other health care professionals in order to prevent a recurrence or complication of their condition. And I’m the same Nurse that spends MORE time educating a patient and/or family member about their disease or condition so they can understand their physician’s plan of care and the various options they may have available to them.

Florence "The Lady With The Lamp" Nightingale
"The Lady With The Lamp"

Yeah, I bet you didn’t know that there were many aspects of Nursing as a profession. Just like I’m sure that you may forget about other jobs that Nurses do that don’t necessarily involve working in a hospital, nursing home or Doctor’s office. Yes. Nursing is everywhere. Like in the home setting. Or in the community. Or even at your own workplace.

Heck, you might even work directly with a Nurse. Or even an “ex-Nurse.”** Because believe me, we’re everywhere.

So with that said … I must remind everyone out there to wish all the Nurses you know a “Happy Nurses Week” over the next seven days. Because despite what it feels like to most Infertiles out there … this week isn’t all about being a Mom. Sometimes it’s all about going with the “Flo” … Florence Nightingale, that is.

Yeah. I’m that cheesy.

On an even sillier note … I must share this picture with you to show how “smart” my kitty cat can be. Notice how she’s perched on a pillow? Well … as she knows she’s not allowed on our new sofa, she’s found a way to get around it … by being on top of a pillow instead of directly on the sofa. How cute can she be?!

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* “Lucrative” as in “there are always going to jobs available in nursing” … not “lucrative” as in financially “stable.”

** Although I always say, “Once a Nurse, always a Nurse.”

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McSnippets!

A few weeks ago, Hubby and I spent another one of our Detroit Saturday nights at our favorite Hole-In-The-Wall with our friend, J. It’s becoming a tradition to do this every Saturday we’re back in the Detroit area. First of all, it gives us a chance to get our fix of the best d*mn burgers in the area. And second, we get to have some great conversation with a great friend.

270That Saturday we were talking about childhood memories. The kind of memories that no one else but one or the other could remember. The ones that everyone else might think was crazy and make-believe. But the ones we knew in our minds were true.

For the life of me, I can’t remember what memory J had that neither Hubby or I could place in the back of our minds. And I wish I could … because then I’d want to see if anyone else out here in the blogosphere would know what he was talking about. As for me … I had two specific memories. Neither of which was “google”-able about three years ago.

The first one I had was almost a blur-like memory. A mini-TV show that played between shows on the local PBS-like station. They reminded me of the “Scho.olho.use Rocks” series in that it would always have some sort of lesson to learn. However, unlike “Scho.olho.use Rocks,” they’d always be aired during weekday afternoons. And instead of being cartoons, they would be budget-friendly claymation figures. But whenever I brought this up to any of my friends that grew up in the same area at around the same time period, no one could ever remember “Snippets.” In fact, I’ve been accused once or twice of making it up in my mind. Except now I’m here to prove that they did exist … because since the last time I googled the show, it appears that other people were remembering and wondering the same thing.

The second one is a little more personal. That same Saturday night, I told J and my Hubby about this memory I had about a Ron.ald Mc.Don.ald character that neither of them could remember. All I could remember was that it was a pirate-like character and that I saw a statue of him somewhere at an outdoor McDon.aldland playground out in front of the actual restaurant. (Remember when they used to have swingsets and merry-go-rounds located in a brick courtyard directly in front of the restaurant?) Both J and Hubby laughed at me, informing me that I surely must have mistaken this pirate with the Ham.burgl.ar. And furthermore stating that perhaps my love for Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack obviously extended back into my early childhood.

But see the thing is, I knew in the recess of my mind that I had a picture taken in front of this pirate. And so the next morning, before we left our home to return back to Chicago, I went rummaging through some of the old photo albums I managed to (a-hem) “borrow” from my parents. And lo and behold … I managed to find proof of said pirate. After showing Hubby, I told him that I now had to scan this picture in and share it with J … just to prove him wrong.

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But then I promptly forgot about it … until the other day at work ,when rummaging through my bag, I stumbled on said picture. Of course, then I had to show it around the office and relay to them the conversation I had with Hubby and J. And now that I had my solid proof, I told my co-workers, I had to find out exactly who this character was.

Well, duh … since I’m officially now living in the state in which McDo.nald’s was founded, it didn’t take me that long to find out the name of said character. Captain Crook (which was later shortened to just “The Captain”) was similar to that of the Ham.burglar … except instead of stealing burgers he was known to steal Filet-o-fish sandwiches. And apparently it was Officer Big Mac who would try to catch him. The Captain and Big Mac apparently got the cut in the early 80’s when McDon.aldla.nd began to streamline its characters. Don’t ask me how the Fry Guys (aka the “Gobblins”) and Birdie made the cut … along with Gri.mace. I mean seriously … what exactly is Gri.mace supposed to be?! *

272So there you go … apparently I really don’t pull things out of thin air (or from my a$$, as others might say). But ain’t it a sad state of affairs when I can remember silly trivial things … and yet I struggle with remembering where I last put my cell phone?

Don’t answer that. Somehow, I can already hear all those responses to that rhetorical question. Hmmph …

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* Silly side note: Filipinos use a vegetable called ube (pronounced like e.Bay, but with an”ooh”) in many sweet desserts. The color of ube is remarkably like the color of Gri.mace. My Hubby had this way of teasing his younger cousins that any desserts made of ube was actually bits and pieces of Gri.mace. Yeah … he devastated his poor cousins who really thought they were eating Ron.ald Mc.Don.ald’s friend!

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A Rose is a Rose

I know many of my IRL friends know this, but my given name is a variation of both of my Grandmothers’ names. My first name is my Dad’s mom, and my “first” middle name* is my Mom’s mom. Coincidentally it is also my Mom’s name, as she was named after her mom.

With that said, both my Mom and Grandmother’s name is a variation of the name Rose. And therefore, my official name on my birth certificate is listed as Emily Rose.

This middle name; the given name of my Grandma is something that bonds all the female cousins on my Mom’s side of the family. Every single one of us has some variation of the name “Rose” in our name. It’s something that I’ve always thought was wonderful to share … and at the same time, wonderful to feel such a strong connection to our Grandmother.

Why am I telling you this? It’s because tonight I received the dreaded news that I’ve been expecting for the past two and a half weeks.

Yes, tonight (or rather Friday morning in the Philippines), heaven received another angel. My Grandma Rose passed away.

While I’m happy that she is no longer suffering**, I can’t help but be incredibly sad. And while it’s been literally years since I’ve last seen her face-to-face, I am going to miss knowing she is here on this earth with me.

Because regardless of where she was in this world, I always seemed to sense her presence around me; guiding me like she did when I was a baby and then a toddler. Singing songs with me as I learned my alphabet other important things (after all, she was always the consummate teacher her entire life). Slipping me candy treats from her purse whenever Mom wasn’t looking.

I know she will be watching over me up their in the heavens. And I know that she will continue to guide me throughout my life. But it still doesn’t stop me from shedding these tears. And feeling as if my world is a little less joyful. At least for now.

This is Grandma Rose at 99 years old ... the picture was taken by one of my cousins. Isn't she beautiful?
This is Grandma Rose at 99 years old. The picture was taken by one of my cousins earlier this year. Isn't she absolutely beautiful?

I love you, Grandma and I will miss you. Please say hi to Grandpa for me … and to all our other family members who have gone ahead of me. I am happy that you are finally resting peacefully …

*****

And THANK YOU to everyone out there who has said prayers for my family. I strongly believe that it was all of your thoughts and prayers that allowed me to “speak” to my Grandma last night (Thursday morning in the Philippines) for the very last time.

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* Filipinos have a weird thing about names. With me, my parents wanted to name me after both grandmothers so they provided me with TWO middle names; my maternal grandmother’s name (Rose) and, as tradition dictates, my Mom’s maiden name.

** In my Grandma’s case, “suffering” refers to the fact that she most likely suffered a major stroke, leaving her with little ability to move … let alone communicate. And as my Grandma always had a fondness for words and conversation, I know that she was probably in extreme distress about not being able to talk.