Love in the time of stroke

When I was six years old, I told my kindergarten teacher that my parents quarrelled at home. My parents scolded me for doing so. And I never spoke about those quarrels to anyone else after that.

Many years after, I would hear people, in particular, other married couples, say: "Normal sa mag-asawa ang mag-away." Oh, boy. My parents were beyond normal. They argued about a lot of different things. They had fiery shouting matches, followed by days of silent treatment. 

When I was in college, there was a time when, during one of their arguments, I heard one daring the other: "Maghiwalay na tayo!" Well, that really scared me. I had the naive notion then that being in a broken family was the end of the world. Of course, now I know better that kids from dysfunctional families do survive to tell the tale.

On June 27, 2018, my parents will be celebrating their 36th year of bickering marriage. Yep, they're still at it. They're still married. After all that arguing I've witnessed firsthand (and even those that I didn't witness but got reported to me anyway by one party or the other), this feat is just unbelievable.

Admirable is the last adjective I would think of using to describe my parents' marriage. In fact, theirs have never been the ideal that I would want for my own marriage. Not that I needed an ideal to look up to; I'm not even married yet. But the events of the last few years have brought about significant changes in my parents' lives.

My memory of the timeline of events is quite hazy now. But I do remember that over the past six or seven years, my mother had episodes of being bedridden for one straight month when the pain caused by her spine problem became too unbearable for her to stand up or move. During those times, the "parentals" literally had no one but each other to rely on, when both my brother and I escaped lived away from home; I in Singapore, he and his family in Makati. 

Every single time that Inay became bedridden, Tatay was the only one she trusted to take care of everything she needed - from her daily meals, to changing the bedsheets to dressing her up. When she went to SM City Batangas (and she'd go there everyday if she could), Tatay was her companion all the time. All the counter crew at Mang Inasal knew this pair of senior citizens who came by almost every single day - the not-so-tall, dark and... kind man and his wife on a wheelchair. I'm surprised they haven't been recruited to endorse this inasal food chain. 

After having their meal, Tatay would take Inay to buy her current favorite dessert - First, it was Frank's Dirty Ice Cream, then it became Jollibee choco sundae and now, it's Mang Inasal halo-halo. That was their routine. And they never get tired of it. My father never gets tired of it.

Then, sometime in June 2017, my mother had a mild stroke. While she did recover from it, there were obvious aftereffects. She became more forgetful and more emotional. And when she was feeling very ill - with her frequent bouts of headache, vertigo, constipation and high blood pressure - she sometimes became grumpy too.

I thought I was the patient person but my father - he had the patience of Mother Teresa. Or at least he had such limitless patience for my mother. I've never once heard Tatay raise his voice at her, not even during her grumpiest moments. That one time I walked out after a petty argument with Inay over a photo frame, my father quietly admonished me: "Iba na ang kalagayan ng Inay mo. Wag mo na'ng awayin. Pagpasensyahan mo na lang." (I'm really working on that, 'Tay. I'll get there eventually.)

Another day comes to a close. After spending it in SM yet again, my mother lies in bed, complaining of a painful shoulder. Tatay rubs Katinko ointment on it. They talk as my father continues to massage my mother's shoulder. They talk about the things they did that day, and their plans for the next day, though it would most likely be more of the same thing they did that day and everyday. They talk about the latest antics of their only granddaughter. They talk about the family. (They probably talk about my perpetual state of singlehood too.)

The evening wears on.

In one corner of the room, the TV sits, streaming the late night news. It is the only witness to how this couple, who hardly ever said "I love you" to each other, lives each day a testament to their vows for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

#MayForever