Motherhood is often described through sacrifice — sleepless nights, quiet prayers, and tired hands that still manage to prepare meals before dawn. But beyond the grand gestures people celebrate every Mother’s Day, motherhood is also found in the smallest things: in the way a mother remembers how her child likes their coffee, waits up late until everyone gets home safely, or chooses to stay strong even when life gives her every reason to break.
Mothers, no matter where they come from, carry the same instinct. They protect before they rest. They nurture before they heal themselves. They love in ways that are not always loud, but are always present. Some mothers are expressive with words, while others speak through actions — through packed lunches, folded clothes, reminders to eat, or silent prayers whispered before sleeping.
My mother belongs to the latter.
Mama has always been the center of our household. She handles the groceries, the budget, the chores, and almost everything that keeps our home together. Before anyone else taught us about the world, she was already teaching us how to live in it — how to smile, speak, walk, and eat. She became our first teacher long before we entered classrooms.
Women of this generation are often described as barrier-breakers, and my mother is one of them.
She grew up in a household that was both loud and quiet — loud because of her father’s constant complaints toward her mother, and quiet because she was mostly raised by nannies. Yet despite growing up in that environment, she became completely different from it when she built her own family. Though she carried traces of distance within her, she never failed to become present in our lives. She attended my pageants, quiz bees, school programs, and every milestone she could be present for.
Still, she was never the overly expressive kind of mother before. My father was usually the one who communicated with us directly, while she became the final say — calm, composed, and gentle even in discipline.
Then life changed all at once.
When my father died, my mother had no choice but to become both a mother and a father to four children in her 40s. The grief could have hardened her, but instead, it softened her even more. Slowly, she learned to communicate openly with us — not abruptly, not forcefully, but gently, in the way only a mother could.
What makes me admire her the most is the way she continues to love my father even after death.
One random Monday morning, she woke up earlier than usual to cook breakfast before my class in Manila. While we were eating together, I casually asked her, “Ma, gusto mo pang magmahal ulit?”
Without hesitation, she answered, “Hindi na, nak. Si Papa mo na yung dinala ko sa altar. Ang laswa na no’n. Habang buhay na si Papa mo lang.”
In that moment, she taught me what unconditional love truly means. Love is not only found in romance; it exists in family, in loyalty, and in the quiet decision to continue choosing someone even after they are gone.
She made me believe that love is a choice.
People often say, “Love until death do us part,” but my mother showed me that love can continue even after death. She continues to love my father through us, through the life they built together, and through the strength she carries every day for our family. She makes being both a mother and a father look effortless, even when I know it is not.
And if I could trade anything just to keep her by my side forever, I would.
If there is another life after this one, I would still choose her to be my mother.
“Sana sa susunod kong buhay, ikaw pa rin ang nanay ko, Isak.”
Mother’s Day should never only be about greetings posted once a year. While flowers and celebrations matter, the greatest gift we can give our mothers is appreciation while they are still here. Treat your mother to the places she has always wanted to go. Spend time with her. Listen to her stories. Hug her a little longer.
Because one day, we will realize that the hands that once raised us are also growing tired.
And mothers — no matter how strong they seem — deserve to be loved loudly, too.