Remembering the life of Norma, Nonna, Baby, Ats, Atche, or my personal favourite, Mom

Hello everyone,

Thank you all for being here today. I will try to keep to my script here, so please bear with me. For those who may not know me, I’m Norma’s favourite, and youngest child, Dean.

I believe this was at Glenmore Park where we would often have BBQ picnics with my Dad and his friends and coworkers. I'm guessing I'm 11ish years old here. 

I would like to start my eulogy by just sharing some random facts and memories of mom, in no particular order.

• When I was a kid, one of my regular and unusual tasks was plucking her white hairs with tweezers, and even the hairs from her armpits (or Kili-kili). I would carefully place each white hair onto a black surface so we could count them at the end. I don’t think any of my other siblings were ever given this odd responsibility. 
• Our family moved three times within the community of Queensland here in Calgary. Each one, Mom made feel like home and never showed any kind of stress unto her kids.
• We also lived in Texas for one year when I was five years old.
• Mom enjoyed gardening. A tree she planted at our townhouse is still there.
• Mom worked at a temp staffing agency for a long time. Often while driving her places, she would point at random buildings in the city and say, I worked there.
• She liked to experiment and try to cook and bake new things. She used to make our own halo halo dessert when we were kids
• Carlos and I have fondly nicknamed mom‘s house “Norma Mart”. If ever we needed any household supplies, we could always be sure to find extras at mom‘s house.
• Mom collected plastic grocery bags and had hundreds of them. I used to make fun of her for this, but it all paid off in the last few years once plastic bags were discontinued in stores.
• If ever I couldn’t find something, Mom was just simply say, “use your eyes”.
• If I didn’t know what a word meant, she’d say, “look it up”.
•  I used to use make an example of my mom’s financial literacy skills (and sometimes lack thereof) with regards to how to budget and save money in your household.
• The obituary says mom has four siblings. However, she actually has two siblings that were born before her and died.
• Two of mom‘s best friends are Tita Cora and Tita Virgie. Although they live in Toronto in the United States respectively, they would still talk on the phone for hours at a time. 
• Mom loved Frank Sinatra so much and on the day that I found out he died she was sleeping and I immediately went to her room to wake her up to give her the sad news. She was of course deeply saddened by it.
• I was often mom‘s chauffeur to take her grocery shopping and such. This one time there was some flash flooding in our townhouse complex and I was driving her and Tita Noy somewhere. I drove into a large puddle of water that I didn’t realize how deep it was and we we emerged in it with water filling into the backseat. Tita Noy was freaking out as she normally did and was screaming, and wanted to get out of the car. Mom and I were the level headed ones and tried to calm the situation. All was fine.
• The last random fact that I’ll share is that Mom and I regularly used to play Words with Friends online. She would play for hours with strangers around the world. One of the last things Mom did the night she passed away in her sleep was beat me in our final game – the score was 358 to 354. Good game, Mom.

Onto a more serious memory, when I was 15, I was caught stealing from Zellers with my best friend Jenny. I vividly remember how upset, disappointed, and angry my mom was. When she came to get me from the store, she pulled my ear so hard—a true Filipino pingot—and gave me heck. I’m fairly certain it wasn’t fear of the law that kept me from ever stealing or doing anything illegal again, but it was the fear and guilt of potentially disappointing my mother again. I knew deep down that she didn’t raise me to be that way. Overall, mom raised a wholesome family, grounded in her strong morals. I’m sure my decision to become a social worker had something to do with her upbringing of me.

If I had to describe my mom to a stranger, one of her strongest qualities was how caring and giving she was. She was steady and composed, even in difficult times. She accepted life as it came, and held her head high. She was very forgiving of others, despite the occasional grudge. She had a big heart and always felt a motherly obligation to help relatives whenever someone was facing hardship. She might have been frugal when it came to buying quality household goods, but when someone in the family was in need, she never hesitated to help.

At Mom's favourite Chinese restaurant, Gong Kee. This is a rare family pic with all six of us, including Lola. Circa 2000. 

My mom was also incredibly accepting of me for who I am. She never tried to change me, never pushed me toward a particular education or career path, and allowed me the freedom to travel the world and discover myself. In 2003, when I travelled for a year and a half, I sent her regular postcards and I always looked forward to reading her long emails describing life back home with some of the latest chismis (gossip). Even from far away, I could always feel her love.

When I told my mom that I was gay, her love for me overrode any deep-rooted thoughts, feelings, or beliefs she may have had. She loved me unconditionally, with her whole being. Not only did she accept me, but she welcomed Carlos into our family with open arms. I remember telling her about him while we were in the Philippines, and her immediate response was, “Is he nice? Let me see a picture.” When I later told her we were going to get legally married, she simply said that it was about time I settled down and was nothing but happy for us.

If I'm not mistaken, this photo is the day I came out of the closet to my family. September, 1998. 

My mom once said that one of the best things in the world was holding an innocent baby in her arms. I often wonder how many of us she cradled when we were babies. As most people know, she didn’t want to be called “Lola” because it made her feel old—she preferred the Italian word for grandmother, Nonna. And she was truly the best Nonna to Isaac. Watching her hold him and care for him was something special. I remember her falling asleep with him in her arms. Although she was often tired in recent years, Isaac brought her light, joy, and energy. Isaac will surely miss her laugh, her caring nature, her playfulness, and of course, her generosity with unlimited crackers and sweets at her house. Mom, we will do our best to keep Isaac’s nickname, “IC,” alive. For him, that name will always be tied to his Nonna.

A boy and his Nonna. 

I work in adult education, and in recent years I’m often asked to give celebratory remarks to program graduates, many of whom are immigrants. I frequently share that I am the son of immigrants and that I’ve been able to live a good life because my mom (and dad) came to Canada to build a better future for their family. I go on to tell the graduates that it wasn’t until my thirties that I truly understood the challenging uphill battle my mom faced as an immigrant, and how thankless and unrecognized that journey may have been by us, her children. I usually end those speeches by thanking the graduates on behalf of their children, who may never fully know how hard their parents worked to get to the point where they are now in their lives. I’ve given that speech many times, yet I don’t think I ever properly thanked my mom in person for everything she did for me and my siblings.

A young Norma & August doing touristy things in Toronto, visiting Niagra Falls. 

Last September, my mom was hospitalized in the Philippines with pneumonia. It was a terrifying time, and I truly thought I was going to lose her there. Neither of us wanted her to die in that hospital, let alone in the Philippines. Mom just kept saying she wanted to go home to Canada, over and over again.

Being with her in that hospital room 24/7 was incredibly difficult, watching her suffer through the pain of IVs, needles, and tasteless food she could barely eat, while fearing the unknown. And yet, as I reflect on those nine days, I can now look back on them with a smile. Despite everything, my mom and I had each other in that confined space. We spent our days playing Scrabble and talking about her life, her ups and downs, her family, her relationships, and her proudest moments. As mentioned in her obituary, she told me that immigrating to Canada, sponsoring relatives, and financially supporting her family back home was one of her greatest accomplishments. That was when I finally shared with her the graduation speech I had told to so many others, but never her, and thanked her for providing us with the life she did.

I am deeply grateful for that moment. In the end, being stuck in that hospital room with Mom was actually priceless and I will always hold it close to my heart.

The day mom got released from the hospital. Hallelujah! 

Dear Mom, if you can hear me wherever you are, please know how deeply you are loved—by me and by the countless lives you touched with your kindness. If I could turn back time, I would visit you more often, let you eat more junk food, take you to more Chinese restaurants, hug you tighter, and tell you how much I love you every single time I saw you. Thank you for giving me the best life you could. Thank you for shaping me into the gentleman that I am. Thank you for loving Carlos, Isaac, Autumn, and Winnie. You can finally get some good rest now. Rest well, my dear, dear mom. I love you.

I am so grateful that we took this family trip together. It's the first time I've been on vacation with my brother, sister, mom (and everyone else) in a very long time. Mabla flew to Canada with the boys in June, 2025 rather than Christmas time as I kind of predicted that mom wouldn't be around that long due to her kidney failure. Mabla and the boys ended up coming in December nonetheless to say goodbye to mom. Bittersweet.