I have a high regard for mothers. I’m sure it’s because I have a good mother, Aurora. It’s also because I am surrounded by good mothers: Baby my wife, Reineria my mother-in-law, Mother Mary, our mother, and another mother whose identity I will keep as a surprise.

As I write this, I’m recovering from what I think is a case of mild flu. What is it with me, that when I get sick, the whole house is sick? Every one takes care of me, especially Baby. It’s good that Baby hardly gets sick. She is simply immune from viral infections. At the height of my sickness yesterday, I kept asking Bian, “Where’s Mommy?” Bian kept giving the same answer: “In the market, Dad.” But I still kept asking the question, feeling relieved when she is around, and when she isn’t, the mere mention of her name will make me feel better.

Baby, mother. Mother not only to our daughters Dawn, Agee, Bian and Maud, but mother to me, too, when I need mothering. I recall when I had hemorrhoidectomy in 1996. The operation was in Manila Doctors hospital. She was always there in the room, abandoning her brood of daughters to Odette their erstwhile yaya. She never hinted that she had other things to do like, “I wonder what’s happening to the girls,” or “Naku, I have to attend to a myriad things in the house!” No such thing. When mothers are needed, they give the impression that you are their only baby.

Same thing with my mother, Aurora. Deogracias, my father was chronically ill with asthma. His condition was so prevalent that I thought all fathers inhaled Asthmador (please highlight the word, right click on it and select “Search Google for the word”). My Nanay never once complained, never once was bitter, never looking for a better life. Mothers are like that. Loving to them is complete and absolute acceptance.

My mother-in-law Reineria has Alzheimer’s. We have to remind her in every turn of conversation who each one is. But she always remembers me. “Si Willie,” she would say when I step into her condo in Quezon city which she shares with Milo my brother-in-law, and Merly, her caretaker. Why does she remember me, when she has to be reminded of the identity of a particular child of hers—11 born, nine surviving? Let me venture an opinion. I did not have an easy time with her when I asked for Baby’s hand in marriage in 1982. The Quito family had plans of living in the United States. I was a hindrance, because Baby cannot go there as married. I persisted and we proceeded with our wedding. Alz patients have no short-term memory but special events of the distant past remain intact. Perhaps the high drama of my fighting tooth and nail for Baby—who is named after her, having been christened Renée, and the eldest of her five daughters—left an indelible imprint in a loving mother’s mind.

Most of all, Jesus gave us his mother on Calvary before he breathed his last. Widows in Biblical times who were without a son to support them were the most helpless in a pastoral and agricultural economy. Jesus issued the first-ever life insurance policy when he said to Mary, “Woman, behold your son.” And to John, “Behold your mother.” With that, we as Mary’s sons have as much responsibility for her as she has for us. Jesus the dutiful son taught us that mothers are nothing without sons, and sons nothing without mothers.

Lastly, I have with me another mother, although with four feet. She is Liz the Belgian Malinois. She whelped ten puppies last August 3, 2006. One died during suckling. The other nine survived and were sold off. Liz is a different kind of mother. She didn’t fret that her offspring were taken from her. She expected that I suppose. I believe she looks at me as her master, her handler and trainer, her friend, and in some metaphysical way, her offspring as well. She mothers me with her protectiveness. When we jog, no dog can approach me, Jock the Whippet and her within five feet. She has hair-trigger reaction and attacks when that perimeter is breached. In the house, any noise from the farthest corner will elicit her barking. She is bipolar in this sense: like a two-month old puppy to our family members, but like a grizzly bear with fangs and claws ready to serve havoc to anyone outside our circle.

I have hopefully drawn the elements which make a mother. A mother is always around. A mother doesn’t question her mission, looks for what’s best, protective to a fault, and yet not nearly as formidable as not to be in need of a son or a daughter or someone to lean on, for she is, in spite of all indications, not a superwoman.

Happy mother’s day to all the mothers in my life!