I almost killed my mother

Part of a series on our moms—or about being a mom—for Mother's Day


I almost killed my mother. And every time she talks about it, she beams with pride. It's actually one of her favorite family stories.

You see, my mother nearly died when I was born.

They were visiting our place in Pasil Kalinga when I decided it was time to come out. There was no road going to our village in Dangtalan, only a path. One has to walk almost half an hour, zigzagging through picturesque rice terraces, before reaching a road.

So when I began to knock on the door, they had to carry my mother on a hammock slung on the shoulders of two men.

But that was the easy part.

When my mother got to the hospital, all that was available was local anesthesia.

That would have been fine, except that I was going to be delivered by cesarean section.

One can only imagine the pain she went through. Or perhaps only mothers can.

And so the story goes... My father was at her bedside, holding her hands while she screamed in agony every time the doctor sliced through her.

She was in so much pain that when I came out, I was laid on a table near a window, nearly forgotten while doctors and nurses attended to her. My father, they say, almost fainted.

Growing up, I heard that story told hundreds of times to the point that it became a bit annoying.

Of course now I'm seeing it differently.

Simply put, I wouldn't be here without her. Without her bravery, I wouldn't be enjoying the beauty of life, I wouldn't be traveling the world, I wouldn't have my own family. And so I am eternally thankful.

And now she has a new favorite story and she beams with pride every time she tells it, albeit with much concern and worry: She is the mother of Raffy Tima, the broadcast journalist who constantly travels to faraway places, covering the country and sometimes the world's biggest stories.

Thank you so much Mommy, I love you very much.