Food for my dying mother
Food was an important part of my mother’s life. And it was hard, even painful to watch her reject it as she was dying.
I lost my mother earlier this year. I didn’t feel like writing about her passing until now, during this festive season when we celebrate with loved ones … usually, with food.
This is the time of year when food would have been one of Mommy’s main concerns, when she’d be thinking, planning and worrying about the meals to prepare for family and friends during the holidays.
Her attitude toward food and eating, rooted in many ways in her views on health and status, wasn’t always easy to explain to friends. Especially those who encountered her cheerful, if odd, greeting: “Oh, how stout you are!”
The “stout” friends would naturally feel uneasy and even be visibly shocked by this. It would be up to my sisters and me to explain: “No, she didn’t mean to offend you.”
In fact, she meant the greeting as a compliment. It’s a Filipino thing. For Mommy, being “stout” was a sign of having a good and prosperous life. So she was, in a way, saying: “You’ve made it. You have a good life.”
This is even more significant for when it comes to children. Stout children meant healthy children. Skinny kids meant the opposite.
Which became a concern when my wife and I took our oldest son to meet my parents when he was only a little over a year old. My son, as a baby, was thin — and I still remember the worried look on Mommy’s face the first time she laid eyes on her apo.
Though she never said anything, I suspected part of her worry was what having a skinny grandchild said about her son. “Anak, aren’t you feeding him enough?” Eventually, as my son grew up to be healthy and even athletic, this no longer became an issue with my mother.
Food was also a way she judged people.
When my friend and then-editor Pete Lacaba stopped by our house in Cubao, Mommy politely invited him for lunch, even though she didn’t have time to prepare anything special.
Mommy grew up poor, the daughter of an Ilocano farmer, and I sensed that she never lost her insecurity when it came to receiving visitors who, she worried, might not appreciate the kind of food she grew up enjoying.
The day of Pete’s visit, part of our meal was a typical Ilocano dish (something like boiled fish with saluyot if I remember correctly). I knew Mommy was watching him to see if he would have some it. Pete did and even appeared to enjoy it. After Pete left, she told me, “He’s a good person. He ate our food. Kinain niya ‘yong pagkain natin.”
For the most part, during gatherings at home, Mommy prepared feasts. She would make sure everyone was not just eating but eating a lot. Sometimes, she would even prepare your plate for you, overfilling it with every dish on the table.
“Mommy, masyadong marami. That’s too much,” we would complain. But protesting was usually pointless. She would simply ignore us and keep scooping more onto your or someone else’s plate.
Food was how Mommy showed her love for us, how she celebrated with her family and how she welcomed friends, relatives and even strangers to our home.
Which is why it came as a sad surprise when my older sisters reported on her condition earlier this year: “Mommy’s not eating.”
I saw this for myself when I spent time with her in April.
It was not a happy homecoming. The changes at home were evident the moment I arrived from the airport. It was the first time Mommy was not there to hug and kiss me as I walked through our front door. It was the first time she was not there to point to food on the table she had already prepared for my arrival, “Kumain ka na. Nakahanda na.”
She could no longer walk or speak. She would just stare at a corner or the ceiling.
And Mommy wouldn’t eat.
I’d bring the spoon to her lips, and she would keep them shut. A few times she appeared to like the taste of ice cream, but that was it. But to most of the pureed food we offered, she said, “No” by refusing to open her mouth.
It was during the week I spent with my mother that I confirmed what experts and friends have said about dying: Many people close to death refuse to eat.
“Losing one’s appetite is a common and normal part of dying,” the National Institute for Aging says. “A conscious decision to give up food can be part of a person’s acceptance that death is near.”
It’s not an easy decision to accept. As the founder of an Idaho hospice says, echoing Mommy’s own conviction, many of us believe that “food equals love.”
“As human beings we eat to live,” Jackie Robinson writes. “So you can see why it is so hard to comprehend that when someone is dying giving them food no longer equals energy or life for them. We often believe if only we can get them to eat and drink they will feel more energy and get better. After all, this is exactly what they need. We often hear ‘You need to eat to get stronger!’ In the case of a dying person, this is not necessarily true.”
We never prevailed on Mommy to eat more, and she never got stronger. Six weeks after I returned to California, Mommy passed on.
That last week I spent with her did have some special, uplifting moments. There were times when she seemed to be listening to me speak, enjoying my stories from our past. She nodded to my friend Popo Lotilla when she greeted during a brief visit.
During a few brief and quiet moments with me, Mommy smiled.
I stopped being a strong believer in the afterlife many years ago. Mommy’s death, and the death of my father two years ago, have made me reconsider.
I’d like to think they are in a better place, resting, celebrating, maybe even eating.
I imagine them having loud, joyous reunions with family and friends who’ve also passed on.
And Mommy would be right in the middle of the gathering, scooping food onto people’s plates, cheerfully greeting some of them, “Oh how stout you are! Halika na, kain tayo!”
Happy New Year everyone!
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