Gathering the Graces

It seems that every year at around this time I recount the highlights and lowlights of the past year. These past few weeks have given me ample time to think about what the last 12 months have brought me and what I'm looking forward for the next 12 months.

2025 will be a year that I remember forever. My life changed in more ways that I can count, but most significantly was the loss of both my mom and dad within 3 months of each other. There are no words to truly describe what it was like to lose my mom in September and then lose my dad three months after that. There have been numerous platitudes of "at least they're not suffering any more" and "I'm sure they're reunited in heaven." I appreciate the kind sentiments, but even these courteous statements seem to fall short. My mom and dad are the people who first knew me. They gave me everything, and I suspect that I'll always feel an ache in my heart when I think of them and realize there will be no more home-cooked meals with the complete family around the table.

I strive to stay grateful. Some days are easier than others. I'm grateful for the 83 years of life that my mom had and the 84 years that my dad had. I'm grateful for the fruit of their love that is my family, and I'm grateful for the gift of their homeland, the Philippines. I worry that I will forever carry the guilt of not being there for them more, but I am grateful for the family who were there when my parents passed from this life into the next. My aunts, uncles, and cousins who were there are gifts for me, and I don't think I can ever repay them for what they did for my parents while we kids were overseas. But maybe it was meant to be this way - my parents are some of the most generous people I've ever known, and my mom used to always say, "sharing is caring." Maybe this was a weird, twisted way of sharing my mom and dad with so many other people.

In an unexpected way, sharing became a theme of these last few months. Shortly after my dad's funeral, we gathered to share some of our favorite memories. We had some common experiences like our dad teaching us how to drive or how he always had Hall's cough drops and change in his pockets. His brother, who was unable to make the international trip for the funeral, sent an anecdote about how he would shake a bush, startling quail that were hidden within. My dad caught those quail, and that's probably what made him such an excellent goalkeeper on the University of Santo Tomas soccer team. They were champions for four years. In an especially tender moment, we talked about his best characteristics: provider, protector, courageous, committed, wholesome. Everything you could possibly want from a dad.

We spent much of our time together going through my parents' things and made decisions about what to keep and what to donate, again taking a trip down memory lane as we sorted through Mom's purses and Pop's pocketed t-shirts. We split their Butterfly Garden dishes among us, shed some tears and laughter over some old pictures. We ate ice cream wedged between a slice of folded white bread, just like Pop would and made a batch of Mom's famous enseymada. It was one of those moments that you know they wouldn't have missed.

Even as I write this, I feel my eyes fill with tears, but I realize that there is grace in this, too. Grace isn't just those moments of peace where everything falls into place exactly as we want them. Grace is the life of Jesus Christ in us, knowing that we aren't alone in this because He who went through all of it before us doesn't leave us. He is there in our joys and in our sorrows - and that is our consolation.

A woman who I'm proud to call my friend shared this term, "gathering the graces" in a prayer group I joined back in February 2025. Joining a Sacred Story from All Things Women, has also changed my life. The group of women from all over North America who were strangers at the beginning of the year have become my friends, my sisters in Christ. Whether I was here at home in eastern Washington, lounging at my sister's house in California, in my parents' homeland of the Philippines, or in "timeout" in Thailand, they were there, once a week for an hour, praying for me, supporting me, and reassuring me that it was okay to cry. I never would have expected that they would become an anchor for me in the most difficult time of my life, but such are the ways of God: surprising, merciful, and always with love that places others over the self.

Love for others over love for self - This is what I've encountered in abundance. I've been amazed at how generous people have been during this time of mourning. I'm grateful for my family in the Philippines for dropping everything they're doing to take care of my siblings and me. I'm grateful for the time they make to meet us after long days of work and driving through Manila traffic. I'm grateful for the big and little sacrifices they made to take care of my mom and dad when we couldn't. These are the places where grace seems to be most plentiful, places where I could do nothing on my own, where I came empty handed but left unexpectedly full.

The last few months have pushed me beyond my limits, and I've woken up on beds that aren't mine, couches that leave me with aches. The reward for these inconveniences has been tighter bonds with family and friends. I have learned that the importance of family because of the shared history. They get things that no one else will. I'm grateful for my friends who have taken me in with the promise that I could just "make myself at home." I pray that when I look back on this time of being bounced from country to country, state to state, I'll remember always having food in my belly, teaching my 9-year old nephew learn how to swing on the monkey bars, and floating down the Chao Phraya River, being unconditionally cared for.

I have said that I barely remember the first six months of this year. I know there was a confirmation and a local mission trip. I know that I celebrated birthdays and graduations. I went out to breakfast and had lunch dates, but the details of those moments are sparse. These moments are fleeting, but the people with whom I shared these memories remain. They've welcomed me home with open arms. They've checked up on me, made sure I'm doing okay and ensured me they're here whenever I'm ready to talk. I've grown closer to my family. I've reconnected with friends I hadn't seen for over a decade and made new friends who I've barely known for 10 months. I thought that the loss of my mom and dad would also mean a loss of love, and while I feel a hole in my heart, I think the love has grown. The words of St. John the Baptist resonate when he says, "I must decrease and He must increase." I get smaller. He gets bigger. This is grace. This is Christ's life in me. And this is what I'm hoping to collect more of this year. May it be the same for you.