On Monday, September 10, 2012, as I sat at breakfast at 5:30 am and the kids were preparing to leave for school, I wrote the excuse letters they would have to submit to their teachers. They were absent on Friday because on Thursday, September 6, 2012   the thunderstorm that came between 4-5:30 pm was reminiscent of the Ondoy storm: the rain was thick and heavy.  There were no pauses, no leveling off, no weakening until the rain clouds had emptied themselves of rain.

I’m not an over-anxious mother but Meycauayan is notorious for flooding especially in those areas near McArthur Highway where my kids’ school is located.  The storm drains there were laid pre-war, I think, and they are not large enough to accommodate the amount of run-off we now experience.  And all along Malhacan Road (the main traffic artery that connects our subdivision to the old poblacion), there are construction sites.  The debris from the construction projects have stuffed up the storm drains which now trigger frequent flash flooding.  The flash floods recede almost immediately after the rains stop pouring, but, traffic is stalled in the meanwhile: gnarled and tangled until traffic enforcers come out from their hiding places and begin to re-direct traffic.

I worry, naturally.  Every night on the news, I see cases of dengue fever and leptospirosis on the rise as a natural effect of constant flooding.  Every night, there are news stories about kids getting run over by reckless motorcycle drivers, jeepney drivers and truck drivers.  My two teenagers, walking on the side of the highway at dusk in the pouring rain wouldn’t be readily seen.  They could fall into ditches, uncovered manholes or potholes.  Worse, they could be prey for hold-uppers and rapists out there.  It’s such a wild world out there. My two children, bits and pieces of my heart and soul, are walking home in the pouring rain.  They are hungry and wet and cold and aching to get home after spending the past ten hours in school.

I was weak in the knees and my heart was pounding.  If I call or text them and they take out their phones, it might invite a mugging.  If I don’t call or text them, I might never know where they are or how they are.  Nerve-wracking!  They called at last.  Traffic was stalled and they had decided to walk home.  My kids weren’t together. My boy left school earlier.  My daughter waited for a classmate and waited for the rain to ease up a little because she didn’t want to get muddy. My boy walks faster.  My daughter takes her time and she chats with her friends as they walk. They stop to buy snacks at the 7-11.

I wanted to jump into the car and just drive off in search of them but this was foolish because traffic is at a standstill everywhere.  I have to sit still where I was and wait (I’m not very good at sitting and waiting, you see).  I do much better when I move and act.

I reassure  myself: my kids are survivors When they were young, I hated having to run after them when they simply decided to take off while we were at the mall.  Before we get out of the car, I used to tell them that there are so many people (at the mall or the grocery store) and they are simply too small, they might get stepped on by the big people.  They can explore but they must keep close to me if they didn’t feel like holding hands while we stroll. I must always see them and they must always see me.  I told them before hand where we intended to go and what we were going to do.  I showed them the landmarks, the places we frequent. I have never lost a child at the mall except once.  This talking-to I gave my kids is the direct result of having almost lost one kid at the SM Centerpoint mall.

Even when they were already in grade school, I told them to note where the car was parked.  If we get separated and there is an emergency, they would know where we would meet up.  We would meet up by the car.  And I am not an inattentive mother, either.  Groceries and shopping are not as important as the kids.  I can lose the groceries but I can’t lose the kids.  I can replace the groceries but not the kids.

Even in church, when my kids were toddlers, they didn’t roam around.  They sat with us.  They often misbehaved and they got bored but they didn’t roam.  I think this is because we talk to them and enjoy their company so they naturally stick with us.  They grew up in a house with just the four of us.  So when we go out, it’s just the four of us: we are verily like “itinumpok na kamatis” wherever we go.  We sit together, we chat together, we eat together and we often go to the mall bathroom together!

I didn’t have to worry about the kids until Thursday. I have not felt so motherly as I did then. Part of my worry stems from the realization that my children have minds of their own now.  Their ways of thinking, although similar to mine, may not always run parallel to mine.  They have become individuals with their own sets of values.  Their eyes see the world differently from me now.  My perspective may have tinted their view when they were still children, but they are outgrowing me.  My voice is drowned out by other voices now.  They make choices all on their own. And I am afraid they may choose differently as I would.  When that happens our paths may take us far from each other.  Their choices may take them places I wouldn’t go.  That scares me: I want them with me.

With my heart racing and my stomach fluttering, I heat water on the stove so that they can take a shower when they got home.  I had soup on the stove for when they come home because they would be famished.  I turned on the lights in front. Their survival on the road that night might not be within my control, but hot water and soup: those things were still within my control.   When that didn’t calm me down, I did what I usually find myself doing on most days now when the kids come home late.  I get down on my knees and I pray.  I find myself doing this often now. I pray about things I can’t control.

I love my children.  If it were up to me, I would keep them safe in my arms until the day I die.  But as much as I love my kids, I concede there is someone else who loves them more: God.  I had to stop and remind myself that God made them and they are important to Him.  As much as I have plans for them, God has a better plan for them.  My kids are not alone out there.  They have the Holy Spirit residing in their souls.  God is watching over them because He is their Heavenly Father as much as He is my Heavenly Father.  My kids are also my brethren in the faith.  We all worship and serve one and the same God (for now, at least, I think).

I don’t want anything bad to happen to them: I don’t want them sick or injured.  I want them healthy and happy and whole.  But they belong to God, not to me.  God’s ways often take his children down shadowy valleys and treacherous paths.  God does not do this because He is mean, but because He wants His children not only healthy, happy and whole but hardy, tough and mature. I cannot stop the work of God in their lives simply because I want to keep my kids safe.  If God wants to work in them by causing them some amount of pain, disappointment or discomfort, I cannot stop God.  He is Lord and Master of us all.

It hurts to relinquish control. I may be the responsible adult but God knows what He is doing.  I leave my children into His omnipotent omniscient and loving hands.  They are His to do what He wants with them.  I ask that He bring them home to me safe and unscathed.  But if he has other plans, well, I will trust that His plans for them will be the best for them.

In the meantime, I read Isaiah 43: 1-5 and 7. (My own mother taught me to paraphrase Scripture to make it apply to me personally.) “Fear not, Bimbi; for I have redeemed you and your children, I have called you all by name; you are mine.  When your children pass through the murky flood waters, I will be with them; and through the rivers, they will not overflow them; when they walk through the fire, they will not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon them.  For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour;… since they are precious in my sight , you have been honored , and I have loved them; therefore will I give men for them, and people for their life.  Fear not, Bimbi: for I am with them;… even everyone who is called by my name; for I have created them for my glory, I have formed them, yea, I have made them.”

Not very much later, I heard the key turning in the lock.  The kids came home within minutes of each other, flushed with the excitement of their adventure; adrenalized with the feat they had just accomplished: they walked some five kilometers home through a thunderstorm with level-heads and even keels. They braved a flood and used their wits.  They are wet but wiser for the wear.  They seem bigger, more confident. They developed foresight from hindsight; they bring extra slippers, extra shirt and extra baon now.

They were so thankful to be home and warm and dry and safe.  They were actually happy to see us, as much as we were happy to see them.  They were so glad to be home.  I have often told them that whatever happened, if we’ve had a spat, we must all kiss and make up before we part ways for the day so we don’t live with regrets.  Lately, we’ve always been in a rush, we forget to kiss and hug before leaving. I daresay, I haven’t had as tight a hug from them in years as I did on Thursday night.  No awkwardness now, they are not teenagers trying to break-off from parental influence.  They were just young people loving their aging parents and cherishing what time they had with them. I think we all had a common emotional growth spurt on Thursday.  For me, it was another mothering day.