Myla Katzav

If you blind fold me and let a number of women pass close to me and one of them is my mother, I would instantly know her.  As a child, when she would go on a trip to Manila, my father would find me inside my mother's closet, smelling her clothes.  And I would be comforted because in there, I feel like I am still engulfed in her embrace.  Oh it was heaven! My earliest recollection of how clingy I was to her were my daily morning routine of going up on the roof of our white volkswagen that has an electric fan instead of an AC installed, holding the edges tightly in the hopes that when she rides it, I will still be there close to her.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t such a successful habit because as I always find myself up there, our helper would always take me down in a jiffy.  So, all my tears and my energy were wasted and yet everyday, I found myself doing it….never gave up. I was 4 years old. 

When we moved to Manila, I recall crying on the way to my mom's office either in a jeepney or crossing the road…I cried and cried and the only time I stopped was when I would see her. 

As a child, my mother was everything to me. I adored her.  Every night, she came first in my prayers. When she was late to come home from work, I cant sleep and waited for her and prayed very hard for God to send my angels to make sure she was safe and protected. And He never failed me. 

When I was a little older and can commute, I prefered waiting for her in her office no matter what time she finished just to make sure she has someone to accompany her back home.  I felt I couldn’t take any risk of not being there for her.  So while she was busy with her transactions, I just sat on the couch and watched her….and I felt at peace.

Even now, she still belongs at the top of my prayers and I always think about her every second of my days.  I miss my mother so much and one of the treats of the week is having to call her and talk to her until we run out of topic.