The Rookie Mama

And here is the other half of my father's eulogy, written by my big brother. Some may know that before we closed Dad's casket, I put my graduation ring from Western University in with him. What is less known is that my brother's first Tae Kwon Do black belt, embroidered with Gary Ramon Aguto, also went to rest with Dad... - - -  Some of you know him as Ray, Ramon, Uncle Ramon, Mr. Aguto, Master Aguto, or Lolo. I had the honour of knowing him as Dad.  As you all know, my dad battled cancer. He fought hard. And boy, did he fight. He fought to the end and never complained. He never turned his back to the Lord. The strength in my faith comes from my dad. He never once renounced the Lord or questioned His will. Even after seeing our #fcancer hashtags on our posts, he told us to not say that anymore. He said “God gave me cancer and God has the power to take it away. So, from now on change the hashtag to #faithovercancer.” I’ll miss him playing the guitar and singing.

For those who could not be there, I post my half of our father's eulogy in its entirety... Far in the north of the Philippines, on a tiny island rarely found on any map, a group of pregnant women were stricken by a disease. All but two lost their babies. One of those two was my Lola – and thus, my father was born as he would live: as a simple island boy against unimaginable adversity. My parents left The Philippines to search for a better, safer life. My dad arrived in Canada on a Friday and began working the following Monday, spending 26 years at Kaufman Footwear. When the factory closed, he moved on to Schneiders until 2010 when my parents jointly retired. Then Mom and Dad started to build their dream: a house above the beaches of Sayed, Batanes - a place they could spend the cold Canadian winters, but more importantly, a home they could share with their children and grandchildren. It was to be their legacy. The walls went up, the red metal roof to represent Canada w

71 years. It seems like a lot, doesn't it? And it is. But it's also not.  Because time can play tricks on you.  You see that it's Frosh Week for the universities, and you realize it's been FIFTEEN years since you experienced that wild, nerve-wracking week. You have a newborn and although the days and sleepless nights feel like an eternity, suddenly a year is gone in a flash. How can time feel short and long at the same time? How can 71 years seem like a lifetime and yet not nearly long enough? Over seven decades ago, on a remote island in the northern Philippines, a sickness took root in a vulnerable population: women who were pregnant. Most of them, sadly, lost their babies. My grandmother, however, did not. And thus, my father was born.  Fast forward 70 years and 3 days, and my little koala celebrated his birth day. Naturally, we envisioned a grand festive occasion for the birthdays of my son and my father - music, food, drinks, and cake. Smiles, stories, laug

It has been a long time since my last entry, and for the very simple reason that life happens - until it doesn't. And health is there until it is not. My father, the much-beloved patriarch of our family, was recently diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Our rock. Our Superman. Our living example of faith, family, and hard work. Suddenly, with one fateful sentence, everything we knew was flipped completely upside down and all our priorities changed. We learned about many scary terms. We thought many scary thoughts. And we cried ourselves to sleep, dreaming many scary dreams. After weeks and weeks in hospital, my father is back home with a road full of treatment and tests in front of him. And that road, it seems, may be shorter than we hoped. Me and my Dad at Sick Kids in the 80s But he is still here.  He's some 40 lbs lighter and 2 drain tubes heavier, but he is here. The movements may be slower but the mind is clear and the will is strong. And our family is ral

Sleep.  Is that how you spell it? It's been so long, I've forgotten what it looks like. My days consist of giggling and cooing to a sweet little babe. My nights, however, are more about glaring at a baby monitor and muttering unrepeatables at the screen. This being our second time around the track, the hub and I knew that the early months would be defined by survival - do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe, sane and reasonably healthy. For me, that meant forging a butt groove in the corner of our sectional, and watching Netflix in the wee hours of the morning while my curly-haired newborn slept soundly on my torso.  The months went on.  Eventually, we graduated from that ridiculous setup, to sleeping in a play yard in our room, and then to a crib in his. The transitions went okay, but his quality of sleep was garbage: nursing to sleep, waking every few hours, crying for comfort or cuddles or just for the fun of it. We forgave it for awhile, blaming sleep regr

You were premature by 5 weeks and 1 day. You run on your own time. You were breech after being head down for weeks. You change as the mood strikes you. You kicked off the blankets whenever you were out of the incubator. You run hot, just like your mama, and you already wanted to be like Queen Elsa. You didn't cry through all the heel pricks and IV lines. You are brave and so very strong. You stayed in NICU to learn how to eat, and after 10 days finally got the NG tube removed. You are a perfectionist. With a big appetite. You didn't walk till well past a year old. You are perhaps a little bit stubborn. Also like your mama. You were early to speak and asked a ton of questions. You have a brilliant, inquisitive mind. You love pink, sparkles, rainbows, and music. Also Batgirl. You are your own person. You were uncertain about having a brother, but are doting, loving and gentle with him. You are a wonderful big sister. Y