My Edaw Is Gone
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Remedios “Edaw” Joven David (Photo courtesy of Nanette Carreon-Ruhter)
We had a very loving relationship, almost sacred. She spoiled me and made no bones about it. My elementary school playmates envied the expensive and novel toys that Edaw brought back from her pleasure trips to Hong Kong and Japan. I flaunted the walking, talking, and crying dolls; perfumed pencils; accordion pencil cases and cartoon-character school bags. My wardrobe was replete with dainty dresses, matching underwear, socks, and shoes. Also, my pocket jingled with extra baon (pocket money) from Grandma’s purse. She had six other grandchildren, who did well to conceal their envy as she openly showed her preference for me.
I recall the times we went to the supermarket. Boy, did she get an icy reprimand from my mother when I once came home with a handful of chocolate bars and bags of assorted sweets! She also watched all the school plays in which I appeared, her face beaming with pride as my teachers congratulated her for my performances.
“Edaw” was the name I gave to my Spanish-bred maternal grandmother because as a two-year-old I was unable to pronounce “Lola Remedios.” It was the appellation everyone of her friends and family had called her since.
My Lola Remedios “Edaw” Joven David had a strong Spanish heritage because she was one of the daughters of Ceferino Joven, who was the first Spanish governor-general of Pampanga.
Lola Edaw in the 1900s (Photo courtesy of Nanette Carreon-Ruhter
Being from Pampanga, the Philippines’ culinary capital, my grandma was known for her culinary genius, especially with Spanish dishes. Fussing over my food caprichos (weaknesses) was almost a vocation for her. She went out of her way to prepare my Spanish and Filipino gastronomical favorites–tapa, tocino, sotanghon, lengua, relleno, callos, sinigang, etc. … I witnessed the delight on her face as she watched me relish the dishes she prepared with love.
This spoiling did not end in my youth. When I was newly married, Edaw regularly had her driver bring over her gourmet meals to our house in New Manila, Quezon City, 30 minutes away from Manila’s district of Ermita, where she lived. She did this almost every day until I developed the same propensión (inclination) for cooking. Edaw taught me how to cook via the telephone, coaching me on which ingredients to mix, garnishes to add, and steps to follow in her signature dishes, until I acquired her “taste” and “touch.” I can now figure out the right flavors by just tasting the dish, as she never used recipes and often improved on blends in this unique way.
This special treatment rubbed off on my children, who were doted on with much love and attention by their great-grandmother.
My husband accepted a new banking assignment, and we relocated to Hong Kong in the fall of 1980. Between that time and December of the following year, Edaw visited us in Hong Kong twice, and later on, we were just phone pals. Nevertheless, our move created a physical distance with which she struggled. As time passed, my mother warned me that she was gradually withdrawing to herself, and into an inner world no one around her was allowed to view or enter. She retreated from her friends, no longer welcomed visits by relatives, and kept to her room more and more. The rest of the family found it hard to handle and accept her loss of purpose in life. Our annual Christmastime reunions in Manila were no longer sufficient for her to savor my affection, nor were they enough for me to enjoy her attention.
Our December 1985 homecoming was a turning point in this affinity with Edaw. From the airport, I rushed to her home, as I did all other years, to give her the characteristic warm and tight hug that attempted to bridge the year’s absence. Startled by her quasi-distant response, I stepped back, stunned, and nervously groped for words,”Edaw, do you … know … who … I … am?” I was aware of her mental lapses, but assured myself: She can’t forget me—her favorite grandchild! Her reply was curt and resentful,” Por qué me haces esas preguntas? Crees que estoy seníl? Pointing to my mother in front of her, defiantly uttered, “Eres su hija!” (Why do you ask me such questions? Do you think I am senile? You—are her daughter!)
I knew then that I had lost her.
Lola Edaw with the author and her son Nacho in Hong Kong circa 1980s (Photo courtesy of Nanette Carreon-Ruhter)
I was shocked by the erosion of old age, pained by her loss of direction, and anguished by the realization that what she had lost was me.
Between that time and the next Christmas, I was more accepting of her choice to succumb to oblivion. However, we shared intimate moments in December 1986. During this time, in her lucid hours, she vividly recounted to me memorable incidents in her youth as if she watched herself on a giant screen. One by one, she filtered them, choosing the painful memories for reasons I couldn’t comprehend to this day. The happy ones were times we shared: our trips to Baguio City and Pampanga, my birthday parties catered by her kitchen, spontaneous trips to Tagaytay City, to have merienda (light repast between meals) at her home and on Tomas Pinpin Street (in Manila’s Chinatown: Binondo) for her favorite pinsec frito (deep-fried dumplings), and Sunday family lunches at her home.
When it was time for me to go, she held on tenaciously to my embrace, like a child pleading with her parent to stay, “Tienes que salir ya? Por favor, iha, no me dejas. Da me tús abrazos. Te amo mucho, Nanette …” (Do you have to leave soon? Please do not leave me behind. Hold me. I love you very much…) she murmured, her voice trailing, as she clutched my hands tightly, a plaintive look plastered over her gaunt face.
In her home, I sat on the cold, empty bed. It struck me only then that I had lost her.
That was the last time I held my Edaw.
Just three weeks after that farewell, I was back in her home. All alone. I had seen the empty corpse earlier, and it did not move me. I felt compelled to go to her house. That night, in her room, I sensed the void, as I slumped on her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. I groped to feel her warmth….and opened her closet to caress her clothes, in the hope that she would come back and somehow allow me to feel her embrace once more.
It struck me only then, that my grandma, my Edaw, was gone. …
The author wishes to thank Dexjordi Lyle Sison for his assistance in the photos.
Nanette Carreon-Ruhter writes from Honolulu. An international educator, she has taught English Literature and Writing in Manila, Hong Kong, Taipei, and Singapore. She enjoys visiting her sons and grandchildren in Shanghai and Philadelphia.
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