A tribute to my mother on her first year death anniversary

The garden held our laughter that day. Her hand on my shoulder, our eyes meeting — a quiet corner, now a sacred memory.
Holding Hands one last time
It’s been a year.
One year since I last held her hand. One year since our morning ritual, a quiet moment filled with routine and reverence — became our last. One year since we prayed together, not knowing it would be her final breath. I can still feel the warmth of her hand in mine. The stillness of that morning is etched in my heart — a silence that was both sacred and sorrowful.
Losing her felt like losing the ground beneath my feet. But caring for her, being with her in those final days, was the greatest gift I’ve ever received. She allowed us — me, my husband, my children — the blessing of loving her, serving her, and learning from her.
In her quiet way, she showed us what unconditional love looks like. She never raised her voice, not even during storms. She was like bamboo — strong, flexible, rooted. Even in pain, she was calm. Even in uncertainty, she was graceful.
I still miss her terribly. There are days when the longing is sharp, sudden. Other days, it’s a quiet ache that sits in the background of everything. But in the garden, I feel her. In the soft rhythm of prayer, I hear her. In every sunrise, I remember what she believed: that each new day is a gift. In every hymn I sing , I feel her near- as if her voice still lingers beside mine, whispering the words we once sang together.

She Wore Hats Like Crown
My mother had a way of finding joy in the simplest things—and one of them was wearing a hat. Whether it was to keep the sun off during a garden walk or to feel a little bit dressed up, she wore each one like a crown. Just the other day, I saw a beautiful hat in a charity store, and without a second thought, I bought it. It wasn’t until I got home that the wave hit me—she is not here anymore. I suppose, somewhere deep in my heart, I’m still living with the sense that she’s just around the corner, still choosing her hat, still near….

Her Life Was a Hymn
When she passed, she had already prepared her funeral service. She even chose the hymns to be sung. One of them was “How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place.” I remember hearing the words and knowing — this was her heart’s song. It wasn’t just a farewell; it was a homecoming. She is there now in that lovely dwelling place she longed for. Her life was a hymn, not just sung but lived…I made a promise to myself that I would learn to sing it — not just with melody, but with my life.
“How lovely is Thy dwelling place!
Within Thy courts I long to be;
Thy presence, Lord, my spirit craves,
For this my heart cries out to Thee.“……….
She Woke in My Dream And Gave Me A Light
A few nights ago, I dreamt of her. In the dream, I knew this day — her first anniversary — was drawing near. I was preparing to speak at a memorial service and asked the pastor what Bible verse I should read. Before the pastor could answer, she stirred. She woke up, softly called my name, and handed me the Bible. The passage she gave me: Matthew 5:6–16, It begins with:
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled…”
And ends with:
“Let your light shine before others that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven”
That was her life — lived gently but brightly. She never sought attention, yet her light reached so many. She hungered for goodness, extended mercy, kept peace, and always,glorified God. In that dream, I believe she was reminding me: “This is who I was. This is what I pass on to you. “
Even in my dream she was guiding me. Even from beyond , she reminded me to live with meaning to shine with quiet strength, to glorify God with my life. And through that dream she gave me a light not only to remeber her but to carry forward
This blog , like the garden, like the quiet devotion and prayers we shared, began because of her . She loves beauty. She loves creating. She knew the tune of every hymn and the rythm of every season.
And so today,on her first anniversary- I write not just in remembrance, but in gratitude. I write in love. I write to say :
Thank you, Nanang,Nanay to my children, my Mother dearest. For the love. For the lessons. For the life you gave so fully. Even now, your strength carries me. Even now, your peace surrounds me. And through it all — your light still shines.