papa boy, on father's day

For someone who meant so much
and loved by all he knew
who left behind a trail of tears
and precious memories too

We loved the sunshine in his smile
and kindness in his heart
but heaven saw that he was tired
which meant we had to part

And now that it's his special day
dear angels, hear our prayer
please guard him with your gentle wings
and tend him with great care

For he was someone wonderful
and words just can't convey
how much we wish that he was here
once more, with us today

april's first weekend

travelers and fliers

going around historic intramuros

visit to mike's university of sto. tomas

taking it slow in serendra piazza

summer in singapore

waitin' and laughin' and posin' and bondin'

the four women in mike's life

with the maaaaaaaaaan!

the tourists.. on foot

happy birthday, mama precy

you're celebrating. must so as you turn sixty-nine
still can remember last year.. exactly to the day
you told me you're 68 but still active and sexy
of course i agree.. i'm becoming everyday.. like you!

you've taken up a lot of clubs.. keep you moving 'round
acquaintances to enjoy your leadership.. and laughter
you are always with the kindness that heals..
but with the girlish streak.. and so many stories

it must be a circle.. daughters become mothers..
i used to defy your rules.. now i see the glint in my girls' eyes
yet the one holding the comb gets combed.. sweetly..
oh daughters sometimes mother their mothers too!

may each day you come home.. refresh you
a little house filled with memories of a loving man
and children.. all grown now.. but well-taught..
raised, guided and loved so dearly by you!

happy happy birthday, darling mother!

the name of mendoza

Mendoza

Spanish Origin

Noble surnames, such as Mendoza, evoke images of the ancient homeland of the Spanish people. The original bearer of the name Mendoza, which is a local surname, once lived, held land, or was born in the beautiful region of Spain. The Mendoza family originally lived in the place named Mendoza, which is the province of Alava. This place-name was originally derived from the Basque word mendi, which means mountain and otz, which means cold.

Spelling variations of this family name include: Mendoza, de Mendoza, Mendozo, Mendosa, de Mendosa, Mendoso and many more.

First found in Castile, an important Christian kingdom of medieval Spain.

Some of the first settlers of this family name or some of its variants were: Among the early travellers to the New World was Antonio de Mendoza, the first Viceroy of New Spain (1535). He founded a university and established a printing press. He died in Lima, Peru in 1552. Also of note was Alfonso de Mendoza, who accompanied Hernn Corts to Mexico. He later voyaged to Peru, and in 1548 he founded the city of La Paz, Bolivia. Perhaps the most famous family member to reach the New World was Pedro de Mendoza, courtier to King Carlos V, Knight of the Orders of Alcntara and Santiago. In 1534 he set out for the Ro de la Plata region, where two years later he founded the city of Buenos Aires. At least four other family members held important military or administrative offices during the early years of conquest and discovery. Other early migrants to the New World bearing this surname included Cristbal de Mendoza, who sailed to America in 1511.

Coat of Arms

A red shield with five silver leaves.

the name of pulido

Pulido

Spanish Origin

The Pulido surname comes from the Spanish word "pulido" meaning "polished," "neat" or "handsome;" as such, this surname is thought to have evolved from a nickname.

Spelling variations of this family name include: Pulida, Pulido, Polido and others.

First found in the mountains of Burgos, in Northern Spain. The City of Burgos was the capital of the kingdom of Castile in the 11th century.

Some of the first settlers of this family name or some of its variants were: Francisco Polido, who settled in Guatemala in 1538; Maria Pulida, who arrived in New Spain in 1594; Juan Pulido, who came to Peru in 1565; Alonso Martin Pulido, who came to Ecuador in 1577.

Coat of Arms

A red shield with a gold lion rampant, within a gold border, charged with eight serpent heads.

when the heart is full

January 4 1997
Sunday

It's a Sunday afternoon...
and as the post-Christmas sun blazes outside,
I sit on our bed
and contemplate on how blessed I am...
with my husband sleeping at my left...
and my baby daughter in her crib at my right...
perhaps nothing, almost nothing,
could get better than this.

As they both sleep,
I offer a silent prayer of praise and thanksgiving
to the Lord who made all this possible.

- a little note I found when cleaning out some old boxes

fly, mama fely, fly

“The closest bonds we will ever know are the bonds of grief. The deepest community is one of sorrow.” We are sad, yes indeed. But even in this time of sorrow, my family is grateful. And gratitude is a higher tribute than grief.

We are gathered this beautiful morning for Felicitas Tabil Mendoza. Each one of us is here because somehow, in one way or another, she has touched our lives. And to us her family, she was and will always be a beloved wife, mother and grandmother. We are so proud of her being our mother. And we ask ourselves - How did we get so lucky?

Mom's beginnings were modest. It all started 69 years ago, in a small barrio called Macabayao, Misamis Occidental. Born to Crisanta and Marcos Tabil, she was named Felicitas, meaning happiness in Spanish. My mother belonged to a brood of seven children, and she was the second to the youngest.

Mom and her sisters, Aunt Lising and Aunt Baby, were so very close that they were like triplets of different ages. Sharing everything sisters share and loving each other so completely, their bond remained throughout life and it has never been broken, much more now that they have all passed away.

Papa met my mom in her office, where she worked as the pretty and efficient secretary of a person who would later be one of Cagayan de Oro's mayors. On January 7, forty-two years ago, my mom and dad got married. While growing up and now that I am a married man myself, Mama and Papa showed me a kind of love that is unconditional and the eternal type that poets write about and regular folks hope to attain someday. Once my mom had focused on the family business, she was always where Papa is, and it was a relationship of love, work and fun and supporting each other. It was a joint apostolate for the “Let There Be Light” Community and the God the Father Community for them.

What Mom offered to her family and friends is a love so earnest and unending that absolutely nothing could shake its tenacity or endurance. I know that even if Mom didn't like something that we did, it meant nothing compared to how much she loved us. She was the center of our home, and she was a pillar for her relatives and close friends. The power of that love overcame any kind of adversity, thus letting us know we mattered more than everything and anything else.

I can especially remember my sister Magi and I struggling in our early grades, and Mom helped us with constant patience until we understood Math, English, and eventually everything else; I don't know what I would have done without her quiet and graceful intelligence.

Even during my teens and early 20's life, my friends were always welcome in the house and they knew it. My mother would make us snacks and we'd hang out watching TV, playing basketball, or listening to records. Mom's love for us extended to our friends and then eventually to when in-laws came into the family.

Mom always opened that umbrella of love for them; and Papa Jun, Mama Precy, Hans and Helen were never considered anything but part of the family, and it was well reciprocated. Her love for my wife, Heidi was so seamless and Mom loved her as if she was her own daughter. When we had Annika and Angela, Mom was thrilled to become a grandma, and she cherished that role very much and she doted on Nika and Gela and marveled at everything that they did.

Mom had been sickly, but she was completely unafraid, often radiant with happiness, beaming at all the people she loved. At whatever state her heart was in, she used every last bit of her strength so we could be together and be with her just a bit longer.

There is much more I could talk about Mom, but none of it would be enough to capture her amazing zest for life and immense capacity to love. She was struck with thyroid problem that weakened her heart and she was a diabetic. Increasingly weakened by the disease, Mom never let that stop her from loving us, cooking or overseeing meals for our Sunday lunch and dinner, being a part of the planning sessions for our family business, or giving us that smile when we needed it.

We all know how much pain she endured, but we also are buoyed by the spirit of her love and faith in us despite the odds against her. She was there for us whenever we needed to talk, to get a hug, or to just be together. Whenever we had a problem, Magi and I knew Mom would listen and give us the best advice. Now we feel a great void with her gone, but I know she can still be there for us if we shut our eyes and remember that she is with us always.

Mom, I love you and miss you but your smile is burned into my heart and soul. Papa, Magi, Heidi, your grand daughters, Annika Michelle and Angela Marionne and the rest of your family and friends are all so fortunate to have had you in their lives and your impact on us and the strength of your love will never be forgotten.

The last days with Mom in the hospital taught me so many lessons and made me aware of so many things that to the last moment, I know that Mom is ever there, guiding me. And now, I truly believe that my mom is in a better place free from all her pain and struggles. I wish her peace and happiness until we will all meet again one day.

To all of you, our relatives, friends, acquaintances and partners - Thank you all for your comfort and support, we greatly appreciate it. It truly warms our hearts to know we have each other for Mama.

Mama, go with God. Fly, Mom, fly!

________________________________
Eulogy for Felicitas T. Mendoza
offered by Al Michael T. Mendoza
March 27 2009, Greenhills Memorial Park
Cagayan de Oro City

year-end family holiday

Three smiles.

Three reasons.


Why it has been a very good year.

Photos by This Girl

in papa's memory

papa
it has been seven years..


seven years since we've propped that photo
of 3-year old annika and 2-year old angela
beside your bed so you can look at it from time to time..
you've reached for it before you went to that endless sleep..
you said "i love you" to the girls in the photo..

i was holding your hand
i was sitting down close to the floor..
at your lower left side with my head on the bed
while you slept.. breathing heavily into the tubes..

then you started to become peaceful..
.. slowly you drifted.. softly into silence..

your hand i was holding.. it used to carry me i know..
you used to say you'd let me stand up
when i was still an infant as you hold my two feet..
and i tried to keep my balance..

i guess my life is an endless battle for balance, papa.

when everyone in the room started to panic
i whispered "i love you"

they say the last sense to leave you
as you die is your sense of hearing.
i know you heard me..

your hand started to get cold..
and gingerly i removed the wedding ring that
you were still wearing.
i told mama that i wanted to keep it.
i still have it now..

i had been difficult for you..
during my college years
you used to write me letters
telling me what i did that upset you.

when i was younger than that,
i used to go to your wardrobe
and embraced your smell that comes from the shirts.

i have your nose, you know.
and i guess i have your complexion too.
these past years i guess i'm having your impatience..
and i don't mind becoming a little like you

i grew up trying to make you happy.
i have always wanted to make you proud.
tendencies of first-borns, i guess..
and that challenge of having your family name..

you were the man i wanted to please
when i was a little girl.
and now as a woman,
i'm married to the man i wanted to please the most..

it's not an easy road though,
not very different when i was a teenager
and i would see you watching my moves..

if you are still watching me
i hope i've become a better person..

i guess my life is an endless battle for balance, papa.

time blurs the edges of the moments of our lives..
but it also highlights those we want to keep in our memory..

i may still cry when i remember you..
but those tears are warm and comforting.

this was the sun that was waking up when mike and i
went to offer a holy mass for you this morning.
i guess it's a lovely way to remember you
as you had been my sun..

i love you always

through my daughters' eyes

I was mad earlier today. Instead of using their bathroom, they were in mine. That was fine until they went out forty-five minutes later. All the rolled up clean towels were wet. My sink-side book was wet. Actually, everything was wet - wall cabinets, perfume bottles, everything.

At first instinct, I was mad like any other mom. But at second thought, I paused and laughed like anyone who harbors a pixie in her heart. They were playing of course. And that was fun and I must not deny them that.

I suddenly remembered my Bangkok trip a week ago. After a long time, I found red luscious "makopa" and I made sure I have a bag in the bar in my hotel room. It was a pleasing experience in Thailand munching on the beloved food of my youth while soaking in a warm bath in the tub.

Remembering a few things of that childhood.

Ganging up with other children in the street where we lived, climbing guava trees, staging shadow movies inside the cramped tool cabinet of the family living in the apartment above ours, stealing grapes from another neighbor, humming "Sing a Song" off-key while walking to my school, and running like mad when the geese would come out and chase me.

A water battle is not so bad. Most of all if it is done in one's mother's bathroom.

daughters, or didn't i know

It is a Sunday night and Nika declares she's Group Leader. And she is on the verge of tears.

I promised and promised her but it's not really true. Now everyone in class will call her irresponsible because I haven't really helped finalize the details of her research work. And she's Group Leader.

They will study birds. And she will bring them to the Aviary. Really. It's her idea. And it's only her group that's doing a field research. She informed her group mates her Dad will drive them there. And in the Trooper, not the Sorento. Her mom will prepare the materials. And maybe she'll throw a few hotdogs on sticks too.

The Dad hears none of it. Tears. The Mom has not the time. Tears.

Then it all pours like an avalanche: her classmates do not like her. They push her around and will not listen when she would talk to them. They say she's a noisy disturbance. They bully her around. She is a third grader thrown into a class of fourth, fifth and sixth graders. And she's Group Leader.

There is a lot more. But mothers, who are also secretary generals, graduate students, hopeless dieters, Quadra Pop crazies, struggling cooks, unknown speechwriters and music lovers - they sometimes blot out the talk and the whining.

Then I watch her hunched on the chair. Not the proud first born that I have, but with the look of someone who is already beaten before the race has begun. I cannot let that happen to her.

I wait when the crying stopped a little. Then I go to her and ask her what was needed to be done. Yes I can do this. If I can take battling event sponsors and beat staggering deadlines, then I must do this. Especially this.

We agree. I will prepare the research format. The driver will take her and her group. In the Trooper, not the Revo. There will be snacks. There will be a digital camera. She'll even have sunblock, don't you forget. And I promise to myself that I will talk to her teacher.

She nods. She finally smiles. I ruffle her hair. We move to the family room. I feel something fierce inside me that it seems to fill my heart.

We play Blue Moon in the keyboards together. I play badly, but Nika guides me and waits till I hit the right note. She's Group Leader.