Mommy, it’s been over two weeks since you passed away, and my heart has been broken over missing you since then. You, Mommy, were the matriarch of our family, the leader of our clan, the woman who paved the way for four generations of Abayas. I reflect on your life in absolute awe—you are my greatest hero. Your devotion to your faith, your loved ones, and to yourself is the reason I hope to accomplish what you have—the best kind of life well lived, the proof of which overflows from the love that runs thick and deep and true though our bloodlines. I have you to thank for every joke that made me laugh, every conversation that touched my heart, and every piece of advice that soothed my soul from the many people that are in this world because of you—my Mama, my Titas and Uncle, my cousins, and my daughter. 

I feel so lucky that circumstances brought me to the Bay Area to be with you for the last four years, to spend time together, to hear your stories, to feel your hugs. Most of all, I cherish the time Raye had with you. While it devastates me that she may not remember you one day, I am also so happy to have witnessed the bond you shared with her, a gift I wouldn’t trade for anything. 

How could I ever find the words to thank you for everything you’ve given me? An impossible feat, as impossible as it is to forget you. 

Your spirit lives on even in the simplest of things: cans of Coke with pizza, hamburgers, and sandwiches; freshly painted mauve manicures; a well worn rosary; hair rollers and muumuus; any artistic depiction of the Last Supper; cross-stitch canvases and diamond paintings—these and so many other things are steeped in my remembrance of you, Mommy. 

Like the diamond ring you recently gifted me from your jewelry collection, I will hold you tightly, fondly, and longingly, in my heart, forever.

Some people teach with textbooks—Mommy Naty taught with her presence, her prayers, and her love.

When I think about her now, I think about how much she taught me—not just with words, but with how she lived. She was a teacher in many ways, and at one point even worked as one back in the Philippines. But outside of any classroom, her most powerful lessons came through her spirit. 

Through her strength. 

Through the way she showed up for the people she loved.

Looking back, there are three lessons she taught me that I carry with me every day.

The first … be good to yourself.

Mommy Naty believed in choosing yourself—not selfishly, but wisely. She would always tell me to make sure I had savings, to prepare for what could happen, to take care of myself and my future. And when it came to relationships? She didn’t play. She would say, “Make sure the person courts you. Don’t just give yourself to anyone.” She knew.

There was one moment I’ll never forget. I had just come out of a really difficult relationship in my 20s—one that had left me drained and unsure. I hadn’t really told anyone about it yet. Not even my cousins… who, let’s be real, always find out first. But Mommy came up to me, at the perfect time after a family gathering, and said, “I’ve been praying for you. I prayed that God would open your eyes, in whatever way He needed to, so you could see the truth—and remember what you truly deserve.”

She just knew. She always knew.

She taught me that being good to yourself means honoring your worth, even when it’s hard. BUT Especially when it’s hard.

The second lesson … be great.

Mommy didn’t just walk into a room—she owned it. With no effort, all eyes would turn to her. Something even one of my best friends noted to me.  It wasn’t just how she looked, though she always carried herself with elegance. It was her energy. Her confidence. Her fearlessness. Her love for life—and for us.

She also wasn’t afraid to make you uncomfortable. In fact, I think she enjoyed it a little. Mommy always told it how it was. She would say something brutally honest, and then we’d all laugh and say, “Well, that’s Mommy for you.” She didn’t sugarcoat the truth—she handed it to you raw, real, and out of love.

And now I know why: because she wanted me to grow. She wanted all of us to live up to the greatness she saw in us. She pushed us, challenged us, and believed in us—because she knew we could handle it. Mommy didn’t settle for less, and she didn’t want us to either.

She taught me that greatness isn’t just something you chase—it’s something you choose, every day.

The third lesson and honestly, my favorite one ... because it is part of her that I see in myself. Family is everything. Mommy made me love family.

She turned even the smallest things into full-on celebrations. TV show premieres? A party. A movie night? Let’s all go!! Birthdays? Huge production with anything we wanted!!!! Halloween costumes? Basically a full runway moment. We even celebrated COVID anniversaries—because why not? That was us.  That was our normal. Mommy instilled in us this deep sense that everything was worth honoring if it meant being together. And the truth is, we only had that idea—we only knew how to celebrate like that—because of the family she created.

But then there was her birthday—which also happened to fall on December 25th. But in our world, it wasn’t that her birthday was on Christmas ... it was that Christmas was on her birthday. That was the real holiday. The iconic climax of every year.

She created memories for us. She made sure we stayed connected, laughed together, and never forgot what really mattered. Mommy didn’t just have a family—she built one. And she kept it together with her love, her traditions, her joy, and her presence.

She reminded me that no matter what happens in life, your people are everything.

Mommy Naty didn’t just live a life—she lived a lesson. Three.

She taught me to be good to myself—to never forget my worth.
She taught me to be great—to walk boldly and speak truthfully.
And she taught me that family is everything—that life is meant to be celebrated together.

These lessons weren’t written in books. They were lived in the way she looked at you, the way she prayed for you, the way she pulled you aside to tell you the truth even when it stung a little. She taught through love. Through presence. Through faith.

So today, I carry her with me. In the way I show up for myself. In the way I dress, In the way I spend time with my loved ones, In the way I try to stand tall. And in the way I love the people around me.

I miss you already, Mommy. But your voice, your truth, your laughter, and your love—those are still with me. They always will be.

Salamat, Mommy Naty. I love you forever.

Born on Christmas Day, my grandma is the most radiant person I’ve ever been blessed to know, a gift from god.

I’ll always remember how Mommy would say she is god’s favorite, I never once doubted it, I knew it was true. But it terrified me as well, because I knew one day God would want my grandma, his beloved favorite, back. And it is the same fact that now comforts me because I know that as god’s favorite, she is in good hands.

I can only say that I feel so blessed and grateful for the beautiful time we had together.

I can’t recall specific conversations but I will never forget how she made me feel after every interaction, whether we were together or far apart and still to this day. She has shown me the greatest of loves, love that is unconditional, never judging, and never asking for anything in return. The kind that makes you wonder what you did to deserve it. 

She had a big heart, with an endless amount of love, with a designated space for every single loved one. Even on her last day at the hospital she seemed to be more concerned for her family than she was for herself saying “what day is it, shouldn’t you all be at work, why aren’t you at work? Or have you all eaten yet?” And even at times when she was out of breath she would make every effort to respond to every single one of our “I love yous” and there were many. It was not uncommon for the hospital staff to comment on the number of people crammed into the room, way over the limit, all just trying to be in the same breathing space as mommy, one person lying at her feet, another holding her left hand another holding her right, others leaning by her head, any attempt to hold a piece of her. All a testament to how loved mommy was and to the kind of person she was, a safe haven. 

When I was little and had growing pains she would put thick warm socks on me and massage my feet the whole night until I fell asleep. Just simply knowing she was with me for every second of the pain was its own cure. 

I remember when we would workout to Richard Simmons “Sweatin’ to the oldies” in our pajamas in the living room and when we would watch hours and hours (240 hours to be exact) of the Filipino soap opera Pangako Sayo together, with her patiently translating for me line for line word for word of a soap opera she had already seen in its entirety but would watch all over again just for me. I loved hearing her voice in parallel to the tv and because of her and her alone I have a solid understanding of a language I once thought I was too old to ever learn. 

She was there for my birth, my baptism, communion, was my sponsor for my confirmation. She was there for every soccer game, recital, graduation.  

She was there for it all without question. 

I’ll miss her scolding me to not go home too late. I will miss the way she enjoyed an ice cold Coca Cola and was thrilled by action movies she would squirm or yelp in scenes and ask for spoilers when the suspense was too much. I’ll miss how she would whisper over my shoulder as I’m about to make a move in mahjong, because she always knows there is a better one. 

She is embedded in my life to the point where I see her everywhere. I see her walking down Valleyfair mall excited to try the samples at the food court. I see her sitting in her favorite seat for Sunday mass with perfect posture, her purse saving seats for her grandchildren who were always a few min behind schedule, I see her swaying in a party crowd, it never took too much to get her on the dance floor, jumping right in with her little side steps and hip sways. 

Mommy is a light who continues to shine through all the beautiful memories and moments she has graced us with. And may we keep her in our memory forever. I will take her with me everyday, inspired by her dedication to her family and God and look forward to when we meet again.

Mommy, buong buhay ko minahal kita at mamahalin kita.

Hello, I’m Sam—I’m one of Mommy’s granddaughters and the daughter of Yvonne and Bobby.

How do I begin to describe my first best friend, or speak on the impact and bond that I shared with Mommy.

Graceful, dainty, beautiful, sassy, loving, and strong. An icon. You enjoyed life and all the little things life has to offer. I remember the early days and years that you lived with us. I remember sleeping between you and Daddy when I was little. You told me I would cry for you when my parents wanted me to sleep with them for a night. My papa thinks you secretly loved those tears I’d shed for you.

I remember some of the times I was a little brat to you—when I would go to the bathroom and sit on the toilet, pouting and waiting for you to apologize to me—what that little Sammy felt she needed an apology for is beyond me. Probably didn’t even need an apology. But I remember I would tell you after you’d say sorry—“You don’t mean it, Say it like you mean it.” You remembered this also, and we would laugh about it in my older years. Thank you for loving me.

I remember our milk races at night when everyone went to sleep. Every night we raced with a glass of milk. It was a smart way to get me to drink my milk so I could grow tall and strong. Thank you for making it an enjoyable and nightly activity we shared.

I remember when you moved to Spokane, Washington, with Daddy. And into the house that you adored. Perfectly-sized. You loved small and neat houses, those were the ones that caught your eye. You were simple, Mommy, you didn’t need much. I remember sending you letters when you lived over there, and I included in one of those letters cash and my used-chapstick. You didn’t need either, but I just loved caring for you. This was also during the time that I started my nightly calls to you to say “Goodnight”. I remember the “guess-the-hand-game” my sisters and I played with you. We’d close your eyes and have you guess whose hand is whose by taking turns placing each of our hands into yours. You always guessed our hands correctly, and each time I gave you my hand, you would say, “Samantha, so rough.” Thank you for remembering the feel of each of our hands.

When you came back from Washington, we were SO lucky to live 5 minutes away from you. From here, you were present at EVERYTHING— Middle School Choir performances, high school soccer games, college move-ins, commencement, and all the moments in between. You taught me the value of skincare, fashion, saving, organization, not to worry, how to treat others, to stand tall, the value of relationships, and an ardent faith. You made me feel safe, that I didn’t have to carry all my worries or fears alone, you would pray for me and all of us. I imagine those prayers took hourssss—because you prayed for Every. Single. One of us. You never made someone feel small; you may not have agreed with others’ actions or choices at times, but you weren’t one to speak ill of anyone. You were everyone’s confidante and secret keeper. You loved unconditionally. You made everything feel like it was going to be all right. Thank you for showing me what unconditional love looks and feels like.

Dollar store, Ally express: I was always so impressed with how, once you mastered something, you were capable of doing it independently. You would order online or go to the store for things to add to your home to make things more convenient. I remember you had these soda can reusable caps to preserve your Coke if you didn’t finish it, or those stickies to hold your Christmas light-ups at your front windows. I can still imagine your hands and the smoothness of the way your jawline felt, or the way the lines at the bridge of your nose would crinkle when you’d laugh. You are so easy to love.

You were the one I’d be near at parties or when the family comes together, or simply eating out—it was an unspoken rule that I would get a spot beside you at the movies.

Water your plants, sweep your floor: I remember getting frustrated at this, and I’d say to you, Mommy, “Why don’t you ask anyone else when they visit, it’sokay to ask others,”—And you said “No, just you. They won’t do it like you.” I was always willing to do it but I just wanted to spend more time with you during those moments.

The afternoon before you passed, I said to you, “Mommy, what do I have of yours—your cheekbones? Your jawline?” You shook your head, No. And then I said, “How about your heart?” You nodded yes.

I will remember you always and think of you often, Mommy. How can one not when you've left such an impact on one's life? When I see all your favorites, I will think of you. When I wear the articles of clothing, shoes, purses, or jewelry you bestowed upon me, I’ll think of you. When I’m losing my patience, I will think of you. When I use your bathroom or when I’m cleaning, I will think of you. When I have major life events or milestones, I’ll think of you. When I go to church on Sundays, I’ll think of you. When I eat steamed custard buns, I’ll think of you. You used to love going to Newark buffet (mostly for Daddy), and you would bring me back 3 custard buns wrapped in a napkin that you’d stuff in your purse because you knew I liked it that much. I’ll also miss that text or call from you to invite us to join you for lunch.

And in all my proudest and lowest moments, I will think of you and pray to you. I’m sure this grief will linger for a while and continue to come in strong waves for all of us over time and there will be days that will feel harder, but to know you are watching over all of us and that we will forever hold you in our hearts and strive to embody you in different ways is comforting and makes me feel proud. Please continue to send all of us signs and visit us in our dreams, any resemblance or sign of you to help us feel that you’re always near. May we hold onto these memories, and play them like music on a turntable. I cherish all the time I had with you on this Earth, and while it’ll never be enough, I am so blessed to have been able to spend 29 years with you as my beloved Mommy. Always a call or drive away. Thank you for showing me how deeply I can love. And thank you for the greatest blessing of being of my grandmother.

Love always, Sam

My grandma was actively part of my entire life, so I have a lifetime of memories and fond moments that I hold so dear to my heart. 

She was there from the start—by my mom’s side the day I was born and lived with my family until I was about 7 years old. Always in a cozy muumuu, oversized eye glasses, curlers in her hair, and wearing the biggest smile as she watched my siblings and I run around the house.

Although she moved away to Spokane for a couple of years, she missed us so much that she moved back to Union City—just under a 5 minute drive away. 

As I grew older, she continued to be one of my biggest supporters and she was there for every milestone and accomplishment. From soccer games, to performances, to graduations, to birthdays, she made sure to be at them all as much as she could. She loved parties so she was present at every single one. 

She spent weekends with us trying new restaurants, going to the movies, and playing mahjong in our living room. I’ll never forget how happy I would get when I’d show her my winning hand and tell her what my “waiting” was. She’d give me the nod of approval while being proud of the both of us, knowing that she had trained me well. 

I learned many things from my grandma. She taught me what resilience and strength is, especially in the last year alone. Taught me how to love with my whole heart, but to not be naive. Taught me the importance of being independent, but that’s it’s also okay to ask for help from those around you. Taught me what unwavering faith looks like, reminding me that God will always provide. Taught me which Saint to pray to for every circumstance (it was commonly Saint Anthony since we always seemed to lose our things). But most of all, she taught me how truly special, strong, and limitless a grandmother’s love is. I’m eternally grateful for all the ways in which she has touched my heart forever. 

Every day I think about how lucky and blessed I am to have had her for as long as I did. On her final day, she was smiling up until the very end—surrounded by overflowing love and by the family that she created. 

I’ll think of her every day and every hour for the rest of my life. And every time I think of her, I’ll smile because I know she’s smiling down at me from heaven. 

From Mommy’s special 12th grandchild, Issy (or Isi as she often calls me)—daughter of Cyndy (Mommy’s only ex-daughter-in-law) and Peter (Mommy’s son-in-law). Mommy never made me feel like I wasn’t one of her own, not even for a second.

Including me, Mommy has 12 grandkids. Every time I saw her, she would say, “I pray for you, and everyone, every night.” Her prayers are the strongest!

I didn’t want to tell anyone I lost my job a few years ago, but I ended up sharing, and I think it’s because of her prayers that I somehow landed my next role. Then it happened again—I lost my job. But I kept saying, "I have a feeling this next role is just gonna land in my lap." Sure enough, it really did, like miraculously! The next time I saw Mommy at one of our family parties, I sat with her and we held hands. She asked me, "Did you get a job yet? I’ve been praying for you." I said, "Yes Mommy, I did! It just landed in my lap. Your prayers are so strong! Thank you for always praying for me!" Then we sat on the couch a bit longer and she said, "Okay we have to thank God now." We kept holding hands as she said a prayer thanking God. I just know in my heart that Mommy waited until all of her grandkids were ok before moving on.

Before I got up, she said, "You need to come by the house, I have shoes for you." And how special it is that I’m the only one of her grandkids who can fit them ;)

Love you so much, Mommy! So happy you're at peace living your best spiritual life in heaven—God’s favorite, and ours.

I love you, Mommy.

You’re now in Jesus’ kingdom, watching over us.

I miss spending time with you.

You loved Coke, Gen potato, Korean Sister’s House, sushi, and the movie theaters.

I love you, Mommy .