For Mom...

This past winter my mom, Tarcila Nagramada, worked so hard to fight the cancer that returned after 10 years of laying dormant. It started to ravage her brain causing debilitating strokes—the first in October, the second in November, the third and then unknown others took over in December. We all took turns caring for her during her three weeks of hospice—painful doesn’t even begin to express that slice of time that felt like forever. She died on December 18, 2019.

Her memory comes to me and through me at unexpected moments. In her honor, I share these words that I wrote for her and shared with our family and friends at her memorial service. I began with a poem written by Mica Trinidad that I found and placed on the program for the service. My father asked me to read it aloud for her—for him.

Goodnight World

As the sunset-colored sky fades

and the stars sprinkle the heavens,

the moon peaks out to take a look

at the wonderful sight it sees.

It casts a faint light over the earth

as it moves to comfort the dark.

Its glow reflects on the water

and illuminates the streets and cities.

It balances the contrasts it makes

so that there will be no absence of light

and no consuming darkness.

But as dawn arrives,

the moon will disappear into the light

fading into white, gray, then blue.

‘Goodnight world, for it is time.

I sleep every morning to let sun shine.

You’ll see me again when the sun goes down,

I’ll be with the stars

waiting to come out.

-Mica Trinidad

Mom, we will look to the stars and see you shining among them, you with your bright smile.  You have always watched out for us, worried about us, gave us space to make our mistakes and come back to you.  We have so much to be grateful for—that you shaped us into who we are.

Thank you for teaching us what it means to be a dedicated partner.  We saw you rise before the sun to sit with Dad and have coffee together before he headed off to his day of work and you began yours with us.  You reminded us that we had to return home by 5pm so you could be there when Dad got home. You shared hours of driving time whether on your way for the 5-hour trip to Long Beach to cheer on Maxine on the soccer field sidelines or your 4-hour excursions to and from Burney to catch as many trout as you could. Those hours were never wasted because the two of you were together, heading to places you loved.  We marveled at Dad’s willingness to bait and set your line each time you needed it, sacrificing his own fishing time for your pleasure to get your line back in the water….You would get a bite on the line and call out, “Darling!” or “Quint,” and Dad needed to get hopping, drop his pole, and get over there to help you land the fish… And then there was how you tolerated Dad’s too-hot sauce that he poured over the chicken as you together prepared meals for our family gatherings.  Dad made his speciality chicken and worked the grill, and you made the corn and sliced cucumber, perfectly seasoned potatoes for Sebastian and the giant pot of rice for Kai. You were a team in motion, in sync creating meals that gave us time together. So many of us here have had the great gift to play and sit and talk in your well-tended garden while enjoying some of the best meals we’ve ever had.

And that dedication didn’t end with Dad, or us...but it flowed even more to your grandchildren.

Grandma / Oma found so much joy in watching you all do the things you love - athletics, music, reading...her dedication to Dad was only matched by her dedication to all of you, her 7 grandchildren.  She set aside her own work, retired, so she could be available to us to help parent you all. Her dedication to Dad and to all of us was boundless.

Mom, thank you for teaching us to be committed to on-going, steady improvement in all that we do.  You wouldn’t settle for anything but your best in all that you did—from learning a new skill like quilting to continuing to improve your caramel corn, Lincoln log, lumpia, biko, apple crisp, whipping cream scones, or prime-rib roast...the list goes on and on...how to improve ANY of your recipes. You always reflected on how you did and how you might do it differently next time—to preserve what you liked about your work or find a way to make it even better.  At times this was exhausting being your child - thinking we had never done enough or were never finished.  

As a kid I did gymnastics with Thea, and some of our practices were two hours long and a 45-minute drive away.  As a parent now, I find it overwhelming that Mom made that experience possible for me. But San Mateo was where the better gym was to train, the trip across the bridge, 5 times a week, was worth it, and we could carpool with the Perrinos, so Mom didn’t have to do the drive every day. I remember one time I was struggling on the vault. [the leather “wall” that I had to run at full speed toward, hit a spring board, and then hurl my body at, up, and over the “horse”]. That evening, she said to me, “Did you hear your coach?  He said you just need to go for It. Don’t be afraid, just go for it.” Well, I told her how she didn’t understand...etc. Weeks later...she made us each Easter baskets and mine had a comb that said “Go For It” —she was relentless...

So, Mom, overtime, your lessons to keep pushing, to go for it every chance we have, we all came to understand that we are all works in progress and our job in this life is to seek out how to do what we can in the best way we can.  You were tough, Mom, loving and kind...and also tough, your expectations were high and we all strove to meet them. We are all good at what we do because you taught us to do no less.

Thank you, Mom, for teaching us how to cook - because through cooking and creating a table to feed others, we learned how to build community in our lives.  You showed us how to be generous hosts, how to have fun cooking meals for small and large gatherings, how to put in the hard work of preparation in order to enjoy the pleasure of the company of others. We saw how you and Dad opened your doors often for big family gatherings. People were always welcome at your table, in your backyard—you both always had room for more.  

We had a family tradition that the kids got to sit at the chair opposite Dad, at the other end of the table, if it was our birthday.  Mom always sat to Dad’s right, and we all had our assigned seats where we sat during all other meals - Gigi to dad’s left, Emily to mom’s right, me next to Gigi, and the chair at the end, opposite Dad, was usually Robert’s seat.  Well, for our birthday, Robert got bumped and one of the girls got to be there at that seat for the evening. As we got older, she would also ask what we would like for our birthday dinner. I always requested the same thing, beef bone soup with green beans.  And for the years following, she made this soup for me for my birthday—every time knowing to save a bone for me, my favorite part of my favorite soup. And then when my life changed and I didn’t know what to do, Mom and Dad brought this soup to me to help me out of the darkness in the earliest days of being a new mother to Sebastian. She taught us the power of love through the meals we create for others. 

Eventually, she taught me how to make this soup myself, and she taught each of us the secrets of so many other dishes she made so well.  …Now I never learned the secrets to making biko...a specialty of Mom and Dad’s...but I hope Dad will have the patience to teach us in the years to come.

There is so much more to thank you for, Mom—playing music, singing, gardening, paying attention to details, making things ourselves with our own hands, even the importance of finding a good bargain…

But most importantly, we must thank you for shaping us into who we are, for giving so much of yourself to us.  

Just as the poem speaks to the moon slowly fading each morning into the sky, from white, to grey, then blue…

we were alongside you as you entered your next phase—turning from a bright light in our lives to holding your hand as your brightness slowly dimmed.  But know your light lives on in us - in all of us here in different ways, and we can think of you as the stars and moon come out each evening. You are there among them shining brightly, loving us from afar.