While We Were Growing Up, They Were Growing Older

This morning, I learned that one of our longtime neighbors, Tita W, passed away after suffering a heart attack.

I don't know exactly how old she was, but I think she was a little older than my parents. Her family was among the first to settle in our village, back when it was still being developed and there were probably only three to five occupied houses on a block intended to have around forty.

Before we officially moved into our house in 1993, we would occasionally visit to check on its construction. Their family was already settled there, and I remember how Tita W would welcome us into their home, offer us refreshments, and spend time chatting with my mother. Her children, G and C, became our friends, and eventually, we grew up together.

Our mothers were both career women, so they didn't always have the luxury of sitting around and catching up. But during holidays, they would exchange food, and whenever our families crossed paths, there would always be a familiar greeting or a quick conversation.

As for us kids, we had our own little world. G, especially, became very close to us. We spent years growing up in the same neighborhood, sharing the kind of childhood that comes with having friends just a few houses away. Of course, there were occasional misunderstandings and conflicts, too. That's practically included in the package when you have neighbors, isn't it?

But that's the thing about growing up in a neighborhood where everyone knows everyone. You don't just remember the people. You remember the houses, the streets, the holidays, the familiar faces at church, and the little routines that somehow become part of your childhood.

Then, as it always does, life happened.

We grew older, finished school, moved out, got married, and started families of our own. The houses that were once filled with children slowly became quieter as everyone went off to build their own lives.

In 2020, G passed away after suffering a heart attack. By then, his sister C had already moved out, leaving Tita W and Tito B in their family home. Eventually, the house became too big for just the two of them, so they decided to rent it out and move somewhere smaller, somewhere more suitable for the life they now had.

Earlier this year, Tito B passed away from cancer. And this morning, we lost Tita W, too. Just like that, another familiar face from my childhood is gone.

When I heard the news, my mind immediately went back to those early days in the village. I remembered visiting their house before ours was even finished, the refreshments Tita W would offer, and the conversations she had with my mother. I remembered the holidays, the friendships, and all those ordinary encounters that never seemed particularly important at the time.

And then it occurred to me that while I have always remembered those years as part of our childhood, they were also part of our parents' lives.

We weren't the only ones growing older.

While we were busy becoming teenagers, adults, spouses, and parents ourselves, our parents were growing older right alongside us. We just didn't notice it as much because, in our minds, they somehow remained the same people who raised us.

The mothers who prepared meals, the fathers who went to work, the parents who worried about our grades, our whereabouts, and whether we'd eaten. The people who always seemed to know what to do, even when we had absolutely no idea what we were doing. Somehow, we grew up thinking they would always be there.

I lost my mother in 2011, so I know better than to assume that. And yet, even after experiencing that kind of loss, I still catch myself thinking of the older generation as though time moves differently for them.

Thankfully, we still have our father. But the older I get, the more conscious I become of how quickly the years are passing, especially when another familiar name from my childhood becomes someone we can only talk about in the past tense.

G's wife said Tita W had been fine one minute, and the next, they were rushing her to the emergency room. That's how quickly an ordinary day can become one that changes everything.

And I suppose that's what I want to remind people of, especially those of us who are now adults with families, responsibilities, careers, and schedules of our own.

Spend time with your parents while you still can. Be good to them, especially if they've spent most of their lives doing their best to be good to you. I know not everyone has a loving relationship with their parents, and not every family story is a happy one. But for those of us fortunate enough to have parents who loved us, worked hard for us, and made sacrifices we probably didn't fully appreciate growing up, perhaps we can make a little more effort to show them that we remember.

And no, it doesn't have to involve expensive gifts, fancy restaurants, or grand gestures that require three months of financial recovery.

Sometimes, it's a simple lunch together. A coffee date. An afternoon visit without constantly checking your phone. A random call to ask how they're doing, even when you don't need anything.

I think parents, especially those whose children have already moved out, appreciate these little things more than they let on. They probably won't tell you how much they look forward to your visits or how happy they are when you make time for them. Sometimes they'll just ask whether you've eaten and insist you take home enough food to feed a small barangay. And maybe that's their way of telling us they miss us.

This morning's news reminded me of a family who welcomed ours into a neighborhood that was still finding its shape more than thirty years ago. Back then, I only saw a house full of people who would become part of my childhood.

Today, I find myself remembering the people who made that house a home, and realizing how many of them are no longer here. We spend so much of our younger years looking forward to growing up that we sometimes forget what growing up also means.

Our parents are growing older, too. And unlike the childhood we keep revisiting in our memories, the time we still have with them isn't something we can go back to once it's gone.