Remission

I used to have an efficient helper in my household. For more than three years, she took care of my kids and the other stuff at home which I can't meticulously attend to due to my work. When I gave birth to my second child, she was the next biggest blessing that came to me. She was a mom of three and I was confident I can leave my newborn son and my eldest to her care every time I needed to be out of the house.

Where I go, she goes with me and the kids. She bonded with the children like her very own and I never treated her any lesser than a family. I didn't mind giving her a generous pay for someone who can be my good substitute in running the house especially when I know that she's supposed to take care of her own kids but had to leave them for the money.

How she got to me was another story. She run away from her own home and was in custody by my in-laws who kept her from an alcoholic husband who mauled her day and night. She left her two daughters and a son because she couldn't bear the molestations she had to endure for years.

When she was with us, I hardly saw her drop a tear. Maybe she was numb or done with the drama. She was just glad to be fending for her kids and slowly, she started renewing her relationship with her family. She takes time off with us during Christmas and summer breaks. That was the routine for several years until she got pregnant with her fourth child and had no choice but to go home.

My grown-up kids and I made sure we see her whenever we visited the province. She was ok and looked with content raising her kids.

Until last Saturday, I got a call from her eldest who was the brightest of her children and gave me the sad news. Her mother is now in Balintawak and she is also now in Manila. She has turned herself into a domestic helper and gave up her studies. They have fled home because her father is now on remission- back to his old ways and has even worsened- totally alcohol dependent and violent.

In an instant, I offered whatever is best for her-to stay with us and to study. I knew her mother's dreams to educate her so she could get a decent job and avoid the tragedy her mother suffered. By the sound of her voice, I could tell she wasn't ok. I was calming her down but she wasn't listening. She was hurrying up for fear she might be caught using the phone by her strict employer and her words were in a flash.

I'm in a daze thinking about their condition. I don't know why she had to be a maid herself. I don't know why this had to be a vicious cycle for the mother and daughter who try hard to swim out of poverty. Why can't people just be nice and bother really to care for someone else's lives rather than drag others to wallow with them in a grave six feet under which they have yet to perpetually occupy?