The sun has not yet risen in Chicago, but I wake up at the first sounds of life on the wooden floor above my head. I’m 12 years old. I’m sleeping on the overstuffed couch in Lolo and Lola’s (Filipino word for grandparents) living room, perfectly positioned to wake up first of all my siblings. I hear the footsteps move down the hallway and then a little bit of a creek. When I hear the soft thud closer by on the staircase, I silently rise. Lola is quiet and considerate and doesn’t want to wake all the sleeping apo (grandkids).
We are visiting my Lolo and Lola in Chicago, and it’s time for my favorite tradition. When everyone in the family is together, Lola wakes up before the sun to make a breakfast feast. My favorite part is the pancakes. Whoever wakes up first gets the privilege of spending a coveted hour or so with Lola before anyone else wakes. The next few to rise will end up making scrambled eggs or tackling bacon. The menu is usually the same: pancakes, pounds of bacon, and scrambled eggs. Sometimes we throw in a fruit bowl on the side to make Lolo happy and check off the extra-vitamin category.
Lola’s pancakes are dense and full of flavor. Unlike the classic flapjacks you would get at a greasy spoon place, these pancakes are packed with more than water and flour. First, we crack several eggs; then we add whole or 2 percent milk and Bisquick baking mix—finally, some vanilla extract for the last burst of flavor. Then, we mix it to the perfect, thick, and rich consistency. Lola made protein pancakes before it was cool.
As I grew, I always tried to go to bed at a reasonable hour despite movie marathons, trips to lights at the zoo, or large and music-filled extended family parties. I wanted to make this brunch together with Lola, just the two of us.
When I’m eighteen and working in a beach town for the summer, my Mexican coworkers and friends Emmy and Itzy’s madre makes us pancakes, and they are similarly dense and flavor full. Maybe this recipe had a Latin influence from the centuries the Spaniards spent in the Philippines?
In 2013, Lola had recently suffered a stroke, but she rode in a wheelchair to me and my sister’s college graduation. That Christmas, my dear cousin Gigi, my Aunt Tin, and I would often take turns making breakfasts for the clan. They took over all the shopping and preparations for the holiday hosting. That morning time was altered without Lola, but still special. We played the radio or caught up on family news.
In 2015, I was in grad school in Michigan, but the Megabus (so sad they have since gone under!) made a quick trip to Chicago feasible. Lola’s appetite was much decreased as she now fought multiple health issues in addition to lingering effects from the stroke.
Lola still made the trip to Michigan twice to visit me, once for an event and once for my graduation. In the photos, you can see on her face that the trip had been difficult for her. She is still smiling.
In the fall of 2015, after graduation, instead of breakfast, Lola and I would have midday tea. It was often green tea, healthy for Lola’s diabetes. While not my favorite, sugar would remedy the flavor for me. I visited every month, or as often as I could. On one visit, Gigi and I accompanied Lola home from the rehabilitation center in an ambulance, and we all took selfies to lighten the mood.
During my last visit to Chicago, I sensed the changes. Lola was now bedridden in a medical bed in the living room. I tried to think of little things I could do. I moved a beautiful portrait of her and Lolo from upstairs to the mantel above the fireplace, to make her smile. I walked to the nearest grocery store and picked out a bright bouquet to place beside her. As I slept on that overstuffed couch once more, I reached out and held Lola’s hand as she slept. We never drank tea on that visit.
A few weeks later, on a weekday, I was surprised by a call from my Lolo. He was holding back tears. “Cathy, you should come. I think your Lola is ready.” I called work to cancel anything important that day and drove to the bus station, afraid I would not be able to focus while driving my own car. I wish I had sped to the house immediately instead. About two hours away from Chicago, I got the call from Tin. Lola was gone.
The stranger beside me listened and offered a hug as the tears would not stop. We had hit it off talking about Coach and leather quality earlier, and now I was so thankful for the kindness of his understanding.
I’ll never shake the thought of that missed goodbye. The flowers I had given still had lingering color even as they wilted by her bedside, reminding me that I had been there recently. I had been there when I could. While student loan payments and obligations forced me to continue the grind and kept me from being beside Lola in the day-to-day those last months, I did my best.
This October marked 10 years since Lola died. It was the first day of fall break, and guess what was for breakfast? Lola’s pancakes. My six-year-old, Blake, added the chocolate chips for the kids. I added blueberries for me. He’s learning to use the spatula to flip the pancakes in the middle.
In the most beauty from ashes twist, Lola’s death triggered a breakdown that brought me back to my home state and the city of Indianapolis that winter. Then I met my now-husband. We now have two beautiful boys. Lola appears in photos they see or stories they hear. She’s not the one gently instructing beside the stove, but in her recipes, she comes alive again.
I let myself cry over coffee that morning before we started baking. Lola, I’m sorry I didn’t get to hold you as you left this earth. How blessed was I to get to share 25 years of memories on this earth with you? Thank you for sending me so much love from heaven, and please tell God some of your jokes or wry observations with a wink or a single “ha” afterwards. I’ll never forget you.
