The Year that Almost Brought Everybody Down

  

 Many are too glad that the year 2020 is gone. Why not? It brought the economy down taking with it many households.  Hard hit were those hand-to-mouth families who depended their day's existence on their daily earnings.  Many businesses have been affected as a result of the government's lockdown policy to stop the spread of the pandemic that is affecting the entire world.  Everybody had to learn how to start working at home, schools have been closed for almost a year and it seems like studying off campus phenomenon shall continue for the last half of the school year.  

The year that was started with a bang!  I was in Tagaytay on January 11, 2020 for a plein-air session with my watercolor group as we celebrated a post- Christmas party. We were all in jubilee as we painted the scenery not knowing that it would be the last time Taal would be seen that way.  It exploded the following day as it spewed ash to as high as 14 kilometers or so.  People from villages affected by the explosion were evacuated by the thousands.  Massive ash fall dropped from the sky affecting nearby regions including Manila which is almost a 100 kilometers away.  Everybody was advised to wear face masks to prevent from breathing those toxic fumes.  Unbeknownst to everybody, wearing masks shall be a standard protection together with a face shield to ward off the intrusion of what is now called Covid-19, a  deadly  virus that affects the whole world.

My family has not been spared by the tragedies brought about by the year 2020.  On May 3, my only brother, Reynaldo, was cooking chicharon when he accidentally dropped the pot of scalding hot oil on his legs.  He was immediately given an ointment by my nephew, Dr. Manny Glorioso, with instructions never to touch the blisters. I have not personally seen how bad it was for I was locked up in the house like everybody else.  A few days later, I was told that the blisters turned into a nasty wound as it exploded while he was taking a bath.  One day, he was going down the stairs when, probably because of weakness brought about by the wound, he fell down the stairs. He must've slightly hit his head which turned out to be fatal as the x-ray showed that there was blood clotting in his head.  I say again, he slightly hit his head but considering his age, it was fatal. Two days in the hospital and he unceremoniously passed away.  He was ordered to be cremated the following day as he was proclaimed to be a Person under Investigation, but the test results for Covid was still to come after several months.  This is the part which hurt me most.  He had cancer and he knew he would die and was foreseeing himself being survived at a wake in our house should the time of his death arrived.  He had many friends and he wanted  to be  with them for the last time.  It never materialized.  When we got him from the hospital, all we did was pay the for the expenses and immediately ordered to have the body removed as they did not have a space to store my brother  in.  He was cremated with nobody in attendance. The urn that contained his ashes were put was picked up by my nephews and brought home the following day.  He was seventy-seven. 

Almost three months have passed when we received news that my Ate Becky was throwing up blood and her stool also showed blood  since Saturday.  We were having lunch on July 27 when we received the news.. A few minutes later, they called us again saying my sister is gone. I cannot believe it! I told Nitz, my wife, not to believe it until it was confirmed by her son. I called him and he said it was true.  This was all too sudden.  Nobody knew she was ill.  All they can tell me is that my sister was suffering from ulcer.  When my doctor nephew asked how my sister behaved that day, they told him that my sister did not know what to do. She would lie down, stand up, walked, sit down and lie down again while writhing  in pain.  Dr. Manny said it couldn't be ulcer anymore as she could not have managed to stand and much more walk to and fro if it were ulcer.  He suspected that her ulcer erupted and the acid went directly to her pancreas which was really deadly.  True enough, when the  coroner arrived, she was declared dead by, I forgot the term, but something like peptic ulcer.  As my sister has died inside the house, she was not suspected to have Covid and so we were able to have a three day wake for her before she was finally brought to the crematorium to be cremated. 

To this day, I could not believe that two of my siblings passed away in the same year with only less than three months apart.  Now, there is only the eldest, Linda, which is eighty three years old and myself, the youngest, who are still alive.  Hopefully, we still get to enjoy my sister's company for a longer period of time. 

On the night of November 25, I was getting ready for dinner when Nitz's phone rang! She was in the kitchen cooking so I looked at the phone to check who it was.  It was my daughter, Kim. I picked it up and answered and to my surprise, she was crying intensely.  The thing that came to my mind was that she got into a fight with her husband.  I calmly asked her what happened and in between sobs, she said that her Tita Angie, Nitz' youngest sister who lived in Saipan,  was gone! I was on speaker phone and Nitz heard the news and began to cry!  It turned out that she had a massive heart attack.  Bhiya, Kuya Ben's sister lived with her in Saipan narrated that Angie went home ahead of her and that she had several grocery bags with her.  As they lived at the third floor of the building, Bhiya told her not to take the groceries to the house, leave it on the floor, wait for her so that they could bring them up together. Angie did not take heed.  She brought them up just the same as they were not there when Bhiya arrived. So she went upstairs only to be greeted by Angie sprawled on the floor.  She probably just had a bath as she had here towel with her.  She was already gone.  The paramedics of 9-11 could no longer revive her. 

She was very fond of my grandson, Kauai! She would call Kim practically everyday to see Kauai, talk to him and always be amused by his antics.  She would also send money to Nitz saying we can only battle the pandemic by eating good food. So every time she  received  money, she would send us some dollars much to enjoyment of Nitz.  She would distribute this money to her other siblings so that they can share with the blessings unselfishly given by Angie.  This happened more this year like as if Angie had a premonition that she was going away for good.  Her remains were brought home and we managed to have a wake for her at a chapel and had  her buried at the Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina.  

So, there! These were the tragedies that my family experienced during the pandemic.  And their deaths were not even brought about by the dreaded disease. 

The only consolation I have with 2020 is that this is the year that I have been constantly selling my artworks.  Thanks to a gallery, The Good Art gallery, my paintings have been selling for a good price plus I have been receiving good commissions lately.  If this continues, I may establish my name as an artist and would continue to at least have an income in spite of having retired from the workforce.  Hopefully it will be smooth sailing this year and the years to come.  

So, in spite of all the negativity of the past year, from my family to yours, here's wishing you all a safe, healthy, covid-free but a very very happy, productive year ahead!

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Dios ti kumuyog. Agyamanak, Trining!

Beauty is useless but character is the best

Trinidad Ancheta Toto

When my mother-in-law’s age hit the 80’s mark, there had been a sudden influx of witticisms or sayings and a number of songs or jingles that she began to blurt out of nowhere.   I can only guess these were adages or songs learned from her youth, probably from her Filipino elders during the American period, as these were all in English.  I do not recall exactly when it started but we just started hearing her recite these phrases or sing these songs that we never heard before. 

Everyday, everyday, brush your teeth the proper way

Toothbrush it, toothbrush it, brush your teeth we say

Soon enough, these were caught by my children and they would either be reciting or singing these to her when her Alzheimer’s began to worsen.  She would catch the phrase or song and she would join them and  finish the sentence or the song by her lonesome much to everybody’s delight… until ten years later when she can no longer remember them and all she would do was to stare at us and wonder. 

It is believed that nobody is pure and that everybody has a skeleton kept inside his or her closet.  There is also a saying that there is an exception to every rule.  If both could be considered as true, I guess my mother-in-law shall fit the bill .  She hid nothing from anyone and she was true through and through.  I don’t think she has any secret tucked inside the recesses of her brain.  In her later years, she just sat quietly at the table, fixing her gaze at her dolls, feeding them,kissing and talking to them just like she did with her grandchildren.  Old habits do not die! It was  just like when she was stopped from feeding solid food, she would go through the motions of picking up food with her fingers and slowly bringing these to her mouth, feeding on air.  

One time, one dinner, during her more lucid days,  I asked her jokingly, Mamang, what would you do if there will be an American suitor interested in you.  Her reply brought us crying on the floor with laughter.  I will tell him I am not a virgin anymore, was her reply.  Amidst the guffaws, I just realized to this date that the response has a lot of historical significance.  (1) She grew up in a time when virginity was of prime importance…that it would be the best gift a woman shall give her husband and she believed that were so  - (2) the fact that the American represents the liberating hero that everybody looked up to and that his satisfaction should be served, and that (3) he is the epitome of a handsome guy .

A peculiar trait she had, being an Ilocana, was her penchant for vegetables and the stingy way a dish of left over fried fish shall find its way to a new  recipe of bagoong and vegetables.  Practically every meal time was accompanied with a long litany of promoting the consumption of vegetables more than of meat - for long life, she would say, and I believe her now!  Not so many people have been blessed with a life lived until their 90's.

I remember that we would be at odds on many things simply because I did not believe most of what she believed in or the practices she has grown up to. A true Ilocana by heart, she grew up with a lot of superstitious beliefs none of which I adhered to.  To my young mind, these were all none negotiable  I cannot surrender my principles thinking that it is not true that we could follow the belief even if we do not believe in them for after all, nothing is lost if we succumbed but plenty to gain if it were true. Unfortunately I was not a follower of this thought.   My thinking is that something big is lost-- like advancing towards progress, for one thing.  And yet, we managed to survive without any real animosity towards each other.  We have learned to co-exist and I have learned to trust my growing children to her care – which she did a spectacular job. 

No, there was no animosity between us. As a matter of fact we lived harmoniously in all the 33 years that we lived together and that I am more than thankful that my children grew up with her caring for them and teaching them her values.

We always celebrated her birthday with a bang.  My brother-in-law, Abet, would design t-shirts that bore a design testifying how we adored her. Designs like We Love Lola would be worn during the party or sometimes to  the point of having a theme like being dressed up in  Hawaiian clothes or bearing the Mickey and Minnie Mouse ears.

On December 9, 2018, we were gathered at her hospital room which the children decorated to perk up that depressing place  with her feeding on tubes and being aided by an oxygen tank to breathe .  We sang happy birthday, ate cake and prayed the rosary to her withering body, her feet locked and crumped as if she wanted to be small and enter the womb again -  a process of rebirth, I guess. She turned 95 years old.

The following day, as we were about to go with our daily routines, my eldest sister, Linda, who was with her, called and told us that the doctors discovered that her heartbeat was weakening and  that  her BP was dropping.  She was told to call the relatives as the time for her to leave the world is at hand.   We all rushed to the hospital and true enough, she expired. The time of death was 10:25 am  having succumbed to infection in her blood.  We all bade her  goodbye for the last time.

I have had  close encounters with Alzheimer's disease.  My first encounter  was with my mother who passed away in 2006 at the age of 87. Just recently, my mother-in-law had the same affliction. Alzheimer's disease  is commonly  associated with old age although there are cases of younger people having it.  It is a progressive disease where dementia symptoms gradually worsen over a number of years.   In its early stages, memory loss is mild, but in its later stage, the  afflicted  individual loses the ability to carry on a conversation and respond appropriately to the environment.

 Such a clinical definition does not capture the essence  of the disease and what it does to both the  sufferer  and the loved ones.  It does not capture the extreme disappointments experienced by everybody involved. The despondency becomes  lighter with the afflicted person coming up with many funny situations but the pain of not being able to communicate with a loved one just like before becomes painful when one realizes that the person is no longer the same.

I have a more positive take on the affliction,  though.  Having seen this natural phenomenon first hand, I am beginning to believe that it is a coping mechanism, an anesthesia  if you would, that drives away the pain of knowing that one is at the final stage of his/her life.  That soon enough one will not see her loved ones anymore, that the person will no longer be able to do what he or she was capable of doing before and just watch as the world pass by doing its own business, enjoying the company of loved ones.   Much more so, it is a numbing of the awareness of the possibility of having to survive with the use of painful tubes stuck in one's body, that one shall be fed using a tube or being able to breathe by virtue of a respirator.  This was a realization after having witnessed how my mother-in--law was survived until even the doctors advised the family that she probably has had enough and to just sign a waiver that she would no longer be subjected to all the hassles of keeping her alive through artificial means.

Two to three weeks prior to my mother-in-law's passing, the doctors asked a very painful question to the surviving children.  Should we resuscitate her if and when she has a seizure?  Thinking that my mother-in-law has lived a full life at the ripe old age of 95, her children decided no more.  They signed a waiver and let nature take its course rather than subject her to a grueling experience of being poked with a lot of tubes, needles and a life with a  machine.  The question of should one fight nature and try to extend life as possible always come in when a loved one is at the brink of death.  In 2006, I wrote a poem that  summarizes my thoughts about the issue of either fighting for one's life or no more.


A simple request

Oh Hipocrates, save me
please, but only
if you believe
I have yet more years.
But if these be spent
to suffer and shed more tears
spare, let me be
and let my spirit free

An unfathomable conundrum

Once again, death stares me at the face. I just visited my old boss who retired about ten years ago. He is 76 gone to 90. His dignity lost, he is reduced to a decrepit,sickly man suffering the pains of a failing liver. We had such happy days together. We would go for a drink or two after office hours together with friends. There was even a time when he sparingly wrote a note to my wife saying I was with him until the wee hours of the morning. My brother-in-law had a good laugh over that "parental" letter one usually submits to a teacher lest the student gets into trouble.

The house that saw big parties, flowing with alcohol and food enjoyed by guests coming from all over is just as old. I have spent many happy moments there. My eldest daughter's baptismal party was celebrated there. The house was a very happy one. He was on top of the world and that was his kingdom. His royal subjects knelt before him, shivered even at his most benign commands. The house is almost dilapidated now and so is its king. Anywhere you look, the house where little boys used to run and roam, where you heard roosters were kept in a coop crowed, with the garage where we played mah jongg or whatever game it was we could play is just as lonely, needing more care from its owners. He couldn't even utter an understandable voice to say what he wanted.

Such is the way of the world. We reach the top of the world and plummet back to earth in the end. I just hope I never get to experience the pain of having to suffer a decline that would rob me of my dignity where someone else has to wash my behind or feed me in a tube.

If only to console me and my boss' family and friends, he has lived a full life and I don't think he is sorry for what he has become. It is my fervent prayer that with his memory almost gone, he is just as oblivious to the pain.

God's Trick

God tricked me.
He gave me time
that does not stop
for anything. Just like
a snail that crawls
ever so slowly
from one point to another,
it reaches its destination
no matter how far
or what obstacles hurled
along its way.

God tricked me.
He gave me youth
to squander and abuse
so that I
can lay in my death bed,
inutile, suffering the pain
of an ignominius state,
devoid of all the dignity
I used to possess.

God tricked me.
He gave me strength
so that I can waste it away
and harm myself.
Reduced to decadence,
I am decaying even before
I am dead.

God tricked me.
He gave me friends
I cannot keep.
They will be there
for a while
only to return
living their own lives.

God tricked me.
He gave me the gift of life
only to take it anytime
He pleases. Gifts should
be for keeps
and so it is with God’s
little trick.

rolly


PS.
My boss passed away this afternoon, February 16. Please join me in praying for the eternal repose of his soul.

goodbye, bro!

Today, being father's day, we should be celebrating as we face the never ending challenges of fatherhood. As my father has brought me up in this world as a responsible being, I pass this torch to my children hoping that I shall be more successful than my dad. As they say, the offspring should be a better creature than who has sired him/her. I have a few more years before I can truly say my children are all independently on their own. When that time comes, I pray that they shall have learned to live life to its fullest, be happy with what they have but continue to dream the dream of a better tomorrow.

In the meantime, we, as a family, shall mourn the loss of a father in Bro. Ceci who passed away yesterday. We shall truly miss his anecdotes, his quotable phrases and his witty remarks. We shall miss posing for him as he snaps pictures of everyone and post it is in his multiply account. God bless you on your trip back home, Bro. Ceci.

Valentine's Day

I don't know what's so special about valentine's day. I don't get it. If it's a day for lovers, then, we ae missing the point. We do not need a special day when we are in love. We are in love everyday! And what's with this announcer in a morning show saying he expects traffic to be heavy especially around motels? Are there women really that dumb to fall for a stunt pulled out by a guy to celebrate valentine's day for three hours inside a roomful of mirrors?

There is only one particular valentine's day that I remember - February 14, 1983. It was the morning that my painting "Transition" that commemorated the transition from a college to a university where I worked was unveiled. But that was not it. It was in the evening of that day when my father had his first heart attack and passed away. Nobody had seen that coming. It was a real shocker. He was okay when I came home then suddenly, he had the attack while attending to our store, rushed to the hospital and died there. How ironic that he would die of a heart attack when we are celebrating a day for hearts, a symbol of love.

Anyway, I don't want to be a party pooper (like as if I have not ruined your celebrations already). Here's a little presentation of the "berks", members of the blogkada team, and their sweethearts. It's a very nice presentation prepared by our friend, the forever in love, dedicated mother, mec

Hanging On

My sister is fighting for her life. She's been bed-ridden for more than three years now. She is so weak that we never informed her that my aunt and my mother, to whom she was very close, have passed away lest she goes into depression which might have caused her early passing.

Like me, she is diabetic and has been one since I was a small child. Too bad that diabetes is an affliction for the hard-headed, she ate with gusto even if she knew it's bad for her. Her organs, most especially her kidneys are failing now. Edema has set in and she's very bloated and is no longer cognizant of her surroundings. Her eldest daughter who resides with her family in the States has come home to be reunited with her mother. All we can do now is pray and request that friends and acquaintances do, too. Please say a little prayer for her tonight. Thank you.


Hanging On

Her eyes have long held had that empty stare.
She gazes through you, seeing nothing
or as if trying hard
to figure out who stands near her.

Not today. As a matter of fact,
they even hinted a smile
as she looks at the tree beside her window.

Two birds land on the tree with a mouthful.

She hears chirps or are they cries for help?

She can only guess these are hungry birdlings

for she's been bed-ridden for years.

The doctor arrives toting a grocery bag
filled with medications.
He touches her hand, carefully makes a tourniquet
out of surgical gloves,
starts looking for her veins.

The tweeting becomes fainter and soon stops

as the pair of birds regurgitate and feed

their young.

His task proves to be harder than usual.
He taps her with his fingers several times
but no success. He tries the other hand
to see if he can find the elusive carrier of blood.

All flesh and bones, feathers scarce, their veins

visible and look like they might explode

at the lightest touch.

They nibble and munch never leaving any morsels

to be strong for the coming weeks.

Her husband transfers the food from blender
to the canister. Begins to pound on an anti-biotic
he shreds into tiny pieces to fit the tube.
The doctor finds a vein and pricks it with a needle.
The thrust is like a stab in his heart. This is his mother.

He connects the tube with the IV
and thinks about the birdlings in the nest.
Soon, those birds will learn to fly,
while she will have to close her eyes.


-------------

My sister passed away this afternoon, June 21, 2008. She is now at peace and with our Lord. Thank you for your prayers.

An Icon leaves so that he can live forever

Many young people do not know what music was like during the late 60's to the 70's. Well, I spent my teen-aged years during the 70's and I know that we were following a trend handed to us by the 60's "rock and roll" generation of those Elvis Presley wanna-be's, The Ventures, Fab Four and all that. What I meant to say was that while I was growing up, learning how to play the guitar, what we would do was copy foreign songs note for note, find a singer who sounded like the original, either from the US or the UK, and sound like we were the ones who invented the thing. In other words, we were mere copycats. You could just imagine how many Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Grandfunk and Steppenwolfe records we had to break just to learn the songs. Every long-haired teen-ager at the time had seen Woodstock, the movie, and sang to the tunes of the "Ten Years After", CSNY, and Jimi Hendrix fanstasizing that we were them. The closest you sound like the original, the better.

Then came Howlin' Dave and DzRJ! He spearheaded the Pinoy Rock and Rhythm together with bands like "Juan dela Cruz band", Resty Fabunan's "Maria Cafra" or Edmund Fortuno's "Anak Bayan" and people began composing their own songs. Soon enough, as rock is not the cup of tea of everyone, the OPM, which was more palatable to the romantic pinoy came into the picture.

However, this post is not about music. It is about a man who brought class to pinoy music the way it should be. Before him, musicians never stood a chance to compete with foreign songs. Now, the young generation listens to them as much as they would listen to those coming from abroad. Let's just say, he started it all.

This is about a man whose dedication to music is beyond compare. He was not just a regular rock jock. Aside from the beautiful music he shared, he always had something to offer his audience - an information or two about the artists, the songs and everything that would arouse our interests. He made pinoy music happen. He talked and we listened.

I just woke up in my room at a Don Bosco retreat house in Nasugbu last Tuesday after a tiring but fun-filled, values-laden session with Fr. Gerry when I read online friend, Gilbert's text message of Howlin' Dave's passing. From then on, varied images of him came to mind. A long-haired idealist singing Neil Young's "Birds" in a concert, my former students who are now radio jockeys whom I met in a concert working with him and praisinig him for his art and expertise, and lastly, him carrying a crutch to help him walk on Batjay's book launching, shaking hands with friends came to mind. Then, it dawned on me, he's gone.

Not only will he be missed by his family, especially by his brother, my friend Batjay, but the whole rock industry which he created and spearheaded till the end. His booming but gentle voice heard over the airwaves might be no more, but it will echo everytime I hear a new, decent rock band debuting on the radio knowing that this could be the start of something big. He was the closest I have ever gotten to a true icon. I shall content myself that I have shaken the hands of his brother, saw his family and was at least privy to what it's like to be growing up with him through his brother's memoirs. My condolences to his loved ones and to those whose lives he has touched throughout the years.

I know my post cannot give justice to a man as big as Howlin' Dave so I am attaching articles written about him here:

Eric Caruncho's The last of the singing cowboys

Pocholo Concepcion's Howlin’ Dave, Filipino rock icon, dies at 52

Rome Jorge's A cry for Howlin' Dave

Grief comes in very huge packages

Tell me, what are the odds of a blogger posting entries about the passing away of a loved one twice in a row? It's practically nil, right. That was what I thought until I realized I have not blogged anything since my friend's, Arlene's, death. Now, I have to post this painful entry over the loss of my mother and realized I am wrong. But then, I have been wrong all the time about my mother's passing. You see, she has been suffering from alzheimer's and arthritis a long time that I thought the news of her death would not come as a surprise to me anymore. She's 87 years old, did nothing else but lie on her bed or sat on her wheelchair. She would not recognize anyone, much more, me, who could only come on Sundays for a visit.

My eldest sister would often call the house to tell me our mother has been looking for that bald, big man sitting by the tv. She can only surmise it was me she was talking about. Who really knew?

At any rate, that morning of the 23rd still came as a shock as I received a text message from my nephew that my mom has gone. I immediately went to her home in Marikina to find out what happened. She was no longer there. My only brother has taken her to the morgue. It was my sister and her grandchildren who greeted me. They were waking her up and she would not respond. They tried everything to revive her to no avail.

It was a long wait. My nieces and nephews and their families started to come and we all helped in cleaning the house for her arrival.

I couldn't find the tears when she arrived. I watched her peacefully lying in her coffin assuring myself that that was the way to go. Die in my sleep. No struggles, no painful goodbyes. We have been deprived of a memory of a doting mother, strong-willed, assuring for a very long time. She was deprived of her dignity, being bathed, clothed with diapers which probably irritated her as she continuously divested of them in spite of our incessant demands not to. She was tied in the hospital or she'd hurt herself getting rid of the dextrose, tubes stuck in her nose to feed her.

And yet, during the interment, it finally hit me. She will no longer be with us and she's buried six feet below the ground. Nobody could ever go away from there. The coffin entombed in sealed cement and buried with thick dirt. I cried. The person I loved most, the person that brought me into this world, the person that cared and nurtured me is no more. All I have left are memories of a distant past. Memories of me growing-up, being taken in front of the tv and fed with landing airplane spoons just so I would eat my food, being taken to and from school, watching plays I was a part of, a memory of a loving, responsible mother, who did her very best to rear her children the only way she knew how. Memories of my teen-aged years which were barely a parent's pride. How I wish alzheimer's did not touch my mother that robbed her of her dignity, her pride. She was robbed of her talent for cooking, baking and all that stuff that mothers loved to do. My only consolation was, she probably did not realize how much in pain she was in. It would have been more painful knowing her children suffered with her.

When she arrived in her coffin, I thought the box was too small. Her legs were bent like as if she was made to fit the coffin. And then I remembered, even her toes were bent. Her toes were all curled up, the big toes landed on top of the other toes and yes, her legs were bent that way causing her too much pain everytime we straightened them up. If you could bear with me for much longer, I would like to share two poems I wrote (not the only ones, you know) about my mother as a tribute to her.


A STRANGER IN HER OWN HOUSE

She wouldn’t have minded
the stranger for he feeds her,
helps her bathe and dresses her up,
puts talcum powder on her back

But he ties her hands…

Moves her every two hours
just when she is about to fall
asleep. Says he has to
or she will wound herself scratching

her itchy body. Her healing wounds
feel like a thousand ants
crawling, biting, nibbling her flesh.
He may look nice.

But he ties her hands…

She wonders who he is.
He seems to know everyone.
Talks to them, laughs and tells jokes.
By her count, there are at least
five adults, two children
and a frequent visitor.

And he ties her hands…

“Who are these people?”
she wonders. They say this is her house
she sleeps on her own bed
eats off her own plate,
but strange as it may seem
she feels she is
the stranger...

a stranger in her own house

Is She Really?
(Working title)
This is where alzheimer finally takes me.
My mother - alone in her bed

with neither memory nor care.
She is nothing but a shell

fleshy mollusk meat gone
the soup down to the last gulp.

Like the debris found in the morning
of a full night's revelry

confetti strewn thick on the pavement
amid trash of firecracker paper.

A birdcage without the bird
or a flower without the scent.

This is what she finally seemed to be
until...

With probing eyes and withered hands
she held my face!


Nay, goodbye for now and always remember, I love you very much!!!

Parting is never sweet!

We have cheated death once. When my friend, Arlene Lawson, accepted my invitation to come over to the country in 2000, little did I know that she had a prostethic heart valve. I only knew when we went swimming and saw the scar on her chest Little did I know that she caught a virus enroute and would soon be attacked with a serious case of pneumonia. Hence, on our way to Villa Escudero, she experienced chest pains and hardness of breathing. Alarmed, my wife suggested that we turn back. Having felt sorry for the postponed trip as we were with the whole family, and Redjie, a close friend, she suggested that we ought to have lunch in her hotel instead. We obliged but insisted that we take her to the doctor thereafter. (she said what she was feeling would go away and all she needed was to rest). After lunch, she asked permission to go to the comfort room to freshen up while we waited. It took her awhile until I asked my wife to go check on her. Suddenly, I heard my wife frantically calling my name. And our nightmare began.

There she was, all black and blue, holding her chest, crying for help. Redjie immediately called for help at the hotel's clinic while I took her outside and laid her down on the carpeted floor. A doctor and a nurse came rushing with my friend. He held an oxygen tank, put the mask on her and opened it. Empty! We rushed her to the clinic where two tanks were. Both were not functioning. We were already cursing the hotel, the doctor, the nurses. He decided we had to bring her to the hospital.

At the emergency room, I could feel the fright on her voice as she called for help. Imagine being at the brink of death in a foreign land with a friend you just knew from the internet. I would have been scared, too. She was administered medications while she continuously called my name. I held her hand telling her I was with her, assuring her that the doctors were good, that everything would be alright. My head was spinning. A lot of things ran through my head. What would i do should the worst happen? Who do I contact? How? I asked her who in Canada can I call? She wouldn't understand. Then I remembered she showed me a list. There was a friend who had an email address.

When the sedative she was given took effect, I was called to sign something. But before I did that, I was asked if she had any relatives here. I said no. They informed me that she would be taken to the ICU and that their ICU would cost around Php30,000 a day. I said I understood. I blindly signed the contract. My mind was floating. Where would I get the money, if ever? Added to this would be the doctors, the hotel...

Thus went Arlene's supposedly ten-days of fun in the country turned into a month's stay at the hosptial. Knowing how lonely she would be, we made sure we visited her everyday. My wife, sometimes, sleeping over to keep her company. On Sundays and holidays, we took all the children to her room for some sort of a get-together. In spite of all these troubles, this story made us very close. Too close, as a matter of fact. We began emailing each other practically everyday. Feeling that she owed me her life, she showered me with kindness and love. I kept assuring her that any Filipino would have done what I did but she would have none of it. When she was going back to Canada, she whispered to my friend, "Rolly's going to Canada soon. I wish you can go with him!" I brushed it aside when my friend told me that.

A year later, she invited me to come over. Nitz and I went. She also invited our American friends and we all gave out a poetry reading at Steveston. Since it was May, she decided to give us an off season thanksgiving dinner. The Americans went along with it and everybody contributed to make it as close to the original. She took us to different places like Victoria, Banff and Calgary. It was an experience that never occured even in my and my wife's dreams. And this trip to Canada was repeated again. Twice, as a matter of fact. Everytime, I would hesitate knowing that it is very costly. She argued that it would be just like her going abroad to see her friends and since she couldn't do that anymore, she asked her friend to see her.

Yesterday morning, as was my practice, I turned on the computer to while away the time, waiting to wake up the kids. I know she would have an email for me as it is not very likely that she wouldn't. There was none. Instead, I got a strange email from our mutual friend Gwen. The title read "horrible news about Arlene". I opened it and was surprised to learn that my good friend, Arlene, has passed away. I couldn't believe it. I gasped and tried to read it again hoping I read the message wrongly. But much as I try, the words would not change or go away. She passed away! "But I was just on the phone with her the other day.
I reasoned. She called because she was worried about the typhoon. She wanted to make sure everybody was safe. Since I was not at home when she called, I returned her call the following day. We talked a long time and she was her usual bubbly self, laughing at my jokes, exchanging banters. As she always say that my call would have caused me a fortune, it was she who hinted at saying goodbye. She never did that, though. She would say it might be costing me a fortune but still would wait for me to say adieu. If I only knew, I would have protested and suggested we talked some more.

I knew she was going to try a new medication for Rheumatoid Arthritis as she had suffered from this ailment for a very long time. She had been under every new medication that is being tested and none of them seem to work. I knew that she told me there were risks involved, even deadly, but she decided she's going for it anyway. But I never expected news like this would come - and real quick. I immediately called her daughter, Trudy, to confim it. She was about to call me and was just waiting for the proper time as she knew I would have been still asleep.

Arlene is not just a wonderful person to me. She meant a lot to me and my family. The children love her very much. She was Lola Arlene to them. They would always be excited when we call her up to greet her a happy birthday every December 22nd. They would be excited writing down little notes on a huge Christmas card we are sending her way. My daughter Kim cried the hardest at the news of her death. She was very special to her lola Arlene. When she came over, I asked my children to perform for her. Kraiganne sang her a song, Mickey played the violin, and Kim recited a poem. Unbeknownst to Arlene, Kim would be reciting one of her poems. She was surprised when Kim uttered the title and the name of the poet. She listened intently on every word the very young Kim recited. By the end of the poem, Arlene was already in tears. "I've never heard my poetry being recited before," she quipped. She gave Kim a huge hug and Kim wiped out her tears.

My children adored her. I adored her. She meant a lot to me. She was my mentor, my muse in poetry, she was my confidante who always listened when I whined, laughed at my antics, my source of energy everytime I felt so-so, my fan who believed in everything I do, my patron who had taken me to places I would not have dared go. As she always say that because we think alike, we were probably bobsey twins. She was my angel. With her passing, I know I have lost all these but most of all, I have lost a cherished friend. She surely has left an empty void in our hearts, the same void she had left in every heart she had touched with her kind soul. Today, I opened my email and true enough, there was no message that came from her. I would miss that terribly. Her emails are my morning breakfast. Like we always say in its closing of each mail, I say to Arlene, "with a lot of love and kisses,", I end this post with "We all love you very much and you shall always be in our hearts."


;


Arlene Lawson
December 22, 1935 - December 6, 2006
Buella's Rite of Passage


Here's a rite of passage when
I'm allowed the privilege of toddling
to the privvy

I traipse on wobbled, weathered
boards laid down by the last hobo who
pleaded for sandwiches in trade for work

growing up means sitting on a hole
wide and deep
full of tentacled arms raised to grab me
bared and vulnerable

a pitiful candle protects me
from a fall into the well
I grasp edges of the hole
created for an adult

business done
in a hurry to scoot the thirty feet
from outhouse to back porch

I fall

tripped by loosed boards
the stick I carry in my hand
imbeds itself into my chin

a reminder in white of an
evening I'm big enough
to abandon
"the thunder mug"

Privy enough to traipse the boards

Arlene Lawson

I bid you Adieu!

We were having dinner when my wife received a text message from our friend which made her practically shout.
"Oh no! Bro. Rafe passed away!" she said. That was a terrible news to hear. My wife and I knew him well. We both have worked for Bro. Rafe when he was still President of DLSU. My wife had known him personally even before that. I had worked closely with him while I was still the coordinator of the Art Department. We went to workshops and outings together and he is the epitome of cool. As an administrator, he was not just al brains but balanced everything with an accepting heart. I admired his resolve and his mature ways to decide things - firmly but with compassion.

A very affable man, one would not hesitate to approach him even if he held the highest post in the university then. He was a well-mannered man with a well-modulated baritone voice that gave out a very calming effect. His words were well calculated and spoken clearly that one never missed what he wanted to say. When he spoke, one listened. We only have high praises for this man who had dedicated his life to teaching. He will be a big loss to the De La Salle community.

Goodbye, Bro. Rafe! Thanks for everything you have shared with us.

She finally laid to rest

Life is not always fair. Sometimes, I question the reason of being born only to die later. This question often comes up when I encounter death in the family. I feel the pain of having to lose someone who is really close to me and I begin to ponder why we are given life here on earth.

To the poor, it may seem that life may be very fulfilling to the rich as they can enjoy everything it has to offer. They can buy every luxury imaginable. Live comfortably in a big house, jump on a fancy car and go anywhere they want to, be assured that there will always be food on the table, wear expensive clothes and jewelries which can really be intimidating to the poor.

But that is not what life is. Life is about what your take is on living. To the average person, my aunt's life was not exactly what one dreams about. She has lived a full and simple life. Not that she was living in abject poverty as she lived in her own simple house, ate three square meals a day and yet, if you only base one's station in life by her lifestyle, you'd probably say she did not live in comfort either. At the most extreme, you'd probably say she was not happy. How wrong this perception can be. She had always been happy. She always greeted you with a full smile on her face, the kind that says "it's good to see you. Welcome to my house." If only department store ladies would learn how to give out that smile, they'd be selling their products to even the most skeptic buyer. I never saw her angry, too. She kept her cool and always gave an advice or two. She just did her business without any care in the world. Most impressive of all is that she would go out of her way to help a friend in need. That was the last one she did in her life - help a friend.

There was this blind neighbor who apprached her for a loan at around 2:00 pm last Thursday. Not keeping cash in her person, she offered to accompany the friend to another neighbor. After having introduced the two, she turned around complaining about the heat and collapsed. She was comatose since Saturday last week and yesterday, during her son's, Manolo's, third death anniversary, she passed away. Interestingly, her husband died, March 17, the death anniversary of another son, Pancho, who died in Vietnam during the 60's.

Goodbye, "mommy". Make God happy with your smile and may you rest in peace.

the rain stops, too

There is this saying "when it rains, it pours" signifying an abundance of something fortunate (or unfortunate)happening in one's life. I think, basing on my previous posts, my life has had an abundance of very nice things happening. Well, the past posts had been about celebrations here and there, right? There was Mickey's graduation, my happy married life, which is actually a prelude to my wife's birthday, our 21st wedding anniversary, and my coming trip to Canada next week. When it rains it pours, right? Well, the rain, no matter how strong, stops, too.

Yesterday morning, while I was getting ready to go to my mom's house, my brother called to inform me that our aunt, (the only aunt I've known), who we all fondly call "Mommy" is at the ICU fighting for her life. The details are still unclear to me but last Thursday, while accompanying a blind neighbor to a friend's house to guarantee for a loan, she complained of the terrible heat snf without any warning, collapsed. She was taken to the hospital and was later on put at the ICU.

She is my mother's older sister. She's 89 years old. The thing is, while my mother is now suffering from alzheimer's disease, my aunt is still strong and very lucid. When I was growing up, my mother snf my aunt would always tell me that they sang duets when they were much younger. If I remember correctly, they sang regularly in a radio show. My mother would sing the melody while "mommy" sang "second voice". As if to prove their story, they would sing for me while I accompany them with my guitar. They do sing in harmony albeit missing lyrics here and there. You know, the kundiman types. It was from them that I got to know that my grandfather was a judge, a violinist and a composer. Unfortunately, none of his compositions ever surfaced to my knowledge. It was from "mommy" that I learned that my grandfather looked exactly like me. There was a time when she even took out a picture of my grqndfather to prove her point, but honestly, I couldn't make head or tails from that old picture as it was so small, (ID size) and was blurry probably due to the length of time she kept it in her wallet (or whereever she took it from when she showed it to me). My grandfather died when they were young girls, not even teen-agers yet. My grandmother re-married to someone, a name I have forgotten, who, in fairness, had been good to them. And he died, too, so my grandmother had to be widowed twice.

At any rate, I remember my aunt with fondness. When I was growing up, she was the epitome of fun. They had a car and her visits always meant there was a cake. Usually, that would be my birthday. Once I get to see the car park near our house, I would jump with joy for it meant there'll be a lot of goodies and probably a ride in their car. Going to their house had always been a treat, too. It has always been fun for me as there had always been lots of people in their house. She had 9 children and I would assume much later on that each one in the household would have guests. It also helped that all of her children play an instrument well. Ironically, none of my siblings play an instrument, or even sing in tune! So there would be lots of singing and drinking in their house. To a child who was practically growing up alone, this meant fun.

When I got to the hospital, I couldn't look at her. I could not even say hello as I see what they have done to her just to keep her alive. Please help me pray for her. She may not survive this but hopefully, she wouldn't feel any pain.

The quality of life

Life is too short. The average life expectancy should be about 77.6 according to this source. While tecnology should have made life longer than it was centuries ago, technology also continues to bring about new ways to shorten it. Weapons are far more powerful and accurate today than fifty years ago during the last world war. Imagine another world war happening today and we would see weapons eliminating nations till kingdom comes. We need not go far, though. In our own backyard, we suffer from outrageous pollution, enough to ruin our lungs or contaminate our food to cause us to be seriously ill.

At any rate, assuming that we live to a ripe old age of 80, I'd say life only begins to spin during our teens when we begin to sense some freedom to make our own decisions. The toddler years, while very important, were just for learning the basics like walking, speaking, eating properly, etc. Considering that we don't have too much recollections of that age, we can assume that those were seven to eight years away from quality life. Assuming further that you begin to suffer sickness like alzheimer's disease, the quality of life is already gone. What is life without knowing what's around you, who your relatives and friends are? It's like living in oblivion. This is just like my mother who just turned 87 years old. Sometimes I'd like to equate it to someone living in limbo serving time until the spirit is ripe for acceptance to heaven.

But this is not alzheimer's disease. There is something more sinister. I am talking about cancer, the big-C. I am distraught by news that a very good friend's fight with it is almost over. She had undergone a series of chemotherapy and while she seemed to have survived the first episode of her disease, the cancer cells mestastasized to her lungs. Chemotherapy did not work this time and so she had to try gene therapy. She texted me yesterday to tell me that that didn't work either. That was enough to cause grief that I have to vent it somewhere. She had been a very very close friend. I've known her for twenty years as we have started working together in the same school for practically the same time. We've shared stories, jokes, points-of- view and work together. She was like a twin sister to me for I am only a day older. She had this habit of bringing in lots of food but eat less and I, together with some other friends, end up eating it so that they don't go to waste. We have always encouraged her to eat more as she would just have a taste and stop. It's like she just wanted the company. I still can't believe why she would have to suffer this disease. She's very beautiful, rich and very kind. She sees everyone as basically good. She's not a snob and very generous with her friends. These are the things that make me sorry I am helpless in her fight. All I can do is pray for her and, as my friend Zharro said, submit that God knows what He is doing.

Having lost two friends to cancer already makes me feel very vulnerable. I became aware of my own mortality.

Life is too short. Death begins when we were born. C'est la vie. This is the reason why we have to be wary about what we do today. We don't know what tomorrow brings. We may be healthy today but that cannot be forever. The key to a happy life is moderation and clean living. Think about what you do today as it will have consequences on your life tomorrow.

Farewell, my friend

I have just received news that my college buddy, my best friend, Lynne Sanchez, passed away last April 4 after a gruelling battle with the Big C. Lolit, her sister, told me that I was to give a eulogy for her.

It might sound a bit cliche but it just seems like only yesterday when I first saw her on her motorbike driving from home to school. You should understand that during those days, that was not a very usual site so I was really impressed.

She was my partner in crime from first year till we parted ways after graduation. When I got married and had my first child, she was the first one to come for a visit while wife was heaving in pain, counting how far apart were the contractions. Naturally, she was first on the list as one of the godmothers. From then on, she would come for a visit with another friend and stay in our house. There was even a time when she and another friend stayed over while we discussed the friend's philosophy assignment.

In college, we would meet in our favorite tambayan at UERM in the morning, have breakfast at Laurel and Hardy, attend classes until we got tired and decide to go some place else, like watch a movie with our friends. Usually, we would go to her sister's printing press and stay there to eat, bum around, play the guitar (this was the time when not even the karaoke was invented yet.) She loved singing Carly Simon songs...Legend in your own time, Anticipation, and her favorite, I've got my mind on my man again. She also played a mean Lucy in The Skies with Diamonds, among others). From her, I've learned to like sappy songs like Tavares' Hardcore Poetry, Allesi Brother's OhLori and Kenny Rankin whose concert we saw at the Folk Arts Theater. We would separate ways at about 6 pm when there's no other place to go, and talk on the phone afterwards. No, we were not a couple. We were just good friends all that time who shared the same likes and tastes for music and practically everything.


No sooner than the first time we got together, her family and friends became known to me and I would spend Christmas with them, go to discos, Baguio and all other fun places. In school, we would go with our friends and roam all over town on her sister's car, have lunch at the Golden Room of the Aristocrat or whatever fancy place we would chance upon. These we've done for what seemed like ages.


After college, she worked for a Travel agency for a time until she decided it was time to migrate to the US. The last time I talked to her was when she was already ill but she was still the same kind of woman I've known. Her hearty laughter permeates the room everytime. I remember that her strong presence was felt once you've entered the room. Her cologne was simple and yet always had a lasting effect on anyone. We always had fun time together.

It just seemed so impossible that death should come to her, young as she was and full of vibrance and wit. And yet, it did. It is during these times that I know how small I am, that I am not invincible and that life as I know it should cease one of these days.
So, to Lynne whereever you are, thank you for the memories. One of these days, we will be jamming again!