For my Lola who passed away November 30, 2008.
Dear Lola,
There are a lot of things I don’t understand right now and am finding it hard to grasp. I don’t understand why in our family death would always come in the season of Christmas. I don’t understand why in our family grief is always dealt with laughter instead of tears. I don’t understand why in our family deep affection is mostly expressed in deep silence.
There are a lot of things I don’t understand about death and what it takes away and what it leaves behind. Like my memory of rushing to write little notes behind the photographs I took just a week before you passed. I found my littlest doll and remembered the tons of dolls you kept above your shelf. So I thought you’d probably need one for company. I sent the doll I named Star along with envelope of photos and through my Mom just a week before your final goodbye. It never occurred to me that my lighthearted liking for dolls was something you and I shared till now. I didn’t know that this would be the last thing I would do for you because all I was thinking was trying to finding a way to make you smile as you lay in the hospital healing from everything you’ve been going through.
Mom said you liked the photos and in our last conversation which happened also just a week before, your muffled voice told me with much effort but with a lot of conviction, that you’ve seen the photographs and they’re beautiful.
It occurs to me now that behind that strong, bold and decisive exterior was hidden a little girl, who probably had many stories to share with her dolls simply veiled by a canopy of dreams we couldn’t quite see.
I realize now that I never got so close as to finding out what your own dreams were and if some of my dreams were actually yours bearing fruit. But I know that you went to all of our graduations and I know that you proudly displayed all your children’s diplomas on your living room wall. I realize now that these walls were where you stored your memories and that you held these memories so dear that you can’t help but share them to every guest that came into your home.
I didn’t realize that we both liked the color red. I never admitted my liking for it in the beginning because Red might be too bold or too strong or to out there. And for most my life, I remember always having to struggle with being “too out there”. But you never shied away from boldness or any moment that called for you to stand up and offer what you can of yourself in service to God or in casual companionship for another. I realize that your daily afternoon routines of taking a drive down the city streets of Cebu or the panoramic roads of the South Reclamation was a silent devotion to the virtue of always having the zeal to remain in active participation in the life you had lived.
There was so much energy in your step and so much persistence in your stride that no wheelchair, no cane, and no, not even a leg amputation can keep you down. To your last breath, you had enough fight in you to even go looking for your shoes.
Even when the lights grew dim and your memory faded, you stayed awake long enough to graciously send everybody off.
I realize, we your family, was everything to you. There are no compromises in your mind and in your heart when it came to ensuring that your family is taken cared of, well fed or warmly attended to. Your intensity protected us. Your passion fueled us to move through life. It didn’t matter whether we took different paths because the fierceness of your love always brought us to remembering home.
This night before we bade you our last farewell, we remember everything. We hold everything. We feel everything. Though you may find us badlungon tonight because of this tribute, I pray that you allow us to just do what we do best. I’m sure you’ve already found a new pair of shoes and perhaps a bright red dream cloud that’s carrying you off to the your most exciting laag ever, allow us to serenade you with our own heartsongs. Songs that cradle for us the most intimate memories we have of you and what we have shared in this life. Songs that say, we know and understand now the life you lived and who you were in ours. Songs that say, we have learned, you have made a difference and the fierce and fiery way your heart kept beating for each one of us sets us free.
So La, everything is okay. We are fine. We are definitely well fed and your love will hover and keep us warm through all our days.
It’s now your time to dance. Walk Free.
We love you.
Dear Lola,
There are a lot of things I don’t understand right now and am finding it hard to grasp. I don’t understand why in our family death would always come in the season of Christmas. I don’t understand why in our family grief is always dealt with laughter instead of tears. I don’t understand why in our family deep affection is mostly expressed in deep silence.
There are a lot of things I don’t understand about death and what it takes away and what it leaves behind. Like my memory of rushing to write little notes behind the photographs I took just a week before you passed. I found my littlest doll and remembered the tons of dolls you kept above your shelf. So I thought you’d probably need one for company. I sent the doll I named Star along with envelope of photos and through my Mom just a week before your final goodbye. It never occurred to me that my lighthearted liking for dolls was something you and I shared till now. I didn’t know that this would be the last thing I would do for you because all I was thinking was trying to finding a way to make you smile as you lay in the hospital healing from everything you’ve been going through.
Mom said you liked the photos and in our last conversation which happened also just a week before, your muffled voice told me with much effort but with a lot of conviction, that you’ve seen the photographs and they’re beautiful.
It occurs to me now that behind that strong, bold and decisive exterior was hidden a little girl, who probably had many stories to share with her dolls simply veiled by a canopy of dreams we couldn’t quite see.
I realize now that I never got so close as to finding out what your own dreams were and if some of my dreams were actually yours bearing fruit. But I know that you went to all of our graduations and I know that you proudly displayed all your children’s diplomas on your living room wall. I realize now that these walls were where you stored your memories and that you held these memories so dear that you can’t help but share them to every guest that came into your home.
I didn’t realize that we both liked the color red. I never admitted my liking for it in the beginning because Red might be too bold or too strong or to out there. And for most my life, I remember always having to struggle with being “too out there”. But you never shied away from boldness or any moment that called for you to stand up and offer what you can of yourself in service to God or in casual companionship for another. I realize that your daily afternoon routines of taking a drive down the city streets of Cebu or the panoramic roads of the South Reclamation was a silent devotion to the virtue of always having the zeal to remain in active participation in the life you had lived.
There was so much energy in your step and so much persistence in your stride that no wheelchair, no cane, and no, not even a leg amputation can keep you down. To your last breath, you had enough fight in you to even go looking for your shoes.
Even when the lights grew dim and your memory faded, you stayed awake long enough to graciously send everybody off.
I realize, we your family, was everything to you. There are no compromises in your mind and in your heart when it came to ensuring that your family is taken cared of, well fed or warmly attended to. Your intensity protected us. Your passion fueled us to move through life. It didn’t matter whether we took different paths because the fierceness of your love always brought us to remembering home.
This night before we bade you our last farewell, we remember everything. We hold everything. We feel everything. Though you may find us badlungon tonight because of this tribute, I pray that you allow us to just do what we do best. I’m sure you’ve already found a new pair of shoes and perhaps a bright red dream cloud that’s carrying you off to the your most exciting laag ever, allow us to serenade you with our own heartsongs. Songs that cradle for us the most intimate memories we have of you and what we have shared in this life. Songs that say, we know and understand now the life you lived and who you were in ours. Songs that say, we have learned, you have made a difference and the fierce and fiery way your heart kept beating for each one of us sets us free.
So La, everything is okay. We are fine. We are definitely well fed and your love will hover and keep us warm through all our days.
It’s now your time to dance. Walk Free.
We love you.
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3 comments:
wow wonderful letter. it really brought tears in my eyes because it reminds me so much of my lolo...and how despite my young age of 2 i remember how much he loved me.a special love that none of my cousins ever got to experience.
Beautiful ode to beauty.
Love you Kath, hope all is well.
Thanks Sab. Thanks Rinks.
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