The Grave: A Week After

One of my brothers, who lives in Australia with his family, could not be with us for Tony's end-of-life celebrations. They kept in touch closely, though, through frequent messages and the eBurol (online 24-hour-real-time viewing facility of the funeral parlor, below). 

A week later, he and his wife made the trip and requested to visit the grave. Together with two more siblings and a sis-in-law, we drove over.

There are moments in life that mark a division between the past and the future: one season is over; a new season has begun. 

And one such moment is the death of a loved one. A cemetery plot is a signpost pointing in two directions: our past life with him, and our future life without him. 

So why do we visit the grave? 

John Piper, a Christian author I often read, gives seven reasons. By comforting grace, I am now reflecting on them:      

1. To weep. It is right that the tears flow in the graveside. 

2. To be sobered by our own mortality. By our loss, we can accept the brevity of our own life that remains.

3. To rekindle the fires of hope for resurrection. The grave can stoke our hope of being with Christ. Beneath us is a body that will decay, “. . . sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.” (1 Corinthians 15:43 ESV) 

4. To meditate. From this painful vantage point, we can ponder upon the meaning and purpose of life. It is a precious time, and there is much to learn.

5.To express respect and honor. Our presence is saying, “I pay tribute to you and to God who gave me the privilege of knowing you (as a kin, friend, peer, or spouse). 

6. To give thanks. We can no longer communicate with the dead. So the grave is a perfect place to feel and say our thanks up to God for making him a part of our life.  

7. To be inspired. God promised us in Isaiah 41:10, “. . . fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

. 

A Small Note and a Big Basket

In life, Tony was a big tipper. He made sure he tipped service people, even if the job had been minuscule. He never explained why, but having lived with him for 54 years, I knew he was empathetic and sympathetic—and kind (this word repeatedly came from messages of comfort and notes of remembrances from people he knew). 

Every Christmas season, he would see to every cash envelope left by messengers, collectors, mail persons, and various service men and women, whom we had dealt with during the year. 

He’d always ask, “Did you give him a tip?” 

“Yes, of course!” 

But once, when he asked me the same question, I replied, “No, I didn’t. He is an officer of the company and the owner of the car. There was no company driver available, so he drove me himself.” 

“You should have offered to pay for the toll fees or gasoline,” he insisted. 

“Uncle!” 

On our 7th day in the hospital, he told me to take eight 500-peso bills from his bag at home.  He didn’t say it, but I knew they were meant to be tips for those who had been attending to him and patiently following his requests. 

I happened to mention this to a friend, a nurse. She was appalled, “Oh, no! You don’t tip anyone with cash in a hospital. It’s unethical.” She suggested instead, “any token—snacks, food, little gifts—but never cash.” 

I immediately went shopping for those.  

After 20 days in the hospital, while at the wake, my sons and I wanted, but didn't quite know how, to thank the staff that came in and out of hospital room 406, bringing comfort, assistance, and hope. 

A small note and a big basket, a  joint idea of the boys and me, will never be enough. 

These are simply a sincere token of our profound gratitude. 

We pray for grace, for God to be with them as they continue to serve more patients. 

"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26

My Father Had Two Families

That was son #3’s opening statement when he spoke of his remembrances of Tony during the necrological service at his wake. 

Many must have held their breath waiting for a bombshell. 

“First,” he said, “was our small family—Mom, my two older brothers and me.” 

I looked down, unable to hold back my tears. 

“Second, Prime Advertising systems, Inc., the company he founded and loved. It needed most of his time, except weekends, which he spent with us.” 

ooo

Son #3 was still in my womb when Tony took another big risk (the other one, he often joked, was when he married me). 

With hardly any savings . . . two sons going to a private school . . . me, big with child . . . he resigned from his job as Vice President in an advertising agency and put up his own, Prime Advertising systems, Inc. Just in time, I got a raise in my job in another advertising firm.  

Hardworking, humble, simple, transparent, straightforward, with uncompromising ethics and values (his staff’s words, not mine), he hired people who shared his vision and mindset.

I kept away from Prime (we were competitors after all) and went to his office only when invited: Christmas parties and anniversary celebrations. He, however, took our sons often with him to the office during school break, perhaps to model what hard work was like.  

On Prime’s 20th year, Tony borrowed my print of Matisse’s painting, which I bought from a sidewalk near Louvre, for a commemorative plate sent to clients and suppliers.  

From a babe in the womb to a lawyer, son #3 saw his father divide his time between Prime and us. 

Somewhere in between, we moved to a new home (a humble one where we still live in today, four decades later), sons #1 and 2 graduated from the school of engineering and school of medicine, and Tony went through major life-threatening medical surgeries. I retired from the corporate world and embraced writing. 

Prime stood pat. 

With new technology, advertising had morphed into a stranger—theories he and I both thought as gospel truth were now hogwash.  

In 2015, son #2 talked Tony into closing the shop. Which he did slowly, one person at a time, over the next two years because, “I don’t want my people to be suddenly displaced.” 

Prime was 33 years of Tony’s life.

At his wake, a number of his former staff, who call themselves Primates on social media, traveled from different places to say good-bye. 

Oh, the many heartfelt tributes they wrote and said for their former boss! Oh, what grace! Indeed, Prime was not just a bold business venture, it was Tony’s second family. 

A fan of Elvis, Tony was gifted by his staff on his 70th birthday an Elvis standee, with his face superimposed. Everyone wrote his greetings behind it. Knowing how much he treasured this creative present, we brought it to his wake. (Photos show some Primates. Others came on other nights.)  

A Flock of Angels

A flock of angels swooped down to help us from the first day of the year 2025; these angels are still hovering around, looking out for my family and me.  

After 11 blog posts on our January episode, I am still packing and can’t stop singing praises and thanksgiving to the One who sent these angels. It is now February, but the previous month can’t leave my mind. 

Day one was when I needed help to being Tony to the hospital while my sons and driver were far away attending our clan reunion. Angels upon angels (faith brethren and friends) came to drive us, stay with us, pray for us, and comfort us. 

Day 20 was when we moved from the hospital to the funeral home. More angels made the change of venue easier for us. 

Day 26 was when we brought Tony’s earthly remains to the burial site for the last rites (ESV): 

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Genesis 3:19

“All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.” Ecclesiastes 3:20

Without enough sleep and therefore lacking in acuity, I was lost. My sons were given angel wings to take the wheel.    

The members of our home church took charge of logistics: the women’s group oversaw the food for guests (marketing, cooking, serving, cleaning up, and everything in between); one went out of her way to buy us our funeral clothes; the pastoral team and other ministry groups handled the necrological services and other details.

My siblings and their families rented an Air B&B near the funeral home so they could be at Chapel 506 all hours to be with us for five days, and fill in the gaps. 

Like those in the hospital, the members of the funeral home staff anticipated our needs.

Close kin (a niece and her husband) documented significant moments with their camera.  

My sister never left my side; she kept us company in the family room of Chapel 506 and nine more days after the funeral. 

I could feel the presence of these angels even in my stupor. How can one not believe in angels? 

"The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them." Psalm 34:7: 

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." Psalm 34:7:  

On my knees, Lord, I thank you for sending us this flock of grace.   

REUNION(S): Let Me Not Count the Ways

Before 2024 ended, we had packed for our annual clan reunion (Mom's side of the family). It was our 80th year, a milestone not to be missed. But the night before our trip, Tony begged off. “Go and have fun. The long trip would be too strenuous for me.”     

Months before this, although he appeared confident and strong, he would tire easily, and catch his breath. With his comorbidities, these should not have been a surprise, but we were alarmed. 

Together with sons #1 and #3, I made a decision not to attend the reunion as well without telling him, because he would surely balk. 

On January 1, as sons, kin, and driver were all at the reunion, God sent angels to help me take Tony to the hospital and keep me company. He had difficulty breathing again. Our pastor personally came to pray for and with us. 

There he was confined for all sorts of tests and medical procedures. 

On the 20th day, with his mind lucid as ever, he left us calmly, quietly. His serene face showed none of the pain he might have felt during his last days--never to return. He took his journey home to our Savior.      

We moved from hospital Room 406 to the funeral home Chapel 506. 

And our 80th clan reunion happened again.  

Here, those who attended the reunion, including those who were not able to, came in droves to hug and condole with us, and say goodbye to Tony. Many of them surrounded the organist and sang hymns like a chancel choir, sounding like heavenly angels for over an hour. Guests stayed longer to listen.

Over the next four days until his earthly remains were laid to rest, flowers, gifts, cards, and food arrived with kith and kin for many more reunions: 

• reunion with Tony’s childhood and current friends, neighbors, village officials, former staff, Rotarians;
• reunion with his clan--both paternal and maternal sides;  
• reunion with my dad’s kin and friends;
• reunion with son #1’s friends, peers, colleagues;
• reunion with son #2’s colleagues and friends; 
• reunion with son #3’s school (administrators, deans, members of the faculty, and students); 
• reunion with my former and present colleagues, old friends, BFFs, chat  groups, my publishers, and officers of the school where I teach;  
• reunion with present and former members of our home church; 
• reunions, reunions, reunions.  

Chapel 506 was always filled with care and comfort to the rafters from morn till night, even after the necrological services. Many attended the burial rites as well. Tons of photos are still pouring in from many corners, but these are all I have filed for now.  

Between those reunion times, my sons and I were kept extremely busy, and left no time for me to blog, yet I had to (my grief buster)—and, I wrote, “some kind of closure.”   

But a concerned friend wrote back: “There will never be a full closure as long as we have memories. It's God's way of reminding us that completeness can only be from his comfort and providential care . . . all by grace. 

A grand reunion, to cap all reunions, will happen at an hour nobody knows—and that will be a time of forever glory! 

“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power. But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.” 1 Corinthians 15:55-57 (NLT)

The World’s Two Toughest Questions

As Tony fought for his life in the room with a view, concerned family and friends stayed by our side through comforting messages online and by phone, with assurances that they were praying with and for us. 

Two of the QUESTIONS they asked were: 

1) How is Tony?

2) How are you?

These were inevitable questions from people in our close circles, because we remained unseen. Much as they wanted to, they could not come to the hospital. Tony allowed no visitors; he refused to be seen helpless in bed, dependent on a medical staff. Had he not vowed “for better or for worse” before God on our wedding day, he would have shooed me away, too. 

My one-word, honest answers to the two questions that I kept in my mind were downers.  

1) Bad. 

2) Sad.

To replace those words, I had to carefully select from my word depot. But in moments of sadness, my depot was empty. So I blogged, focusing on blessings and sent these to them. 

These two questions persisted till our 20th day.   

Looking back, I am grateful that they were repeatedly asked. I believe that through these questions, the Lord had been reassuring us of His grace. 

What Jesus said to Paul, who complained about his thorn in the flesh, is also meant for the bad and the sad.   

“. . . My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9  

A Long 20-day Goodbye

While the world reveled on New Year's day (2025), we rushed Tony to the emergency room due to difficulty of breathing. Three days earlier, the medical staff in the same emergency room sent him home because his oxygen level, x-ray,  blood pressure, and other tests were normal.

But the breathing difficulty persisted, so I called his cardiologist on January 1. 

She ordered, “Bring him back to the hospital and insist that he be admitted for more tests.” 

We were ushered to the room with a view. 

A battery of “logists” of various human organs—beginning and ending with his main doctor, the cardiologist—came in and out, ruling out one suspicion after another.

 

Tony, as he was wont to do, had an opinion on everything, but tried to be docile while I, son #1 and son #3 were there to keep watch day and night. Volunteers (family and friends) to take over were countless, but he remained hard-nosed, unwilling to be seen in bed.   

Son #2, a physician in the US, kept in touch via video calls. On the 17th day, he dropped everything and flew in with his wife and son. 

True to form, Tony was adamant, “Why are they coming?”  He loathed being fussed over. 

Every day, telltale signs were nudging us progressively, but we looked the other way. He had lost his big appetite, strength to sit up, and lust for reading. Only his mind was intact—while ours became fuzzy—barking orders to driver Sam and Mother Teresa. 

His cardio was hinting that his heart was failing; still, we were all floating in a separate universe. Son #1 kept buying his favorite foods; son #3 was scouting for a hospital bed and commode; and I had contracted two caregivers for home care. 

When sons #1, #2, and #3 were together in his room, they watched TV while I took photos. "This is how it will always be," I thought. 

I was wrong.

It was our 20th day, and Mother Teresa took over as the night watch, so we could all catch up on our sleep. But she called after a couple of hours, begging us to go back, defying Tony’s order not to do so. 

My strong-willed, obstinate roommate of almost 55 years was peacefully asleep when we reached him, but his faint heart hobbled along. The Lord enabled us to say our final goodbyes before He took him home. Time stamp: January 20, 2025, 11:56 PM.  

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11

Holding Hands

Coming home without the man of the house till the rest of my days leaves a gaping hole in our life. I can rattle off all the synonyms of grief, but nothing accurately describes what I (and the rest of the family) feel.

How to move out of here?   

The Lord's Word is unchanging. It’s the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And like King David, we continue to cling to Him and His right hand will carry us through. 

“My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” Psalm 63:8 ESV

Blank Blog Days

 I am taking a leave from blogging till the 27th.  Goodbyes cannot be rushed.  

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Psalm 73.26 (ESV) 

Joy to the Room

Day 17 in the room with a view: 

Being a night watcher alternately with son #3, I was advised by friends and family to get a “companion watcher” so I can have uninterrupted sleep. It was an idea too brilliant to ignore. 

And so I asked the nurses (their station is two steps away from our room) if they could recommend someone for that night. “Joy,” one said. "Here’s her number." 

And so I called up Joy.

And Joy came into the room. 

By staying awake for all of 12 hours, Joy enabled me to sleep for the same number of hours. Lost sleep have been more than replenished.  

How are we doing? 

Son #2, with my daughter-in-love and grandson, have flown in from the US to visit Tony. Joy. 

Son #3 has relinquished his night job to Mother Teresa because of busy schedules. He is now, however, the dynast of the Chong dynasty (our nickname for household), relieving me of all duties so I could focus on his dad. Joy. 

Son #1 continues to buy his dad’s medical needs and fave foods, even if he has totally lost his appetite for anything edible. Joy.

In our conversations with his heart doctor (a classmate of my doctor son #2), we recalled Tony’s first heart attack in the early 90s, then his quadruple coronary bypass in 2002. The Lord had given his heart multiple leases on life, more than many heart patients.   

Support--prayers and well wishes from loved ones from many corners of the world--continues to pour, flooding our room with joy.  

We are grateful; we are blessed. We are totally dependent on God's immense grace.  

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10 ESV) 

In a Way, A Missionary

“In a way, you are a missionary,” a friend told me. 

I vehemently objected, because “missionary” comes from the Latin missio, a translation of the Greek verb apostellō, which refers to sending someone out to accomplish an objective. 

The noun form of this verb, apostolos, is transliterated into English as “apostle,” which refers not only to Jesus’ appointed spokesmen, but to “messengers” sent out by the church to other places other than their own to advance the Word. 

“Your books are sent out by your publishers to many places abroad, or they are bought by readers and taken to different places in the world,” he insisted. 

It’s is a stretch, but okay, “in a way.” 

Therese (not her real name), whom I had never met, is a principal in a Christian grade school in the USA. She messaged my social media page that she reads my blogs and books in her Kindle e-reader. “Your book The Teacher in Me is not online, so how may I get a copy?” 

I took the chance to send her a copy, plus two other books that are not available online. Because I have friends in the airline industry, it was easy (not to mention inexpensive) to mail my books anywhere in the world. 

The books reached Therese on New Year’s day. 

Who knows where my other books are really? They were/are “sent out” and  by God’s enabling grace, they will acomplish what we envisioned them to do--to advance the Word.  

"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them inthe name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:19-20 ESV. 

What is Good News?

Topping the bar. Winning an award. Being promoted. Landing a high-paying job. Receiving a fat bonus. Driving a new car. These are ours:  

"Mom, Papa had a small piece of chicken and a bite of pear." 

"Mom, I am sending his favorite TETSU ramen." 

"Ma'am, I bought Sir Tony a small speaker for his phone so he can listen to Elvis." 

He went off the oxygen tank for 30 minutes. 

He sat on a chair for 30 minutes. 

He asked to see Adrian on a video call. 

He asked for a cheeseburger and took one bite.  

His doctor said he can eat anything he wants.

He wants to know if the fire in California has finally stopped. 

He wonders if there is good progress in the war in Gaza.   

He thanks every orderly and nurse who fiddles with his medical attachments.

His three sons communicate almost every hour online. 

His doctors have a GC, where they discuss his condition. 

Each one is a milestone, grace delivered to our hospital room with a view.  It's day 15; we are grateful that the Lord continues to hold our hand. We bow to His will.  

Mother Teresa was the watcher last night and put all my and son #3's mess in place. She cleaned out the fridge of left-overs, arranged our closet, and sorted our laundry.  

Friends and family have been messaging/calling non-stop, encouraging and praying. They ask, “How is he doing today?” but I cannot update them all. Hopefully, this post will, for now. One day at a time. 

We are sorry not to receive any visitors, but that is his doctor’s (and Tony's) order, not mine, or my sons'.  

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7 NLT

Encore: A Hospital Room with a View

Who would have thought we’d be spending New Year’s Day (2025) in . . . first, the Emergency Room, and then before midnight, the hospital room with a view?  

It’s January 13, and we are still here. 

The reason we rushed Tony to the hospital three times in 2018, six years ago, is the same reason he is here today: breathing difficulty. (These do not include the fluke in 2015 when we had to rush him to the same hospital, too.) 

This room is called a “suite” in hospital (not hotel) parlance. Its floor-to-ceiling window/facade allows us to watch the traffic below, the school where I teach and some establishments at eye level, and the sky above.

The wi-fi, much improved six years hence, connects us to the outside world and enables us even to conduct online classes. 

I dont know for how long our stay would be. People are like machines. The wear and tear caused by age is a natural phenomenon. Yet when a breakdown happens, we are never prepared.   

But grace flows daily. The nurses, doctors, orderlies, and other staff are caring, solicitous and, I think, consider us family. Otherwise, why would they call Tony Daddy and me, Mommy? 

Although guests are not allowed, it feels like our faith brethren, friends, and famiily are here with us through encouraging messages, notes, goodies. We are showered with and joined in prayers from all corners. 

Son #3 and I alternate as watchers at night. Son #1 help with purchases. Son #2 with my daughter-in-love and grandson make video calls. I have created a group chat where all 3 sons are alerted every step of the way. 

A God-sent gift through CSM Publishing is the writing of my next book,  a devoseries for children, due at the end of February, for launching in September. It keeps my mind off unwanted thoughts. My computer therefore tags along with me when I go home and come back to the hospital. 

How are we doing? Let me echo Apostle Paul in Romans 8:18, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” 

Palawan ACT 3:

 The Long Way Home 

What took me only one direct, painless hour to travel from home to Palawan took me seven circuitous, painful hours to get home. 

For some unexplained reason, my booking from Palawan to Manila was canceled or was no longer in the list of Philippine Airlines (PAL) when the organizers checked the night before my flight. And the only reason they double-checked was because son #3 kept asking me what was the exact time of my ETA in Manila. 

I kept replying, “Same, same.” 

But having the exact-to-the-last-detail genes of Tony, son #3 was persistent. So that’s how the organizers found out I was not in the list of passengers in the last PAL flight to Manila. 

They went to the PAL office to rectify the error, but because it was a super busy time in Palawan, no seat was available. So the best they could do was to book me a flight to Manila via Cebu (4 hours layover). Otherwise, I’d be staying in the Hotel alone (all GTA participants would have left) one more day. 

And so it was . . . one-and-a-half-hour flight to Cebu. Four hours at the Cebu domestic airport for my connecting, one-and-a-half-hour flight to Manila. 

When I got home it was 2 o’clock in the morning the following day!  

Again, grace traveled with me. All through my looooong way home (Dec. 5-6), this verse was my aerodrome beacon, speaking directly to me: 

Palawan ACT 2:

The Job 

At the top of my head when I went to Palawan was, Finish the job. After judging, there had to be awarding. And Palawan was the awarding site. 

I took the last flight from Manila to Palawan the day before. It was swift and painless—an hour of traveling grace.  Early the next day came “the job.” The Gawad Teodora Alonso (GTA) 2024 occupied many parts of the hotel. On the ground floor was the special dining room for the judges and DepEd officers and Exhibit/fellowship areas. On the second floor—the whole ballroom—was where the extravaganza (all awarding programs) was held. 

As early as mid-morning, book signing and non-stop presentations such as cultural dances, choral renditions, speeches regaled the audience of about 400. 

We were requested to don informal or creative national costumes. It was a chance for me to meet as many officers and educators as I could. Everyone was so friendly as though we had known each other for years. I wish I could remember all their names, but that’s a hard act even to young ones. 

The awarding of prizes was grandiose, peppered with more dances, storytelling, and other stage acts. This was, no doubt, the most lavish event I have attended in my life. From the tiny details of the décor to the huge multi-screen beside the stage area, no expense was spared. The works--all glitz and glam. 

I still have to remember clicking my camera instead of rapt attention to what’s happening before my eyes, so I have no pictures that capture the event. All photos here were sent to me by techie friends who seem to have been born with a camera. 

Here are my several seconds of fame–being on the giant screen and marching to our assigned table. Alas, I could not find a photo of me on stage awarding one grand prize. But believe me, I was there for a minute or two.

The program went way beyond the estimated time, but I had enough sleep to carry me through the next day for my flight home. 

To say that the GTA 2024 Awards Night was spectacular is an understatement.  

Palawan ACT 1:

Quiet Send-off, Loud Welcome 

After five years of traveling only to nearby cities and towns (not more than 50 kilometers away), I mustered enough courage to fly to Puerto Princesa, Palawan on Dec. 3 for the awarding of the Gawad Teodora Alonso national winners. 

As one of the judges invited by DepEd’s Bureau of Learning Resources, I felt I needed to complete the job and congratulate the winners personally. 

Tony decided to send me off and also to come up for air as we have been cooped-up at home since the pandemic. He took a photo of me entering the airport terminal. 

I was speechless when I arrived at the Palawan airport seeing a horde of DepEd staff holding a huge streamer, welcoming me. From thereon, it was happy noise all the way until my assigned room at the hotel.  

Since everyone (judges and guests) had checked in the day before or much earlier, they were finished with dinner when I arrived. They welcomed me with wacky poses, then left . . . 

. . . and I had the dining room all to myself. I spent the rest of my time, before turning in, to thank the Lord for His grace that traveled with me. 

Angels on New Year’s Day

False negative I think they call it in Medicine. That was what might have happened when we were sent home from the Emergency Room.

At home, Tony took the prescribed meds and it was downhill from there. He’d pant and catch his breath even with the slightest move. 

January 1, after online/phone consultation with my three sons, my first purchase was a wheelchair. But even trying to sit on it, our patient would pant, like he raced in a marathon.

So we went back to the emergency room. The Lord sent many angels to help us. A friend drove us to the hospital (Ching must have been an ambulance driver in her other life), Pastor Moe personally came to pray for him, Sis Billie kept me company, held my hand, till son #1 and driver Sammy arrived for the  arrangements. His doctor advised that he be admitted.

Within six grueling hours of tests and waiting for results, faith brethren prayed for us, encouraging  messages flowed continuously from kith and kin. Then we were ushered to a room with a view—that includes the university where I teach! This room is also just across the nurses' station and three steps away from hot/cold water and a microwave. 

The nurses (and staff) are prompt and caring. His doctors are thorough. 

And that was how we spent New Year's day. Grace galore with God's angels. For how long wiill we be here? I leave that in God's hands. 

“For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." (Psalms 91:11 ESV) 

Silent Soliloquy

Like Hamlet, I had a soliloquy—but only in my mind: To go or not to go. Our annual clan 3-day reunion, now on its 80th year (and therefore a grand one), would happen in two days.

 

But Tony begged off, “I don’t think I can manage the travel.” 

He had a point: that day he lost his usual appetite for gourmet food; he had insomnia; and a semblance of diarrhea. Nothing serious, I thought, but with his comorbidities, his condition could turn for the worse. 

We were all packed, had paid for accommodations, and set to leave as scheduled. “To go or not to go.” 

I first told son #1 of my secret decision not to go. He protested but finally understood. I was not sure about son #3, who had already worked out final arrangements. 

I told my sister about it, then Mother Teresa, then our driver Sammy—all in confidence. Because if Tony knew, he would surely protest vehemently.  

Finally, son #3 understood as well.  

Without any inkling that I would stay behind, Tony bade us all goodbye as the car drove out of the garage. On the road, I got down, waited a few minutes and rang the doorbell. 

Aie called the decision Solomonic. The next day, Tony’s condition got worse, so we hied to the Emergency Room, as advised by his cariodioloist. 

For four long hours, Tony, Sammy, and I waited for his test results in an isolation room. Meanwhile, I updated son #1, #2, and #3 in a group chat I created for this. When the results finally came, the doctor said we could go home. She had been in touch with Tony’s cardiologist for the prognosis and prescription. 

After paying our bill, we headed home. 

My roommate of 54 years is still feeling ill as we await the New Year, but by God's grace, we were spared from spending the beginning of 2005 in a hospital room. 

Have a blessed 2025 dear friends!  

Noche Buena 2024: Traditions and Additions

Year in, year out, traditions are pretty much what our noche buena is about:  Buying the turkey (“Is it bigger/smaller than last year’s?”), the sausages, chestnuts, and other herbs for stuffing, then preparing it for roasting. 

The turkey is the meal’s centerpiece, spent for by son #1 this year and prepared by son #3 with the help of Mother Teresa. In the last two years, a charcuterie board (gift from our friend Mich) has been a most welcome addition to the table. 

Speaking of additional grace, this year, my sister Aie came to join us. And with her came memories of Christmases past. My late mom would also make time for our Christmas dinner from the province. There was that one merry time when Tony’s late mom and sister joined us, too. All three have gone to glory, but left us with blissful memories. 

Another happy addition this year was the Christmas eve worship, which packed our church to the rafters. It brought together our members’ families (from different places in the globe); it was a glorious reunion of old friends. 

Photos of our age-old Christmas dinner traditions (and additions):  

A dash of this, a dash of that . . . and  
voila!

New Hands, New Taste

Last year (2023), I totally abandoned my roles (AWOL is a better term) in our Christmas preparations.  

It has something to do with my facilitating our church’s women’s Sunday school, where we studied the true meaning of Christmas. My sons say “age.” 

Yes, age—the wisdom of age.  

The Lord dropped from above new hands to take over my roles, but with a new taste.  

I have often blogged about Mother Teresa and how she came into our lives, after the death of Ate Vi, our faithful househelper for many years. 

Last year, she turned our storeroom upside down to look for old Christmas thingies and by herself put them up in her own way, her taste.  

This year, before the calendar hit December, I took her to the mall and told her to point to decor that might look good at home. She pointed, I paid. 

These are Mother Teresa's workmanship—she mixed and matched old and new and the result is, tada! 

I used to be finicky about color, size, placement, quality, motif, etc. Those I renounced, too. 

She is happy; I am happy; the boys, as usual, noticed nothing. 

This is Christmas: 

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” John 3:16 NASB 

Like a Pilgrimage

Since 1998, two years before I left the workplace, my family had been going to the Canyon Woods Resort Club yearly—similar to what pilgrims do. Except that the place is not a shrine; it was our recreation haven.  

A friend’s daughter, who was then carving her career in sales, convinced me to invest in the club. To help her, I bought one share without knowing what the club had to offer. It was her first sale and it was my first investment (paid in installment).   

It proved to be worth the “risk.”  Our three boys had enjoyed the heated pool,  recreation area (all sorts of indoor games), gym, theater, library, spa, clean air, and the beautifully landscaped 220-hectare lot.  

A huge part of our stay in the resort was passing through the breathtaking view of the Taal Volcano.

We brought all our guests and close friends there not just for R&R but for workshops and golf.   

All those travels stopped when a bridge to the place collapsed. The coup de grace was the pandemic. 

When things had gone back to normal, we traveled there again last year. The place has decayed, but we still continued paying our membership dues. 

To take advantage of our privileges, we drove there again in December. “Our last one,” Tony and I said, deciding to stop paying dues. Not because the place is not what it used to be, but more because we both are not what we used to be: now too feeble to walk the sloping roads and distances between places. 

But son #3 was adamant. “I will pay for the dues!” 

I realized that fun memories (while our boys were growing up) cannot be dropped like a hot potato.  Oscar Wilde said it so well, "Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.” And that grace diary is a part of who we are. 

On our way home,  son #1 and son #3 asked the driver to stop by the places (many are already closed) that were part of the resort in days of old. In each spot, they were gone a long time while Tony and I waited in the car. 

Son #3 took my photo with the familiar volcano in the background. I didn’t verbalize what was in my mind, I will not pass this way again. It was not a lament, but a celebration of new things that might come sooner than we think. 

“My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart; he is mine forever.” Psalms 73:26 NLT

Paw It forward

Judge (an askal, meaning street dog), our only pet left after the death of his mother, Attorney II, turned six on Christmas eve.  

He was a surprise grace on Christmas day 6 years ago when the boys and I arrived from a staycation in a nearby hotel. 

His mother, Attorney II, started giving birth the day before. Son #3 assisted her, as she was a first-time mom at age seven. Just before midnight, while we were away, our househelper said Attorney II birthed two more--Judge was one of them.  

My sister Aie, who is spending the Christmas break with us, gifted Judge with a birthday present that she bought from Paw It Forward, a group composed of animal lovers who raise funds to donate to shelters that care for stray and rescued animals all over the country. 

How do they do it? They sell various merchandise, among which are bracelets and necklaces with the logo featuring a black paw and a white paw. This is what we read on the their FB page: 

Every Dog deserves a chance to have a better life

Be the change you want to see in the world

So what did Judge get as a birthday gift? Two paws . . .  

in a dainty necklace that he gratefully and gracefully accepted (he didn’t move when the necklace was being put around his neck) bought from a group concerned about caring for homeless animals, many of which are abused and abandoned by their owners. 

Our beloved Judge was petted to the max on Christmas Day.

Happy 6th birthday, Judge! 

Love Came Down: CHRISTmas 2024

For several Sundays leading to this day, Christmas, our Pastor Moe's message focused on the significance of Christmas—the most glorious day when LOVE came down.  

Of all his slides, I I took a shot of one that encapsulates the unfathomable LOVE of Christ for you and me. 

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” John 1:14 (ESV)

And so we celebrate! 

Judge Not

“Judge not!” We were cautioned in kiddie Sunday school. I took it to heart. But what a relief that it does not refer to judging in competitions. Otherwise, I’d have been cursed countless times. 

Since my first book was published about 22 years ago, I have been invited to judge in writing contests. It is always a rewarding experience. I get to read different writing styles and hear voices from different age ranges.   

The latest one to which I was invited was the national judging (from regional winners) of Gawad Teodora Alonso (GTA2024), 6th National Competition on Storybook Writing. Previously known as the National Competition on Storybook Writing, it is a project of the Department of Education (DepEd) Bureau of Learning Resources. 

The GTA is open to classroom teachers, non-teaching personnel, education leaders, and learners—with special categories for each of these groups. 

Compared to all other writing competitions, where entries are judged as manuscripts, GTA is unique. All finalists are printed as books. That’s why judging had to be a partnership between writers and artists—all 18 of us—most of whom have been long-time friends.  

I had wanted to blog about this day of grace, but we were sworn to secrecy until after the awarding rites. Now that the winners have been announced in formal ceremonies in Puerto Princesa, Palawan, I am free to share with you some of our photos. All storybooks were written in Tagalog and tackled various areas and levels of the Matatag Curriculum.  

It was hard work. How to choose from among so many well-executed stories? We had to agree on winners, but not before hours of bantering and debating.