Not Late, Just Delayed

That title is, for me, the essence of son #1’s eulogy (fond remembrances) at Tony’s wake.

He was six years old when Voltes V, a Japanese anime TV series, became popular in the Philippines. He and his friends (who were at the wake) became fans of this new craze. Tony thought it would be a perfect motif for his birthday cake.  

As son #1 reminisced, his friends must have gone into nostalgia as they nudged each other. 

Voltes V grew into a cultural phenomenon in the Philippines and pretty soon tiny replicas of this crime buster was sold in stores. Tony would buy them for his panganay (eldest son).  Then marketing men thought of making more money—a 24-foot replica was a marketing novelty. 

From that day forward, panganay narrated, he would nag his dad to buy him one. Son #2 kept reminding him, “That’s expensive!”  Still panganay was persistent, almost daily.  

Many months later, Tony came home with the 24-foot treasure! “It was a day of rejoicing,” panganay said. He proudly showed it to his friends and for the following weeks, they enjoyed playing with it. 

Why would Tony delay giving it? Son #1 realized years later that the replica cost P700. And Tony’s salary at that time was P600. 

He surmised that his father would never deny him what he wanted, but it took time for him to save for it. 

I bawled.  

I remembered the growing-up years of our three sons. My album of photos are my memories of grace, but my boys remember more through their close encounters with their father.   

Again, as with all the other eulogies, this was one more facet of Tony’s heart I glossed over, because he never belabored any issue.

It took a wake for son #1 to share his fond memories of his father "who never failed to provide" (his words, not mine).

P.S. 

That Voltes V replica had long been thrown away because it got mangled by the boys beyond recognition. Now, guess how much a pre-owned one would cost today? P71k! 

PBF 2025: A Blast

Ten hundred thousand superlatives can’t possibly describe my two-hour stint at the Philippine Book Festival. 

The OMF-Hiyas booth, managed to a tee by the dedicated staff, teemed with readers who asked questions while I signed my books.

 

I grabbed the chance to tell them the backstories, which my BFF Yay (a fellow author) said are more interesting than the stories themselves. 

Aside from long chats, photo ops took most of everyone’s time. Those moments of grace at the OMF booth provided an oasis and a refuge for the arid and horrid terrain my family and I just journeyed through for two long months since the New Year.    

Here are photos that show the joy I cannot begin to write in words. 

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."  Psalm 46:1

Photo credits: Hiyas

Wake: Travelling Back (Part 2)

As announced, we opened the door of Chapel 506 at 3 PM on January 22 to begin Tony’s four-day wake. 

A man, whose face was vaguely familiar, stood outside, waiting to come in. He extended his hand and said, “Aboc po, Ma’am,” he said, trying to conceal his tears.

Then I remembered. Aboc was the loyal messenger of Tony’s company for over 20 years! I didn’t see him often, but whenever I did, he was always gracious. 

Sam, our driver, cried, “Aboc!” And they hugged as long-lost friends would. 

Aboc volunteered to deliver the eulogy (fond remembrances) during the memorial service, and he was the last guest to leave at dawn.     

What he said made me weep all over again. Not of grief but of hearing for the first time another facet of Tony’s heart. 

“Kind,” he said repeatedly. He enumerated many times when Tony came to his rescue and helped him, even with his personal problems. He spoke of how "boss Tony" personally called Aboc’s future boss (Aboc resigned when he found a job closer to his home), vouching for his character and endorsing him. 

Another guest offerred to give the eulogy: Nora, a faith sister. I was a principal sponsor at her wedding so she and her husband call me Ninang. 

Whenever she and Tony met, their chats were long, centering on their common passion, food. Nora can whip up a yummy dish at any time. For years till Tony was hospitalized, Nora would send Tony every Sunday a plate of her cooking.  

There was that one Sunday when I came home without it. Tony asked,  “No food for me?"  

“Nora is in Singapore.” 

Every Christmas, Nora would gift us with Tony’s favorite queso de bola. (It was no surprise when she took on the food-prep job completely--from wake to funeral.) 

I couldn’t imagine how Tony, better known as a no-nonsense businessman who neither pulled no punches nor minced words, could be soft and caring!?  

Grace overwhelmed me that night through two most unlikely, but special, volunteer speakers. 

Wake: Travelling Back (Part 1)

Every night, through the four-day wake of Tony at the funeral parlor, we had a memorial service where we were fed with God’s Word and prayed over. In each of those services, at least two people delivered a eulogy (which my brothers preferred to call “fond remembrances” because “a eulogy is a formal oration"). 

These remembrances showed me facets of Tony's heart that I never knew or glossed over, but were held dear by those who spoke. 

They said it in beautiful words I can never echo, but this is how they touched me. 

My brother Matt spoke about Tony taking him under our roof (we had just gotten married) as part of the household when Matt’s job brought him to Manila. "No questions asked."  Matt lived with us till he got married. 

My brother Dave said the same thing about Tony who wanted ("no questions asked") him to stay with us when he came to Manila for college. Dave added that Tony brought them to international shows like the “Lettermen” at the Cultural Center of the Philippines and often treated them out. Dave lived with us till he graduated and found a job. 

My brother Earl (who flew in from Australia one week sfter the wake) reminisced about the same thing—invitation to be a part of our home. He recalled that his first job was to go to many places in a private jet to assist Tony with his duties for an advertising campaign. Earl lived with us till he found a job that took him out of Manila. 

There were many more. But as I rued, much as I try, I can’t write them better than how they felt and narrated it. 

Now traveling to many years back through blog posts . . . I realize, there were many poignant scenes I missed, or took for granted. But by the grace of hindsight, I was given a chance to see them, high res in slomo, at the wake. 

Tony treated my brothers like they were his own—bound and closely related in everything but blood. 

Let me quote the last two lines of Garth Brook’s song: 

"And they say blood is thicker than water,
But love is thicker than blood." 

Philippine Book Festival 2025

C’mon over! The PBF is in full swing! It opened yesterday and will end on Sunday. 

If you’re into books, this place is for us. 

Today, I will be at the Hiyas booth for book signing, beginning at 11 AM. I am on my way, and should be there before then.  

This ad (below) was created and uploaded by Hiyas on social media. Friends have commented that I look young and fresh. Well, that photo was taken when . . . I can’t even remember. 

So I took liberties with the ad (sincere apologies to the artist) and changed the  photo with the real me today—the opposite of young and fresh. Otherwise, people might skip the Hiyas book if they don’t see that young-and-fresh human above.  

Kidding aside, I’d love to see you there, kindred souls. Writing about grace has been my life for years and years and meeting readers in person is grace magnified. 

C’mon over to our wonderland!  

Show Proof of the Proof

Tons of paper work requiring a long stretch of time and a longer stretch of patience pummel a grief-stricken family after a loved one breathes his last. 

Death certificate. This is signed by the doctor on duty, who could not be contacted by the staff the day after. Before that, one needs proof of paid hospital bills that take hours to compute only during office hours. This is required by the funeral home before any action is taken. 

Permits. From three municipalities--the hospital's, the funeral parlor's, and the cemetery's.  

Contracts: For the wake. funeral services, and plot.  

SSS: For burial and pension benefits. One has to prove one’s legal relationship with the deceased through heaps of documents, not to mention hours of waiting in line. 

More! And this takes the cake:  

INSURANCE--as the beneficiary, I have to prove I am the legal spouse. But after presenting an original, certified true copy of a Marriage Certificate, the insurance company requires a PSA (Philippine Statistics Authority) record, which does not have a perfect filing system. Naturally, none is found. 

Son #3, a lawyer, cites the law to the insurance company:   

Republic Act No. 11909: "Section 3. Permanent Validity. — The certificates of live birth, death, and marriage issued, signed, certified, or authenticated by the PSA and its predecessor, the NSO, and the local civil registries shall have permanent validity regardless of the date of issuance and shall be recognized and accepted in all government or private transactions or services requiring submission thereof, as proof of identity and legal status of a person:…"

The insurer remains unmoved.

And so with the help of my brother Dave and his wife Gladys, another certified true copy of the same marriage certificate had to be requested from the QC Civil Registry, to be sent to the PSA who will likewise unearth microfilms of ancient records. 

I try not to complain, but going through these at a time when our hearts are bleeding and our spirits are breaking require gargantuan will. 

I pray for extra dollops of grace to internalize these verses: 

Romans 5:3-5 ESV, “. . . we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” 

Why White?

It is my only choice. 

I wear white during death rituals for a loved one. In the study of psychology and research analysis, “White is clean, simple, and pure, signifying new beginnings.” 

For me and my family, white is the color of hope, not mourning. It stands in stark contrast to black light, which is the absence of all colors.  White light contains all the colors of the spectrum—an inclusive color, favoring no single hue. 

In the Bible, which is my daily reading staple, the color white also symbolizes resurrection, eternal life with God, much like the imagery in Matthew 17:2 (ESV), “And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light.” 

So white clothes we all (family, kin, and kindred spirits) wore to the wake and the funeral rites, or what we would rather call: celebration of Tony’s life on earth and a time to say our goodbye. 

In 2 Corinthians 5:8 we read,  “Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord." (to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord). 

White is a testimony to ourselves, family, and friends that we believe our deceased loved ones are not in the casket.

ooo

It is my only chocolate choice: white or bust. 

This has something to do with the palate I was born with. So when my brother Earl and his wife Tess wrote they were coming home for a visit, I had a ready answer. 

“What would you like us to bring home from Australia?” they asked. 

My unequivocal reply, “White Chocolate!”

Their first and only request was for us to visit Tony's grave. 

As of this writing, they have gone back to Australia. More than—much, much more than—the white chocolate, I (my sons and the rest of our brood) badly needed that visit. It enabled us to take a leap of faith out of the pit of grief to new beginnings. 

White light is like grace—it comes in all colors of the rainbow. 

What’s with the #40?

Many cultural traditions and religious groups observe a memorial service on the 40th day after death. The belief is that 40 days signify a period of transition for the soul.

While my family does not observe this, it was “serendipitous" (my sister Aie’s term) that on day 40, March 1, after Tony bade us "So long," there was an amazing confluence of events. The Chit-Chat (our nickname for our clan, derived from Mom's name, Chit) scheduled a staycation in an Airbnb out of town. 

It was a kunol-kunol as one of my three brothers and his wife are here for a short vacation from Australia. It was also a time to meet at a happier place and time, in contrast to a wake and a funeral. 

That same morning, before my sons and I drove to the meet-up, I blogged about Tony’s quirk in reading the last 40 pages of a book. The night before, I had to rush proofreading the last 40 pages of the draft of my new book. 

I once blogged about the #40 in a different context. I am revisiting it now because it suddenly piqued my interest.  Many Bible scholars see #40 as a way to express an important period of testing or preparation before a new beginning.  There are many examples, but let me just cite a few: 

    • The rains fell in Noah’s day for 40 days and nights (Genesis 7:4)

    • Israel wandered in the wilderness for 40 years (Exodus 16:35)

    • Moses was with God on the mountain, 40 days and nights, without eating bread or water (Exodus 24:18, 34:28)

    • The spies searched the land of Canaan for 40 days (Numbers 13:25)

    • 40 lashes (stripes) was the maximum whipping penalty (Deuteronomy 25:3)

    • David reigned over Israel for 40 years (2 Samuel 5:4, 1 Kings 2:11)

    • Solomon reigned the same length as his father, 40 years (1 Kings 11:42)

    • Elijah had one meal that gave him strength for 40 days (1 Kings 19:8)

    • Jesus fasted 40 days and nights (Matthew 4:2)

    • Jesus remained on earth 40 days after the resurrection (Acts 1:3)

Other scholars, however, believe that 40 is just a metaphor for “a long time.” 

Whatever. A day by any other name would still be grace.  

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,  and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6 ESV

Last 40 Pages

A voracious reader, Tony could devour one book a week. After he closed his company of over 30 years, just before the pandemic, he spent most of his time reading. His favorite haunt: Book Sale, where he’d buy books by the dozen. 

He always took a book with him wherever he/we went—to the mall, a resto, a coffee shop, etc. I took the photo below in a bistro before our food was served. 

In between reading, he’d solve puzzles that came with the newspaper we bought daily, or play chess on his cellphone. Before bedtime, he’d watch historical, war movies, and travelogues (“Because I can no longer travel there.”) 

At any time during those activities, I could disturb him with my inane prattle about anything that popped in my head while writing my next book. He would indulge me. Whether he listened or not, well, that is irrelevant.  

But.  

When he was on the last 40 pages of his book, no disaster—not even of a world-ending magnitude—could make him stir. We had to tiptoe around him.  

I was not surprised when he brought a book (crime fiction) when we rushed him to the hospital on New Year’s day. Every day, in bed through the first week, he would ask for it alternately with his cellphone. But my gut tells me he never reached the last 40 pages, because we could disturb him anytime, unless he was asleep. 

As I proofread the last 40 pages of my new book yesterday (my deadline is February!), I profusely thanked the Author of life for love of reading, a comforting grace not only for readers like Tony was but for grieving writers like I am. 

   

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18