Goodbye Charo ...

Charo and I weren’t really close friends in dental school.  I don’t even remember having a conversation with her in college. Our first and longest chat was during one Perio seminar at the Intercontinental Hotel.  For the entire morning, Charo recounted her life as a battered housewife and how she managed to leave her abusive, violent husband. I was shocked and pitied her much.   In time, Charo finally found the love of her life (Dr. Joe). After that intense conversation, Charo and I became friends.

Three years ago, December 2012.  Charo was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer which has metastasized to her spine.  When I found out about her cancer, I cried profusely to Jacqui and Alan. 

Charo used to ask me what medicines I take for my back pain and I was more than willing to share with her the story of my “painful” existence.  We were taking the same medications, Lyrica and Tramadol, but Charo took the maximum dosage for these meds and would take Codeine, or was it Morphine, if her pain was unbearable.

Three weeks ago, I received a text invite from Charo to celebrate her birthday at Gloria Maris.  At the end of her message, she said that she has lost a lot of weight, might need help walking and asked me not to cry. I informed Alan, Jacqui and Ranny about the text message and suggested to reschedule the celebration.  When we finally agreed on an earlier date, Charo canceled.  She said she can’t see us because she’s been in reverse isolation for a month and cannot even be visited. 

Five days before her birthday, Charo sent me another message saying that she’s confined at the hospital, needed blood transfusion and had difficulty in breathing. The text was sent at 1:35 pm, Saturday, 31^st of October.  I asked Alan if we could visit Charo the next day. But it was All Saint’s Day and everyone was busy visiting their dearly departed, except me.  I was home …  alone. 

Charo never replied to my texts.  I had a bad feeling.  Somehow, I knew she was gone.  I sent her a message, told her to get well, and that I love love love her so much! The next day, I got calls from Jacqui and Anna, but missed answering their calls. 

We went to the wake on Nov 4, at noon, to be with Charo on her birthday.  I didn’t have the courage to look at her inside the coffin.  I didn’t want that to be  my last memory of her.

I asked Anna if Charo told her about her difficulty in breathing. Charo didn't.
Charo also didn't tell her sister.  Did she tell anyone else?  I really wouldn't know.

***

The death of a loved one

 - a parent, a daughter or a friend,

 reminds me of my own mortality.  

I fear death, not just my own, 

but more so, the death

 of those closest to me.  

I dread being alone. 

and selfish of me to ask God

 to take me first, before those I love. 
***

Goodbye Charo ... 

I owe my Dad a debt I can never pay back.

Ben Tolentino, aka, Bentol... his life story ended one year ago,

but my Dad's significance is not lost. It is my responsibility to

 celebrate, honor and respect the dignity of my father's life.

 I owe my Dad a debt that I can never pay back.

We, as family, relatives, friends, as human beings ... 

all have this responsibility, moral obligation to preserve the 

memory of our loved ones who have gone ahead.

Thank you to all who came over to the gathering
this afternoon, to remember, honor and pray for my Dad.

Autumn Leaves, an acrylic painting by betsisanders

Title: Autumn Leaves
Size: 5 x 7 inches
Medium: Acrylic on Museum Wrapped Canvas
Artist: betsisanders 2015

Death is the end of someone’s life story.  Perhaps, the loss of one person’s significance is what makes death pitiful, pathetic, sorrowful and filled with grief. It’s been a year since my Dad passed. Daddy died last year. Only my siblings and their families were there. Nobody else showed up, not even me. Was there a service? Was there someone from the clergy to say a few comforting words? I don’t know.  I wasn’t there to say rest in peace Dad.

Dad wanted his cremains brought back to Manila. Thanks to my dear friend, Dr. Aimee, for bringing Dad home.  Dad wanted to be laid to rest with Nanay in some crypt, preferably in Loyola.  That would be my job, to bring my parents  together in a final resting place.

I am talking about death again. It is certain. It’s probably just around the corner waiting. It is my greatest fear. But you know what I pray for? I ask Him to take me first.

 I am an old girl, at the autumn of my life. “Winter is coming.” Haha … that phrase which is often said in every episode of my favorite series.  (Oh… I’m sidetracked again.)  Talking of autumn, it’s the most colorful season, also the most loved, second to spring. But as it ends, there lurks sadness, a dreary feeling, cold that makes one shudder.

(Thanks to Dodinsky for this inspirational quote.)

If a girl is quiet ...

Title:  If a girl is quiet ...

Size:  5 x 7 inches

Medium:  Acrylic on Museum Wrapped Canvas

Artist:  betsisanders 2015

***

As I was scrolling down my News Feed,

I saw this...

If a girl is quiet ...

rather, if an old girl is quiet ...

she's either reading, writing, painting

or praying.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Music is magic.

Title:  Music is magic.

Medium:  Acrylic on Museum-wrapped Canvas

Size:  20 x 24 inches

Artist:  betsisanders 2015

Music relieves heartaches, clears my mind

and uplifts my soul.

Music is magic.  (betsisanders 2015)

My Naked Truth, an acrylic painting by betsisanders 2015

Title: My Naked Truth

Size: 12 x 16 inches

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas Board

Artist: betsisanders 2015

Date: July 2015

When life gets difficult, frustrating, unbearable or plain sad…
… when things are impossible to explain or comprehend,
… when there are more questions than answers,
… when I’m stripped of all pretensions,
… when I am most vulnerable, naked and bare,
… when weeping is just one of two things I do,
the other, be still.
I gain strength only from Him, my Light, my Truth.

(betsisanders 2015)

Regrets do not matter...

This was written six months ago. I couldn't share it because just reading it would make me weep.

Regrets do not matter…. 

A couple of weeks ago, a classmate passed. Siya si Pilar.  Pilar was my classmate since fifth grade until fourth year high school.  For those seven years, I do not remember ever having a conversation or any interaction with Pilar.  There were about a hundred fifty girls in our batch. That’s three sections. There were other classmates whom I never had a chance to speak with. I don’t even remember how they look like even if I stare at their photos. I’m sure some of them don’t remember me too.

Pilar was one of the quiet girls in class, not popular. In fact, the girls I used to know would often laugh at her or make fun of her. I am guilty of this meanness too. She had a strange way of looking at people. I only realized that she had some sort of eye problem, Banlag or Squint-eyed, when she assisted me at the DFA two years ago.

Pilar helped me and my son renew our passports.  It took us the whole morning. During that time, Pilar talked about her job at the Malacanang, her meager minimum waged salary, her ailing mom, her struggle as a single parent, and her daily commute riding a bus which took her two to three hours going to work in the morning and another three or more hours at night to get home.  Pilar even showed me her pay envelope.  After she narrated her miserable life, she dozed off while we were sitting and waiting for our names to be called. She must have been quite exhausted.  

It was almost noon and I wanted to bring Pilar to a nice restaurant or maybe eat at a buffet, but she only wanted to eat at KFC. She asked for a two-piece regular chicken, a cup of rice and two sidings, coleslaw and mashed potato. After our quick lunch, my driver brought her back to Malacanang because she needed to be back at the office while my son and I were dropped off at MOA. I wanted to spend the afternoon with her and chat some more. 

Now, Pilar is dead.

Some classmates sponsored a mass and vigil.  The girls even had the event catered. I couldn’t go to her wake. It was my 55^th birthday then and the centennial celebration of my alma mater. Instead, I requested a friend to hand over my abuloy to Pilar’s son.

What was the catered gathering for? It was our classmates’ way of showing Pilar’s son their kindness, generosity and thoughtfulness. I wonder why they never did that when she was alive. I ask why she was never honored with a surprise birthday party by her so-called friends from high school.  

I regret not treating her to a buffet lunch that day.

Regrets … a feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or been done; remorse; guilt; ruefulness or mournful; causing, feeling or expressing sorrow.

“Regrets do not matter once people are dead.” Quoted from an interview done by Rappler with an MILF rebel’s account on how a SAF lone survivor killed unarmed ‘civilians’ the day after the Mamasapano Maguindanao Massacre.