Souls for Our Help

CEBU, Philippines — My father, Papa Inting, was a wise man, and he shared with me a bit of wisdom: “Evening is the declining period of man’s day; the closing chapter of his strength; the ending of his day’s glory.”

It is important to pray to our Creator every night, because I believe that sleeping is a way of testing death.

I try to dedicate every day of my existence to my Creator. Monday is the day for the souls, to pray and remember loved ones who have gone to the great beyond. By remembering departed loved ones through prayers, especially by offering Masses, they may be able to help us in our challenges in life.

I am not a very superstitious person, but I have had several experiences that seemed unbelievable, yet were too real to ignore.

When my trusted appraiser at Agencia Kasaligan, the pawnshop I started in 1970, died, the whole business was left in the hands of her assistant appraiser. Although I was saddened by our appraiser’s untimely passing, I was also relieved that there was somebody else to keep things going. We planned to train another person to assist the new head.

To my surprise and disappointment, however, the new head came to me a few days after, with a resignation letter in hand. The lady was leaving us for a better opportunity elsewhere. Now I was really worried. If the new head left me, we would have to close the pawnshop in the meantime. We had to find somebody who could be trained in the task of appraising items to be pawned. The training could take some time. I asked around for potential candidates; there was none. Appraisers don’t come in droves; they are quite a rare breed.

There was no other choice for me. I just hoped that those who would be affected would understand our situation. Just as I was about to take some drastic steps, however, the lady appraiser who had earlier resigned returned. She said she was staying put on the job.

I asked her what made her change her mind. She told me that her former superior; the lady who died, had appeared to her two mornings before. The deceased was sitting by her side when she woke up, and pleaded with her not to leave the pawnshop. The dead lady told her of the difficulties that her departure would bring, for me as well as for the remaining employees.

Another time, we had an erring employee in UV’s accounting department. The offense was big enough to warrant her dismissal. On the day we were to announce the termination of her employment with us, the lady employee went AWOL.

We would soon discover that she took with her some very important school documents, so we launched a massive search for her. We even tapped the NBI to help us, but all our efforts were to no avail. For weeks, there was just no trace of the lady anywhere we searched.

Then one morning, to everybody’s surprise, the missing woman came to see me at my office. She cried the moment she stepped in the door, with several folders under her arm – the documents she had taken.

In between sobs, the lady related to me why she decided to return the papers. Mama Pining, she said, appeared to her, urging her to return the documents. This was in the 90s, and Mama Pining had long been deceased by that time. In fact, the employee was too young to have met my mother. This incident made me realize that my mother is still watching over us and the University, long after she has passed away.

I had another unexplainable experience after the cold-blooded killing of a professional basketball player, who was murdered while playing mahjong with his usual gambling group. I knew the victim personally because he was our student, and was one of the star players of the UV Green Lancers. He was a nice fellow, but he left us when he was recruited to play in the PBA in Manila.

The news of the killing disturbed me. It stayed in my head for most of that day, and into the next. On the second day, my telephone rang. I wondered who was calling, since the phone had been installed just two days before, and I had not yet given my new number to anyone.

Thinking it might be the phone lineman working late, I took the call. But it wasn’t the lineman. The guy at the end of the line identified himself as our former player, who had just been killed!

My immediate reaction was one of irritation. I thought some bored fellow was playing a practical joke on me. But how could anyone have known my new number or the fact that I had actually known the fallen guy?

The voice was serious, almost pleading. The guy asked me to help him find a speedy resolution for his case and justice for his death. That week, we came out with an editorial in The Freeman condemning the killing of this former Visayanian and fellow Cebuano.

With all these experiences, I have since made a promise to myself to offer Mass and prayers every Monday for the souls of the departed who had once been, in one way or another, part of my life.