Dear Betong,
Today, 16 of us from St. Joseph’s College Batch ’76 were there at the Loyola Park, Marikina, to see you for the last time. I had to be at a late show at the Boulvar Music Lounge last night, slept at 4 a.m., was awake at 6 a.m. to remind our classmates about your interment Mass at 9 a.m., a Mass sponsored by our class, the third one we offered in your honor. Only two hours of sleep – still enough, nonetheless, to give me the strength to be with our classmates to bid you goodbye, or better yet, so long.
We are a close lot – Batch ’76. We had one of the most attended silver anniversary homecomings, with 64 members in attendance, out of a graduating class of around 150. It was in preparation for this silver jubilee that we saw you again, dear Betong, for the first time after more than two decades, still as bubbly and beautiful as ever. After that, you were always there in our gatherings.
You were unbelievably hilarious especially when you made fun of the gorgeous Papas (husbands) of our other batchmates. You would be one of those to laugh the hardest when my very own gorgeous Papa, who constantly misses me, would text me to "Go home now." You loved our storytelling sessions about people we knew, until we promised ourselves that the rumor-mongering would be limited to people we did not know – showbiz personalities, politicians, and the like, so we could bash them all the way, without cringing from any pangs of guilt thereafter.
I am trying to recall now when we learned for the first time that you were sick of this scourge called cancer (when, oh when, shall the geniuses of the world find a cure for it?) and I vaguely remember that last year, I handed you a check, our batch’s humble contribution to your mounting medical expenses. We didn’t know, or probably refused to know, how serious it could get. You were always there. You were strong. You even actively participated in the fund-raising activities for Joji, another ailing classmate.
You were at the reunions at Norkie’s house in New Manila late last year to prepare for our pearl anniversary this year. You were at our 2005 Batch Christmas Party. You partied with us all night at the Sola’s Bar in Bohol Ave. in January of this year where 40 of us, including those from abroad, compared notes on our kids, husbands, boyfriends, partners (whatever was applicable) and life in general.
You were there at Dencio’s Greenhills late January for our despedida for Chona. It was at the new Promenade when you proudly introduced to us your beautiful daughter who was studying to become a nurse. Until the get-together at Marlu’s Blue Ridge house in April, which was supposed to be your birthday party and which you failed to attend because you were already confined at the Heart Center. Until Frieda and Wilma visited you at the hospital and brought our new collection to you and you still managed to joke that we should postpone it till the last. Until Marika and Tinggay texted us on May 1 that you were gone.
How could you leave us so soon, Betong? Weren’t we supposed to grow old together until we could show off to each other our children’s children as sexy lolas? Weren’t we supposed to continue all the gossiping and the teasing till our bloated tummy’s ached? Couldn’t you have waited until after our golden anniversary 20 years from now when we could still proudly announce to the young alumnae for the 25th straight year that this is the batch that started the Most Outstanding Alumnae Awards?; that we are the batch that called each other "sis" like a close-knit sorority?; that ours was the class who fought and loved until we couldn’t remember what it was that we were fighting about?
As I was singing Hindi Kita Malilimutan at the Mass this morning, I had to look the other way and distance myself from Anto, Dulce, Ruby, Tet, Cora, Isa, Maryann, Eloisa, and all the rest because I didn’t want to see them crying or sharing tissues to dab their tear-brimmed eyes. I had to finish my song for you, my dear friend. But at the end of the Mass when I saw your 13-year-old daughter Chao wailing while clinging to her Dad, I just had to miss singing a few lines as I choked and my voice was about to crack. Your four young children expressing their love for you and how much they would miss you was too much for me to handle. Though I was the singer, I have emotions, too. And, unlike the contestants of Star in a Million and StarStruck, I was excused to stop and compose myself, without fear of losing points, before resuming.
At the end of the burial, before we finally decided to go, we heard Kim, one of your lovely daughters, giving an extemporaneous talk. You would have been so proud of her, Betong. She sincerely thanked everyone present on behalf of your family for the support, and promised you, their beloved mother and kabarkada, that all of them would finish their studies, no matter what, as this is what you would have wanted them to do.
As tears are now beginning to dry, I say you had a fruitful life, my dear classmate. You had been a great friend. Most importantly, you raised such fine children who, with your guidance and the values you instilled in them, will surely become successful later on in life.
You are now at peace in heaven, while we, your batchmates, will keep on remembering you. The stories and jokes we shared will be recycled on and on, although the laughter will be a little bit less noisy without you.
I close by thanking you, dear Betong, for sharing with us your friendship. We will someday see you in heaven, too, to see your warm smile again, to hear your infectious laugh again. We will always love you.
Your batchmate,
– Dot