Sweet sixteen

At 5:30 a.m. last Sept. 18, my elder brother Gadie bought white roses in the market to give to his only daughter. With flowers in hand and excitement in his steps, he hurried to greet his daughter on her 16th birthday.

“Happy birthday, Nikka. Sana may dalaga na ako ngayon. I love you,” he whispered as he carefully arranged the flowers on top of his daughter’s tomb.

It’s been almost six years since Nikka passed on. Every day, without fail, Kuya Gadie visits the gravesite of his daughter, who was 10 when she succumbed to glomerulonephritis (a kidney disease) on Dec. 29, 2007. Before or after he reports for work in a brewery factory in Cabuyao, he never forgets to pass by Nikka’s resting place — to talk to her, to pray for her, to share with her his joys, to keep her in the loop. No inclement weather is successful in stopping him from doing so. It helps that the cemetery is near his home — about 30 minutes of jeepney travel.

In the beginning, his visits to his daughter were filled with heartaches and sorrows. But he always had the conscious effort to pray for his wounds to heal.

Later on — almost three years after Nikka breathed her last in his arms — my brother has learned to anticipate his daily visit to Nikka with fireworks in his heart. He has not forgotten the pain of losing his only daughter but he has managed to live with it and treat his every visit as a day of celebration. His wounds are not blurred by time, but time is nevertheless successful in softening the scars.

A few Sundays ago, while we were having lunch under the himbaba-o tree in our backyard, Kuya Gadie, a liberal-minded soul, shared that if his daughter were still alive, she would have suitors by this time. His daughter was smart and a smart dresser for her age.

“She would never experience how it is to be courted. But somehow it is good because she will never experience how it is to be brokenhearted,” he said in the vernacular. “And I — or her brothers Nikko and Nikkelle — will never have the chance to play the role of a cop running after her suitors.”

Nikka was a precocious girl who had the gift of gab. She was Miss Friendship among her classmates and Best in Costume in every Christmas party in school. And surprisingly for her young age, she warmed easily with people much, much older than her.

She would admit her mistakes and would write sorry letters every time she misbehaved or offended someone. She knew by heart — as she, her brothers and cousins joined me to watch the beauty of the setting sun every weekend — that every sunset is a promise of God that tomorrow is another day.

She loved to act, too. She could have been an artista. She was the most showbiz in our family — perhaps because that was the influence on her by her first-ever best friend, Charice Pempengco, who lived next door to the apartment occupied by Kuya Gadie’s family. At an early age, Nikka managed to convince her parents to tag along Charice every time the latter joined a singing contest on TV. They were a fan of each other and defender of each other. Shortly after Charice arrived in the Philippines after her guesting on Ellen, she had unbidden tears in her eyes when she went straight to pay her last respects to the first best friend she had ever known.

Nikka would have been in college now — excelling in her chosen course. She also wanted to become a nurse. She was in Grade 5 when she passed away. Her teachers and classmates came to her wake with her adviser giving her mother Nikka’s last periodical exams. She aced all her tests. Even drawing a heart at the bottom of each test paper.

Albeit with reservation, I asked Kuya Gadie how he’s able to cope with the loss of his daughter. “You just pray every day that the pain will be gone. But it just won’t. You content yourself believing that everything comes. Everything goes. That God is with us on good days. Even on bad days.”

In not so many words, my brother told me that faith is intrinsic in his coping mechanism. “What else can I do but to fully trust that He will take care of Nikka in heaven. No parents would want their child to go ahead of them. That’s not supposed to be the order of things on earth. But such is life.”

He shared with me that God did not prepare him and his wife for the pain of losing their daughter. But later on, he realized the infinite and unspoken wisdom behind everything. The minute he stopped asking the many “whys” is the moment he was swept with bliss. He is given the choice to remember Nikka with overflowing joy in his heart. And that is what he does now.

Every day, there is excitement in his heart when he visits his daughter. No more rancor, no more heavy heart, no more “whys.” He brings his love to his daughter’s gravesite every day. He brings her flowers, too.

“She will never experience to receive flowers from other guys. It is always comforting to think that I will be the only man she will love forever,” he said, with a smile as open as the sky.

(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. I am also on Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have a blessed Sunday!)