Thank you, Dad!

Today, we say goodbye to someone very dear in our family. We lay to rest the remains of my dad, Prudencio Tandoc Pedero, a most loving father, a dear friend, and an honest and peace-loving man. He lived to the ripe golden age of 85 and has relished a full, though at times challenging, life.

Born in the lovely beach town of San Fabian in Pangasinan, his life was a tapestry of memorable events that spanned from April 28, 1916 to July 25, 2001. He took up civil engineering at the University of the Philippines, with his young bride, Leonidas, braved and survived World War II, worked at the Bureau of Public Highways, built roads and bridges in the Visayas and Mindanao, was granted a scholarship in Bridge Engineering in the United States, worked for Wilson-Murrow in Saudi Arabia, and worked as consultant for CDCP and other construction companies. He was the project engineer for the stately San Juanico bridge and the Balintawak cloverleaf interchange. But I believe his biggest achievement was that he was truly a great and loving father.

As the priest in one of the requiem masses we celebrated proclaimed, we were there "not so much to mourn, but to remember all the things we learned from him."

* * * Death’s Lesson

There is one major life lesson that I learned during the wake of my father – that death is nature’s clever device to make the living reconnect. Loved ones and friends whom you haven’t seen in years would come to comfort you. Even relatives whom you had never known existed would surface. We meet friends of friends, relatives of relatives, relatives of classmates, etc., and realize how truly small the world is, and discover how interconnected we all are.

There is a heartwarming feeling of oneness in both the grief of loss and the joy of releasing the departed loved one to the Creator, and the wake becomes one wonderful reunion!

* * * Friends

Friends become more precious as we grow older. We realize that they are our extensions and very often, what they are, we are (though we refuse to accept it!). During a wake, as we reminisce days gone by, we relive past events in our minds and become the carefree, foolish young things we used to be. Friends are our anchors to life and as they slowly disappear from this earthly existence, we tend to lose our connection to the world. Then, dying doesn’t become painful; it becomes a choice we embrace!

* * * Time

Time is all we have in life. When a loved one dies, we always wish we had shared more time with him. We also get to realize that we don’t have forever. That’s why we must share quality moments with the ones we care most about and make a special effort to make every minute exceptional, memorable and cherished.

Here is a beautiful story forwarded by Harry Jimmuel Noche and Maje Fernandez. It is an anecdote which I believe can change the way we look at time and its significance in our lives:

The Parable of a Thousand Marbles

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it.

I turned the volume up on my radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning talk show. I heard an older-sounding chap with a golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business himself. He was talking about "a thousand marbles" to someone named Tom.

"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you’re busy with your job. I’m sure they pay you well but it’s a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work 60 or 70 hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter’s dance recital."

He continued, "Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities."

And that’s when he began to explain his theory of a "thousand marbles."

"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on the average, folks live about seventy-five years. Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in his entire lifetime.

"Now stick with me Tom, I’m getting to the important part. It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time, I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy.

"So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to collect 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in my workshop next to the radio. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.

"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.

"Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast.

"This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure, if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.

"It was nice to talk to you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your loved ones, and I hope to meet you again someday. Have a good morning!"

You could have heard a pin drop when he finished. Even the show’s moderator didn’t have anything to say for a few moments. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to do some work that morning, then go to the gym. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss.

"C’mon honey, I’m taking you and the kids to breakfast."

"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, nothing special, it’s just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we’re out? I need to buy some marbles."

* * * Deepest Thanks

Dying is like one big production number. It is harrowing and it is expensive. Without friends and kindhearted souls to help lighten the burden loaded upon you, the crisis would be impossible to overcome.

I would like to express my sincerest thanks to people who have helped our family tremendously: Senator Loren Legarda-Leviste and her wonderful staff, Mr. Eki Cardenas, the administrative department and expert medical team of the Philippine Heart Center, my dad’s very caring nurses at the PHC ICU, QC Councilor Antonio Enrile-Inton, the Barangay Pinyahan Center headed by Captain Leoncio Cabato, my very supportive Philippine STAR family, and all you caring readers and friends who sent in comforting words of faith and condolence.

Thanks, too, to my UP Prep classmates, the UPSCA Loop, the UP CAFA family, our New York-Manila Halakpakan group with Leah Navarro, Leo Valdez, Chiqui and Peachy Veneracion, Raul Teehankee, Mario Katigbak, Amiel Cabanlig, Mojo Jojo, Liam Tanterles, Dr. Boy Vazquez, Glenda Barretto, Elisa Salapantan, Chona Evangelista, and Ramon and Lorraine Monzon. Thanks to the Music and Magic, Anthony Castelo, Lou Bonnevie, Angeli Valenciano, Cris Bermont, Mercy Santamaria, the Organisasyon ng Pilipinong Mangaawit and our colleagues in the music industry.

Many thanks go to the Rotary Club of San Juan North and other districts, members of Couples for Christ, Joey and Lulu Avellana of Avellana & Associates. Of course, our love goes to Tita Gemma Pedero (a registered nurse of almost 50 years ICU work in the US) who came home to see my dad before he died, Tita Caring Arciaga, Tita Paz Madrigal, the Agsaoays, Nanay Nena and Tatay Daniel Calimlim, and all our relatives and friends. Special thanks go to Lea Arroyo and Grace Tandoc who were beside my dad all the way.

* * * Thank You, Daddy!

A very good friend of mine, Dr. Boy Vazquez, sent me a condolence text saying, "I thank your dad for bringing me Dero." That little text made me think deeply for a moment. And in turn, I say, "Thank you so much, Daddy, for giving me the gift of life. You were God’s instrument in bringing me this glorious experience of being alive!"

* * *

I’d love to hear from you! E-mail your comments to deeperdoor@yahoo.com. Thanks for all your wonderful letters and e-mail!