Four generations and a funeral

We are in Makati. Her condition is getting worse. According to Dr. Alex Ayco, “Maybe tonight.” Tonight became Saturday before sunrise. Cousins called each other for nervous parents who paced around the room even after taking Tranxene. By 5:30 a.m. on Aug. 1 we had converged at The Heritage. The Cojuangcos and Aquinos once again were renewing affections through sadness, reminiscing over Ninoy’s death that would be 20 days after Cory’s and her own father, Jose Cojuangco Sr.

By 10 a.m. the fourth-generation Cojuangcos — or three out of the four brothers in the Cojuangco clan — had assembled at the mortuary. Dr. Antonio Cojuangco of Ate Lulu Revilla, sister of former PLDT owner Ramon Cojuangco, and father of Tony Boy, Choy and Mickey’s father. I must mention the girls Ningning and Mavic. Eduardo, and here the list increases by one daughter. Henry, Manoling, Rory Lagdameo, Ditas Teodoro, Isabel Suntay of the Danding branch. Juan Cojuangco was childless. Jose Sr.’s branch is headed by Koyang Pete and Ate Josephine Reyes. Then there’s Passy Teopaco and Peping. In the gathering of black were Maur Aquino and Esto Lichauco, Len Oreta and Tessie with Atty. Rizza Oreta, their eldest, Paul and Melanie Aquino. Most families see each other only during weddings and deaths. We are almost under that category. If I mention everyone, my space would diminish with names and lack a story.

At the coffee shop of The Heritage my cousin, Dr. Minguita de los Reyes Padilla-Lopez, explained how apprehensive she was to convey a message to Peping and Ballsy, Cory’s eldest. Minguita is “sensitive,” a gift from our common grandfather Lolo Yoyong. Messages and visions come, either in dreams or inner locutions from the departed. She doesn’t choose who communicates with her. They choose Minguita for such an apostolate, so to speak.

She narrated, “At 4:30 a.m. on Aug. 1, I was suddenly awakened by a very strong but gentle presence with an urgent plea. It was Cory, asking us to pray with her more than anything else. Here was the message: ‘Please pray with me for the healing of the country, instead of just praying for me. Heaven is so near. I can see it. I can even smell it. But I am unable to go there yet because my people have not heeded my call that they pray with me. As I lay here I feel I am alone in my prayer. Help me fulfill my final mission here. My liberation will help pave the way for your liberation.’

“There was not only a sense of urgency in the message, there was also a sense of frustration. “Naiinip na siya.” She was so eager to proceed to heaven, her final destination, but she still had one more mission to accomplish, and people didn’t seem to want to listen.”

When Minguita woke up at around 7:30 a.m. she said, “Maybe Cory has passed away. Maybe her soul was making its last round before her transition to the other side even while her body was still alive in a way.” Minguita knew she ran the risk of not being believed or thought of as a little crazy. “Bahala na what people think, I must relay the vision ASAP.” She had to see Peping after she spoke to some nuns.

Their cute prayer was to the “Dear Holy Spirit, we know that you are faster than the media!”

Minguita’s message was received with openness and joy. It proved how God works in mysterious ways in producing the affirmation that Peping and Ballsy needed for what they had discussed the night before Cory died.

“I was not close to Cory,” Minguita says, “although I was to her brother through my cousin,” which is me. Perhaps that was one reason she was chosen to deliver her message. I don’t mean to treat Minguita’s vision as a telenovela, but by heeding Cory’s call, to pray with her for the healing of our country, we not only liberate her soul to fly to its true destiny, but we also acknowledge how powerful she was through prayers. A victim who suffered that others may live more blessed, she was a sacrificing woman who rarely complained. That was my sister-in-law’s trait.”

What could Cory’s message be in her passing away? Ninoy’s message was our impetus to dare fight the dictator.

Right after Cory’s burial we sat at the Cojuangco mausoleum. We ate our snacks. Being from a political family and benefactors we couldn’t help but notice the small crowd watching us. One or two asked for food, some asked for drinks, one asked for X-ray funds, two others presented me with prescriptions, the same way of life we encounter in Tarlac and which we have never ignored.

I told those asking for money “not today.” “Hindi ngayon.” They respected the time and place and moved backwards. I gave them food, which they grabbed and the cartons broke. We gave them water and soft drinks to quench their understandable thirst and the water fell from snatching hands. We had fed only 50 and they were contented. Newcomers asked for ensaymadas and we said we’d all be hungry together. There was nothing left. Anyway, women asked for money to go home, I gave them some. See what politicians have to do? But where do politicians get their funds with their salary to support daily dole-outs?

Looking back, just when we were getting used to La Salle’s Gym and relaxing behind the makeshift screen where we ate cowboy style, we had to take our leave from hotdogs laid on tables and various soft drinks from Danding brought by his daughter Liza, siomai and siopao from Hai Shin Lu through Choy, and Cibo’s pastas.

We proceeded after Mass to Mama Mary’s Cathedral. Cory is the only layperson ever to lie in state at the Manila Cathedral. That is the cardinal’s seat of power and normally, only he should lie in state in his cathedral.

Bringing Cory up and down the flatbed truck necessitated re-checking her position inside her coffin. Makeup artists approached her as the Plexiglas was removed. She was retouched. After 30 minutes, the nuns broke their human screen exposing Cory’s walnut coffin and its simplicity under the church arches reflecting blue lights then yellow and the next day back to blue. The choir and orchestra from the University of Santo Tomas under Fr. Rector Rolando de la Rosa was a concert! And the Philharmonic Orchestra with Erik Santos (whom Boy Abunda manages) of ABS-CBN singing The Lord’s Prayer was outstanding.

We praised Rapa Lopa on his Auntie Cory’s last day on earth. He did a good job, like Maria Montelibano had. There were hassles in getting into the church, but that leveled off with Boy Abunda’s perfect necrological rites.

As it was in 1983 we were ready to face a crowd equally as huge as Ninoy’s funeral. Nine family buses were difficult to maneuver to get near Cory’s speeding flatbed. We couldn’t follow any closer with the mass of people that swooped into every gap between the vehicles. Bikes, scooters and regular cyclists and a smiling sea of humans soaking wet continued running by our side.

So who was to play policeman with the handful of only four officers with me? Myself. I begged the mourners to move aside while running along with them. They were solicitous and obedient companions. It was an angry crowd in 1983. Circa 2009 everyone was sympathetic and thankful to Cory. During Ninoy’s funeral, Cory was so scared about sympathizers being run over and feet squashed under tire wheels. Now it was the same fear again for us. I thought of that because since yesterday, I couldn’t put on my shoes. It’s the same with my police officers with blisters on their toes! I acquired mine from running in front of the family buses as my daughter Mikee did on Ayala Avenue.

On a bus with Koyang Pete, Ate Josephine Reyes, Peping, Passy and Esting Teopaco and myself, us in-laws were the noisiest and laughed the loudest. Ninoy and Esting used to take first prize. Now that Ninoy’s gone, it was Esting and I who waved at the enthusiastic crowd for nine hours with an occasional shy Passy and Peping taking over. Esting’s jaws ached from smiling, his armpits hurt from waving but as he said — eye to eye contact can convey sincerity and appreciation for those drenched in the rain and sun, sun and rain.

By the time we were an hour away from Cory’s burial site, our sandwiches were eaten, grandchildren had slept and woken up. In due time the door to our bus was left open for us to wave and say, “Salamat.”

We had muddy shoes and wet feet from walking with the multitude. As one said, “My tiny steps mean nothing compared to the journey Cory traveled for us…” Sonny and his wife had walked from the cathedral to the Manila Memorial Park. Noynoy, Marla Teopaco and Mikee walked alongside with the people whom we probably would never meet again. Marla grew tired, got on the back of a biker holding an open yellow umbrella, and off they went to chase Bus No. 5.

We surely noticed how alive Laban is again with the L sign. It originated in early 1978 when Marcos announced the Interim Batasang Pambansa elections. Cory called Peping, saying Ninoy wanted to see him. The excited Ninoy dropped the bombshell. He was running for a seat in the Batasang Pambansa. “I want you to organize a group in Metro Manila and you have to campaign for me.” Peping did. He organized an executive committee headed by Lorenzo Tañada to give their collective efforts a name and select candidates.

In the home of Soc Rodrigo in New Manila they spent days discussing their identity. The word “Laban!” was brought up. That was it, “Laban!” to fight the dictatorship!

But what would it mean? Someone came up with Lapian ng Bayan or Party of the Nation. A three-man committee composed of Soc Rodrigo, Alfonso Policarpio and Anding Roces poured through Tagalog dictionaries in Soc’s collection. Policarpio came up with an idea, “How about the word Lakas?” It was unanimously agreed on. It meant strength. It meant power in the hands of the people. So it became Lakas ng Bayan! Abbreviated into LABAN. Anding Roces said Saint Vincent Ferrer the orator held his right hand raised up, thumb and forefinger making the “L” gesture. No wonder, he became the celestial patron of Laban and “L” became the symbol of defiance during the Marcos tyranny, and reached its crescendo in 1986 at EDSA.

So the Marcos children visited the Aquino children. I have to heap praises on Ballsy and Noynoy who were educated to give dignity to every human being including Teodie, their driver, who was made to eat a paper with Ninoy’s name written on it by his interrogators during martial law. As Peping would say, “The close relation between my brother and sisters was never more evident than during the difficult times of martial law, especially during the incarceration of Ninoy, his assassination, and Cory’s campaign promises. Without hesitation we agreed to Cory’s proposal that during her presidency, none of us would undertake new businesses. We agreed we would not recover any of our companies that were taken over during those dark years under martial law. Ninoy’s death led to our sister’s sacrifices.

“On the lighter side, there was one difficult situation that faced us in the early months of Cory’s presidency. At a dinner Cory entered the function room. All the guests stood up to honor her. Were we to stand up, too? After all, she was younger than my Koyang Pete and my two elder sisters. In the end, we all got up and from then on learned to respect the position of Cory, president of the Philippines.”

Life has its many tragedies. That is the law of love, sacrifice and hospitality. As Paulo Coelho wrote, “On the field there are the rules of war and peace, we are subjected to tests of courage and try to see the signs and omens left by God along our path. He placed them there for a purpose.”

Having breathed history three days ago, whatever Cory’s death means, let’s find our purpose today.