There must be Disneyland in heaven, Pang
The day before you died, a Sunday, I danced on the streets of Cabuyao while carrying an image of the Sto. Niño. I was in a gray shirt, indicative of my mood. You had been in the ICU for 23 days, after you suffered a stroke a day after Christmas. My face was painted with orange lines, a symbol of revelry, of pleas, of hope that tomorrow you would be better.
Tomorrow came. You breathed your last. Jan. 18, 2010. After 12 years, I still celebrate you — your love, your courage, your life, your memories.
Memories are their own morality. There’s kindness in memories, albeit they are painful. Memories are the allies of the soul because they are reminders to find joy in challenges.
On the morning of Jan. 18, 12 years ago, I found myself at the department store of SM Sta. Rosa. Nanay told me to prepare for your imminent passing. I had to choose your barong Tagalog, your black slacks, your black socks, your white undershirt. Everything had to be brand-new for your date with the Lord. Anything for you, I would lovingly give.
The saleslady was quietly assisting me. Her silence comforted my tears. “My father will go anytime. That’s according to his doctors. A miracle is the only hope. But I will not question God if he goes. I love my father,” I told her. She did not say a word but she gave me the most caring glance.
Before heading back to the hospital with my purchase, I stopped by Max’s restaurant for a takeout of pancit canton, Nanay’s request. Nanay, despite her grief, she had an appetite for the dish, perhaps her prize for herself for not leaving your side from Day 1 of your confinement. Perhaps it was also her way of celebrating you, knowing fully that the restaurant’s noodle dish was your favorite, aside of course from your own pancit mi-ke.
Your wife barely enjoyed her lunch. She was more concerned about you. In Nanay’s eyes, I saw her love for you. You are her world. To this day. Your memories sustain her. Memories are still the best insulation when she misses you. Like the other day, I saw her looking at your clothes in the aparador. She is on a high when you appear in her dreams. The heart never forgets.
A priest came by late afternoon to give you your final unction. Then one by one, your children and your grandchildren, your brother and your close friends came to the ICU to say their goodbyes. It was a scene of love — tender, yielding, reassuring. You must have felt it because your oxygen level registered slight progress even for a while.
When it was only Nanay and me by your bedside, your aura, despite the contraption on your face, was beginning to register peace. We looked at your face that was calm and serene. Nanay ran her fingers through your hair. She flattened your bushy eyebrows and felt your stubbles as she murmured, “I love you, Syo. I love you. Lagi kitang mahal.”
She left the room and entrusted your last moments on earth to me, your Junior. She wanted to remember you while you were still alive.
I looked at you. I looked at the monitor above your bed. I was praying. I was celebrating you in my heart. Until the monitor registered a flat line.
“Time of death, 6:14 p.m.,” the doctor said. I cried. The number combination 6-1-4, your time of passing, is also 1-4-6 when rearranged, our house number. You made it home. You had always wanted to come home from Day 1 of your fight. You made it home to God on that day.
I clapped and cried at the ICU as my gaze did not leave your remains. “Thank you, Pang! Thank you! Good job. Good fight. God bless you, Pang,” I said. The nurses were silent in their tears.
I held your hands. I embraced you like I was a child again. I ran my fingers through your hair. My little finger reached your cleft chin. I also have your little cleft chin. I also have your bushy eyebrows. My silent tears were witnessed by Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse, the design on your orange bedsheet. You must have been heading to Disneyland at that moment. There must Disneyland in heaven, Pang.
You died when I could still provide for you and your dreams. You died when I was beginning to have the means to afford your whims and wants, even your caprices. You died when I still had so much love to give you.
I could have brought you to Disneyland. It was not in your dreams, but I could have brought you there. “Make your life a better one,” you told me in the vernacular when we were parking the long, blue rented jeepney we used for my graduation in UP Los Baños in 1992. You repeated the line. The malachite green Mercedes Benz and shiny white Toyota Super Saloon that sandwiched our rented jeepney witnessed our covenant, our joy, our dreams.
I melted in your lifeless body. Memories darted in my heart. You taught me not to steal, to be fair. You taught me how to love, the kind that is real. You taught me that humans have no superpowers but in you I found my joy, my contentment, myself, my own power.
I still seek your laughter when times are a bit challenging for me. Your laughter was infectious; it had the capacity to thaw my sadness.
I still seek your wisdom. When embarking on a life-changing decision, I always ask myself how you would treat or react to the situation. My basis for every decision I make now is still strongly influenced by you.
You are the reason why I am strong — because you taught me to be. Both in your life and death, you shielded me. Your life is the sentinel that guards my actions to be a better person. Your death is my fortification, nothing more can hurt me.
Your death is still the saddest part of my life. But your death gave birth to my new strength. I find my strength in the many life lessons you taught me.
The heart never forgets. I love you, Pang. Enjoy your Disneyland in heaven.
(For your new beginnings, e-mail me at [email protected]. I’m also on Twitter @bum_tenorio and Instagram @bumtenorio. Have a blessed weekend.)
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