It was Sunday morning, March 21 2010. I was staring at those sweet creations at the house. White flowers. Then that message came…
For a while, I was stunned. No words, no emotions. Although I already received it from the Lord the other morning, I was still in shock. Minutes ago, I just received a message from my sister saying that if I would go home, I should buy a blouse. And the next message…I was asked to go home, as in at that very moment. Whew!
So there I went, riding the way towards home…unexpectedly. The night before, I was just getting excited for the coming sem-ender for it will be a new beginning for SOD. And then I ended up out of the event.
Riding the bus, I didn’t know what to expect or what to prepare for. I made a stop at San Pablo City, not knowing what to do. I was not used to this kind of circumstance. That’s it. But it must be faced.
I arrived minutes before my father came. I didn’t really know how to react. I didn’t cry. I didn’t look at her. What I just did was to ask questions. But afterwards, I still took a peek on her. That first night has never been a sleepless night. I slept, oblivious of the people around. My physical didn’t allow me to spend a long night.
The next day, I was immersed in a place of traditions. I was culture-shocked, I tell you. Following rituals has not been part of me, especially for my last two years. And that day, I faced those “beliefs”. I wanted to rise against them but I couldn’t get into it that easy, not now. As someone has said, honor. And that’s what I did, although I was really coming into rebellion inside. I hate “false standards”. Things happened that I didn’t expect that day. I cried, not because of a lost. I cried for a rush of emotion, which is definitely not sadness.
Then that last day came. I realized, I was still unable to absorb what happened, really. The moment she was lifted up, carried out of the house, that was the only time that I felt the changes which happened and may happen. I never looked at my father or to my uncles. I am not that close to my father. We don’t have that too open relationship since I was in grade four, I think. But then, I knew that I am a Daddy’s girl. I could connect to his feelings and just looking on him and seeing him cry would make the same effect on me. I would not want to see him crying, not any guy.
He didn’t cry. His eyes just reddened with him controlling those tears. As we rode the jeep going to that haven and looking to my mother on the other part with that body, I almost couldn’t get hold of that cry. Just seeing my father that way could make me burst. And the memories of old flashed back…
Yeah, she’s a little bit funny, indeed. You would be surprised hearing her speaking to herself, narrating stories. Hearing her voice in the middle of the night could really frighten those who never knew her. I was with her for almost 19 years but I never became that close to her. Since then, I knew her as who she is, a woman full of stories. Maybe her age matters really to her behaviors during those years. She would always be heard telling how she got married, how she at a young age of ten would be courted, how she would join competitions, etc. She could remember most of her conversations with people of old. She would act them out, those scenes she could remember. Those make a little amusing of her, I can say. But still, I won’t forget that it is from her that I got this love for plants, for gardens, for flowers. Being with her, I saw how she loved planting and letting new plants grow. That’s what I got from her: green thumb, the love for nature.
I know and they know, I am her favorite. But it was my mistake and a regret that I was not able to give back all the favor that I got from her. I could still remember her saying that she would be there at the time of my marriage, that she should know the man whom I would exchange vows with, that she should experience the fruits of my labor. That’s how advance she thinks for me. But now she’s gone.
As the parade went on, I realized that you could possibly contain your tears but not the surge of emotions inside. I got a hard time handling myself but I succeed. I didn’t want to cry, that’s it. Once I cried, I know, I won’t be able to restrict things anymore.
After an hour of travel, we arrived at that old church. For two years, I did not go to a mass. I didn’t enter that place. But now, I have to. I didn’t realize that I was in an end as well that time, not until the song broke-up. I was at the end of my old life and now facing new. I struggled on what to do. Will I do those things that they are doing and I was doing before for the sake of this event? Questions here and there. I was stacked. But then, I decided to do what I should. Yeah, it has been the story of an end for me, as well…my first public confession of faith in our place. I stand onto my faith. Thanks for His enablement.
When I stepped out of that door, I felt that I gained something-the freedom. I felt like a real princess, walking outside the palace.
Back to the story, there we went…to that sanctuary of rest. I couldn’t believe that I was seeing her being boxed inside those stones. She was now gone…forever. Her story has ended, but mine is still here. As the pages of my book continue to pile up, as well with her…for still, we are connected…we are one.
You have been called to rest, nanay…Rest with Him. You will be remembered here. And when the time comes for my own home, my own place…be assured that your story will live. I would make a garden and there, my flowers will be yours as well…
The story of an end comes to its boundary…but coming into closure will not always be a stop…
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