In Memory of a Dear Friend

My mind is still trying to grapple with the disturbing news from the message that I received this morning: a dear friend "suddenly passed away last Saturday night, the 11th of June."

I scanned the dates on the exchange of messages we made. On the 6th of June, a greeting sent to my mobile asking me how my weekend was going, to which I replied that I'll catch up when I go online next time. On the 31st of May, a message on FB where he remarked how great the summer weather was at 22 degrees C. On the 27th of May, an archived chat convo on YM, of how he was just working on a DIY project with his brother-in-law.

Detailed in the messages still saved on FB, Gmail, YM chat, we talked about a myriad number of things, both the mundane and tragic parts of the separate lives we lived since we last saw each other more than 20 years ago when we were in high school.

From across the globe, he found me on FB first, tentatively commenting on some of my posts, where he learned about the difficulty of my marriage falling apart. I learned soon after that he had gone through something similar. Consequently, our respective misfortunes became the common ground on which we gradually re-established a friendship. The things we shared with each other were lessons learned from hurts, wisdom gained in our personal challenges as parents, and insights on the importance of having unwavering faith in God.

In the eight months that we were able to catch up on each other, he was hoping that things would take on a rosier turn and we'd eventually become more than friends. That is, to pick up where we left, where once upon a time in our teenage lives, we were each other's 'first love'.

"Who knows?" was his often-asked question. I could count a number of practical reasons why I wasn't keen on taking that direction. One of them was my need for a person to trust, who, knowing my history, could act as a ballast in the midst of my still unsettled storms in life. Even at this time of writing, I was not entertaining the idea of a second marriage.

He had a plan underway for me to visit his country at the end of the year. Admittedly, an "iffy" arrangement, but one that would, more than likely, make that often-asked question easier to answer.

In a carefully composed email, I gave him my honest opinion on the matter, though I can never tell how disappointed he might have been as a result. Weeks passed before he replied, and upon doing so he explained that there was a family crisis that prevented him from responding back.

My honesty might have slighted his feelings, but at least I was happy to be communicating with him once again. There was no more asking of "Who knows?"; probably it had to be temporarily set aside in light of other matters. I felt relieved that we regained the familiar, straightforward --- yet considerate --- and sometimes humorous tone our still-distant and voiceless communication carried.

Today, all of that changed.

The shock suspended any real emotional reaction. The only time I felt the sting of tears was when I started to use the past tense when I referred to my friend in an email message. The awareness that he would no longer be online leaves this hollow feeling deep inside.

We may have closed the gaps in time and in our memories, but now, eternity just took the place of the thousands of miles covering the physical distance separating you and me, my dear friend.

Sadly, I realize that nothing can be unsaid, undone, uncovered, once one reaches the end. There are things in life that will remain unknown, only that death makes that reality more certain.

Remembering Sis. E

I had quite a shock when I learned, two days ago, that a lady that my mother and I knew more than ten years ago back in Gaithersburg, MD had passed away. What a strange way for me to have discovered this on the web when I was searching for an online photo gallery that belonged to her younger brother, J.

In 1994, I flew to MD to join my mother who was staying with this family who then recently emigrated from the Phils to fulfill a mission in the United States. Their two-story home was a temporary place of shelter for me more than month.

Sis. E was a petite, soft-spoken wife of a pastor and a mother of two daughters and two sons. She had three other siblings living, each living independently, in the same state. I came to know much about her family and relatives to observe that they were a closely-knit clan that dwelt on traditional (Filipino) family values.

What sacrifices they must have made to follow the call to the mission field, leaving prominent jobs in their homeland. From what I recall, both Sis. E and her husband were practitioners of chemical engineering. Highly educated and accomplished, there was no doubt. Yet in MD, they shed the trappings of their careers and took on the roles of God's servants. In so doing, they welcomed many newcomers such as myself to their homes, even chauffeuring some who didn't have the means to pay a cab to get around. Blessed with such a generous heart, they offered counsel and company to Filipinos who were living far from across the globe.

She might have had her nails or hair done professionally for some special occasion, but I have no memory of it whatsoever during my stay there, as her busy hands worked night and day to attend to chores, whether home or church matters. The line drawn between the two had always seemed hazy a lot of times.

Sis. E's weekly routine was as typical as any pastor's wife could get. Carpooling, visiting with members of their small congregation, typing the church newsletter, playing the piano during the service, and yes, even baking and decorating birthday cakes and giving piano lessons to her nieces.

In spite of the "proverbial woman's" qualities, her gentle demeanor, in fact, concealed a strong individual that her spouse, children, and intimates could lean on. Her quiet tones could move a boulder with the strength of her convictions. I've had my own encounter with this force of a woman who, to me at that time, acted like a self-appointed maternal figure during a very confused time in my life. Her motherly approach was tactful yet firm, though I responded with a resigned stubborness. It took years before the stun of her rebukes finally eased. I realize that as I matured later on, her wisdom became priceless gems.

Almost thirteen years after leaving MD, my recollections of Sis. E and her family linger with memories of her spouse bringing her flowers (which came with a peck on the cheek) every week after buying groceries, of one evening when her gushing 16-year-old (now married) was getting ready for her prom and sharing this insurmountable excitement with her, of her 5-year-old (now in college) riding piggy-back on his way to being tucked in bed by her, and of her kneading petals and stems made from fondant along with her daughters.

The uncanny moments, meanwhile, include seeing her one morning when she emerged from their home office with yesterday's oil-soaked makeup caked on her face because she labored all night on the church newsletter, and that after-midnight episode when, in a fit of self-abandonment, she decided to play a mini concierto on her beloved grand piano while the rest of the household was asleep. In my head I would never forget the lilting accent of her native dialect that she used when speaking with her family. There was hardly a note of harshness detected in that language that I so often heard but never fully understood.

Though her husband, the pastor, usually discussed the Sunday sermon, whenever people listen to insights shared by Sis. E, it was as if she had her own invisible pulpit what with the attention she commanded from her audience. Her family never had to ask her to repeat for they were all ears when it was her turn to speak.

The last time I met Sis. E and her husband was, I think, two years ago. I stumbled upon her brother, J, at a church service, that I happened to be attending in Cebu. To my surprise, I found out that they were vacationing in the country at that time. I dialled the number given to me, and it was Sis. E who I instantly asked for. I went to see them that night. I showed them pictures of my family. And as much as I was ecstatic to see them again, I strained to find the moment to make amends for whatever misunderstanding we had had way back during my "confused time" in MD. Courage failed me, however, because I felt that the reunion was better off without going over moments we both regretted back then. Sis. E showed me the web site of her brother J's photo gallery while chatting with her kids online. She had always been the computer aficionado all these years, so it seemed.

Through J's site, I was able to catch up on more than ten years of not seeing their family as I saw images of their grown-up kids and the other relatives I met back then. I remember writing down their contact email once, but to this day, I had not been able to keep in touch with them.

Two days ago, I thought about looking up J's site, but I couldn't find it anymore. Just like stumbling upon J at that church service in Cebu, instead, I came upon the news of her passing away. She died of cancer more than a year ago. My mother was shocked when I called her up about it.

As of this writing, I am still hunting for an email address so I cound send my condolences to the family.

This post was not written without tears. This is my means of paying respects to that dear woman, a gesture to honor the love, friendship, and kindness that this wonderful family had shown my mother and me.