Singing hymns gets me through things. A lot of times when you spend time contemplating you have the tendency to either be filled with gratefulness, or be overwhelmed with sadness.  A death in the family is undoubtedly a sad time. But singing hymns during the wake makes all the difference.

In these photos you’ll see three groups singing hymns for Papa – the teenagers with their Aunties (2nd row), the oldies (grandmothers), and the little ones.

So what got me thinking about hymns anyway? The Pioneer Woman posted an audio clip of her son singing my grandfather’s favorite song, Oh, what a beautiful morning. That post reminded me of when she posted a video of her son practicing As the Deer. Listen to both.

He didn’t look sick at all –

Now, in 30 years of my life, I have no memory of my Dad ever being hospitalized. He’s been to the ER several times in the last 10 years, but he’s never had to be kept overnight. So this was definitely something new. He stayed for two nights, and was discharged by Sunday morning. He might have overdosed on his new BP meds, so they lessened his medication. He is also on a strict diet now – dunno how long he’s going to sustain it though.

Mom mostly stayed with him, but he didn’t really needed to be looked after. On the first night they took his blood pressure and blood sugar readings hourly. I only stayed until around 8 or 9PM. The next day, readings were only done every four hours.

Guess who else went to visit on Friday afternoon?

He’s really grown up na! He is 10 years old and he’s wearing a shirt that he and my parents got from their Pagudpud vacation when he was such a small toddler! Haha Anyway, he stayed in the hospital until it was time for me to go home. We had argued about dinner too. He wanted Mang Inasal while I didn’t want to have to get off the car to buy the food. It was too hot outside and I was already up a long time by then – my laziness has been amplified. Hihi. In the end he agreed to Jollibee drive-thru. Chicken Joy for him and the boyfriend, Burger Steak for me.

We ate our dinner together at home while Alfred was still sleeping (his shift wasn’t until 3AM). He asked for extra rice and I was so surprised! He’d worked up an appetite, this kid. No wonder he’s growing real fast. Back in the day he would be so picky with food, and would hardly finish his plate.

Anyway…

I went back to the hospital around lunch time the next morning. All I did in the intervening time was see two movies on Fox Family, sleep, wake, dink water, and sleep again. Saturday morning plans had to be scrapped, it was officially time to catch up on sleep.

Shortly after I got to the hospital, my brother arrived – bearing food and drinks too! Hah! And just in time because I was really hungry by then. Amir was supposed to go in for a checkup but they cancelled it on account of Dad’s hospitalization. Since we were there already, Mom took a few hours to herself and went home.

It wasn’t long until Dad was his nutty self – he actually wanted to go out and get himself some coffee. I managed to convince him otherwise and Alfred went out to get him a cup of coffee without sugar. Still, he wanted to walk around. He wasn’t hooked up to a dextrose by then but the IV tap was still on his hand. He had just taken a shower and we were waiting for a change of linens, so he thought he was free to roam around. I couldn’t stop him entirely, but he didn’t go very far. He wasn’t gone 5 minutes before he came back in again.

He kept talking about going home and I really couldn’t see why – the air-conditioning was such a welcome treat. Imagine not having to roast while you sleep?! With everything covered by the HMO, he hadn’t to worry about cost really. But yeah, nothing beats the comfort of your own home. Or maybe he just wanted to go home so he could eat all the oily and sweet food he could grab!

Seriously though, just so thankful that Dad is okay. Thankful that we live so near the best hospital in the country. Greatful that I have a job with free HMO extended to Mom and Dad. Now Dad really has to take better care of himself now. He needs to get back to his old exercise routine, and a better diet. Hopefully that rubs off on us too.

We had potluck lunch at the Loyola Memorial Park in Tandang Sora to celebrate Papa’s birthday. He would have turned 85 tomorrow, February 27. On Tuesday, it will be the 40th day after his death. We will mark that with a Memorial Mass right here at home, followed by dinner for family and friends (guests).

So here we all are (minus Alfred, who took the photo), just before leaving:

By the time this photo was taken, we had:

- A sumptuous lunch of chicken adobo, bulalo (deadly!), liempo, and eggplant and mango ensalada. For dessert we had Crema de Fruta and Cathedral Window from Goldilocks. We had plenty of ice for water and soda so we had cold drinks too.

- Setup and taken down Kagawad Walter’s tent. I didn’t know he had one. Mayor Bistek’s face is all over the thing. Okay lang, at least we didn’t have to melt under the heat of the intense sun.

- Two contests! The first one was involved the name Maria and the kids spreading out taking as many qualifying photos as they could. The second was a classic: who could say Happy Birthday Papa the longest! Fun!

We used to go on picnics frequently when we were kids. There was no need for any occasion, we would just decide we wanted to have lunch together and have a picnic. Usually, we’ll have it on the grassy area of the basketball court. Or under the caimito trees lining the volleyball courts. Those days are long gone.

But I foresee more picnics in our future. We’re thankful that there’s ample space beside and above Papa’s grave. They can seriously put a small sunroom out there if they wanted to. But it’s not really necessary. I can imagine that during All Souls’ Day, when the other families are there, we can have one big picnic with them. We know almost everyone who has a loved one buried in that lot.

Mama and I were talking about picnic gear and I remembered the cute colorful picnic plates and utensils at Greenhills. They’re Ikea and I loved them. I should go back and buy a set, for next time. 

Truth be told, Papa’s passing felt… light. It helps that we knew how colorful his life had been. That we knew he had fulfilled his mission in life. He meant so much to many people, that he truly is our very own, Bonifacio, The Hero.

Allow me to share the text of the speech that Mama delivered during the Requiem, as a way for the family to thank everyone who thought of us and mourned with us.

I cannot think of a way to fully express our gratitude and appreciation to all of you for having allowed yourselves to be God’s instruments and served  as our source of strength and comfort at this time.  Let me also say that Papa himself showed us the way in the sense that he spoke to us in full awareness that the end was coming soon for him.  I thought perhaps one way of saying “thank you” would be by sharing with you some stories from his “memoirs”.

Papa was the 5th of 7 children of Juan and Mauricia. Born in Nadatngan, Sagada on the 27th of February, 1927, he would have been 85 next month.

Papa had his first job when he was in Grade 5 working as a gardener in Sagada for what he refers to as the Red House Garden of Fr. Lee Rose and Fr. Wayland Mandell.  It must have been a flower garden that he was asked to work on when he started.  By signs and and actions, he says, he was instructed to make plots with a special plot in the center in the figure of a star and with spacious walkways between the plots. Soon the garden was flourishing with flowers and the priests were so pleased with their garden and with the work that he had accomplished.

Papa eventually graduated from the garden to serving in the house of Fr. Mandell as well as at The St. Andrew’s Training School as a janitor.  Those of you familiar with the history of the Episcopal Church in the Philippines would know that the St. Andrew’s Training School in Sagada was transferred to Quezon City as St. Andrew’s Theological Seminary.

Dad had written his memoirs and this has yet to be published. One story there that would be of particular interest to people from Sagada and Besao takes place on the 8th of December in 1941 when the Church of St. Mary the Virgin was celebrating their annual fiesta.  Dad says “It had been the practice that all mission schools in the Sagada outstations such as St. Matthew’s in Bangaan, St. Benedict’s in Bangnen, the Bila Mission Station, St. James in Besao and All Saint’s in Bontoc were invited to join the merry-making and to participate in athletic competitions.”  He says further:  “I could remember that our team was playing softball against St. James, Besao, when Fr. Gray, the priest-in-charge, came down to the ballground at about 9:30 in the morning to announce the bad news that Camp John Hay was bombed earlier in the morning and that the United States and the Philippines are already at war against the Japanese.  There was instant silence, he says, as suddenly the people were overcome by a cloud of anxiety.

Prime Bishop Edward Malecdan  mentions this game as a game between the ECW of both the Sagada and Besao mission stations in his article: St. Andrew’s Theological Seminary through the Years (1932 – 1990), published in The 3rd Quarter of 2010 issue of The Philippine Episcopalian.

Unfortunately, Papa did not mention what the score was when the softball game was stopped. 

One of the favorite stories that he often told friends and family is of an incident that took place during the Japanese time.  It was probably in October of 1944 or 1945 when he was incarcerated and tortured by the Japanese for the purpose of extracting information on the whereabouts of the guerrilla forces. H said he was totally ignorant of the information they sought from him, but he was beaten from head to foot with the steel handle of a hacksaw blade.  On the night before Holy Innocents’ Day, the names of six prisoners were announced through the microphone. They were supposed to be released the next morning and his was one of the names called.   However, prior to their release, they would have to accompany the Japanese Patrol to the interior where the guerrillas were located.  Very early the next morning , the six were called and taken to the lobby of the Prison.  Three of the 6 were handcuffed, tied together with a rope, and taken into a bus.  Papa and his 2 companions were tied with their hands at their back and another rope was used to link them together.  They were taken to a heavily-guarded open truck and driven to a wide open space. Eventually, a convoy of trucks and Japanese soldiers were moving towards Pacdal.  “At the crossing, we were told to disembark. As we began to climb the road going to Bekkel and on to Ambuklao, …I heard an owl from a distance and I thought it was a bad omen.”  He watched as his two companions individually fell after they were struck one after the other with a sword. Eventually he was asked to kneel and pray.  He felt the saber hit the back of his neck and he fell instantly.   However, while he felt pain, he realized he was still alive.  He saw the soldiers lift the bodies of his companions and they were dumped down the road.  He pretended to be dead as he felt himself being lifted and dumped as well.  He landed on a bush and kept still until the soldiers were gone.  When all was silent, he got up and discovered he was not wounded at all.  He has always been grateful for this second life that God had given him.

We now move on to 1947 when Fr. Mandell, now dean of SATS, looked for him in Baguio and encouraged him to come to Manila to serve as his driver and also have the opportunity to continue his education.  After some preparatory activities to ensure he could be enrolled in Manila, he moved in November and was assigned to drive a Flaming Flamingo, a 1948 Dodge pick-up with red paint on the hood.

After a vehicular accident probably in 1954 (Papa’s point of reference here is when the Seminary transferred to this place, their present location), he taught the late Julian Beleo how to drive and Uncle Julian took over the wheels of the Flaming Flamingo.  Dad was assigned to the garden during which time he built what Dean Mandell referred to as the Memorial Step.  These are semi-circular steps which he built from big boulders of adobe, shaped and made to fit one another to form three steps.  The steps are located on what he refers to as the short-cut between the Seminary main building and the basketball court.  Papa was eventually promoted and given the title of Superintendent of Buildings and Gardens and Administrative Assistant.  In 1964, Fr. Charles Clark was now Dean of SATS, when Dad took a Sabbatical and accompanied Dean Mandell( now head of the Joint Council of PIC-PEC) during his furlough.  They took a trip around the world and traveled to Los Angeles to dispose of some of Fr. Mandell’s properties.  My siblings and I were so amazed at all the stories he had to tell after this trip.  In fact, he brought some slides which we often watched in the evening as he told stories of his travel.

It was Fr. Mandell who started calling our dad “Papa”.  Eventually, this is the name his grandchildren started calling him by until we ourselves also called him Papa.

Papa retired from SATS as Business Manager in 1987 when Bishop Artemio Zabala was Dean.  He had served SATS for 39 years, plus 1 year at the St. Andrew’s Training School.

Dad’s other life was as Barangay Captain of Barangay Kalusugan from 1973 to 1997 – a good 24 years. He has chosen as his resting place the Himlayang Pilipino, at a location close to the resting place of Prof. Pacifico Lagustan.   Prof. Lagustan taught Spanish at Trinity College (now TUA) and was also Political Adviser to Councilor Honorio David, one of 6 councilors of District 6 in Quezon City.  Councilor David was tasked to organize the barangays from the New Manila area to the Welcome Rotunda.  Prof. Lagustan, as Political Adviser, was asked to recommend who would be appointed as Barangay Captains.  Eventually, after Martial Law, the position of barangay captain became an elective position and dad continued to prevail in the elections.  He decided not to run in 1997.

I never really asked how he got to be appointed as Barangay Captain.  It was a subject matter we hardly discussed. We were at odds when it came to politics.  After he wrote his memoirs, he wanted for his cover page the photo of a trophy that was given to me for winning a Spanish declamation contest during my college days.  I never really understand why he wanted that and discouraged him from using that ancient trophy.

Yesterday, I asked my sister for the portion of dad’s manuscript that he had asked her to type out.  Only then did I learn that when Prof. Lagustan was asked to recommend a barrio captain for this area, he thought of his favorite student and came looking for the father of that student.  Dad says that when Prof. Lagustan went to his office at the Seminary, he asked him: “Are you the father of Laura Bernice?”  Why Papa never told me this story, I do not know.  Or perhaps he told me, but I chose not to remember.  I regret having argued with him against using the  ancient ordinary-looking trophy as his cover page.  I do not even recall if it’s still around.

Listening to the stories that you have told during the last few days we kept watch over Papa, I realize I was unable to spend that much time with him.  In the earlier years of martial law, we pretty much kept to our own worlds and avoided occasions that would give rise to argument.  He was certainly a man of extreme patience, as most of you have witnessed.  My siblings and I were not a bunch of meek and obedient kids but he was always the loving parent no matter what troubles we brought to his doorstep.  Papa was a parent to more than just the 5 of us.  More often than not, there was a cousin or a close relative living with us in our home.   Furthermore, people often came to the house to consult their BoKap or to confide with him regarding whatever issues they had in their areas.  Papa would listen to whoever had something to say, and then he would be quiet for some time before he responded.  He dealt with us in the same manner.  I wondered if he was giving the other person time to reflect on what he himself had said and eventually figure out what he had to do.  

It is time to bid our father, our grandfather, uncle, and  BoKap “goodbye” as we proceed to his final resting place.  Papa was the epitome of calmness until the very end.    After we had told him what the doctors had told us about his condition, he refused to undergo any further procedures.  He said he just wanted to die peacefully just like our mother did.

Papa had his way.  On Wednesday afternoon, he went to sleep.  We watched over him, at times in spoken prayers, at other times, we sang hymns.  Somebody would hold his hand, one other would rub his legs while another would stroke him on his head.  There were many ways to assure Papa of our love.  We too were well aware that he loved us deeply.

We thank God for giving us Papa.  We thank God especially because Papa was with us for longer years than other Papas perhaps have spent with their families.  Farewell, Papa…embrace the light that descends upon you and allow the angels to take you on their wings.

I wrote this post about Papa in 2008.

On the morning of January 20th, the Lord welcomed to his side one of his favorite angels – Bonifacio Somebang, Sr.  My grandfather would have turned 85 on his birthday next month (February 27).

He died of lung cancer, but the battle wasn’t long nor arduous. For that, I am still thankful.

About two to three weeks ago, he was rushed to the Emergency Room of the St. Luke’s Medical Center after complaining of difficulty in breathing. This wasn’t new. He has had persistent coughs, and looked forward to getting some oxygen help whenever he went to his regular checkups at the hospital. That day, he was supposed to see his doctor and present his Xray results. Due to a mixup with the schedules, they couldn’t get a session with the doctor. He insisted to be brought to the ER so my cousins brought him in.

He was confined that night. His lungs had built up with water, and possibly, his heart too.

The next day, we learned of the bad news. Based on symptoms and a testing on the water extracted from his lungs, he has stage 4 lung cancer. To be sure, a biopsy could be done. But my grandfather, Papa, does not like needles. Because he thought he would get better if the water from his lungs were drained, he agreed to that and to the tube and bag that became perpetually attached to his chest.

I was there when he strongly refused the biopsy. He wants no more treatment because, in his words, they couldn’t restore him back to how he was before. Maibabalik ba sa dati?  My mom and her sister had to tell him his real situation that afternoon when I visited. The doctors were supposed to tell him, but they didn’t. We didn’t want to tell him, but the doctors were right, he deserved to know because he is still of right mind and very much lucid.

We had wanted to convince him to still get treatment, explained that a biopsy would just check and confirm the diagnosis and wouldn’t be painful. But he immediately said, very loudly at that – Let me go! I have served my purpose here.

His long-time friend and former colleague at the Seminary was visiting too that afternoon. He was talking him out of thinking that way, and trying to cheer him up. They reminisced of old times and I was in awe of Papa’s very sharp memory. He had asked after some other other friends who now live in the Taguig community of our church.

Because the hospital is a stone’s throw away from our homes, Papa always had company. Family friends also came to visit him. Cam whores that my nieces were, we got to taking photos too (these ones are dated January 7th):

More photos and stories after the jump.

Even before his confinement, he hasn’t been eating much. So we were more than happy that he agreed to eat some jello, and then later, even a whole piece of Peach Mango Pie (from Jollibee). (this photo is dated January 9)

We took him home after a few days. Friends lent us a hospital bed, and a wheel chair. We rented oxygen tanks too. His room is now on the first-door of the three-door apartment he has called home since he retired in 1987. His entertainment center was setup there too so he could continue watching his DVDs, as well as basketball games, boxing and UFC matches.

My cousins continued to rotate shifts as his bedside nurse. My task was to take care of his stocks (a task that, unfortunately, I didn’t complete before his death).

While still at the hospital, my grandfather called all his four children and told them what he wants done. He gave instructions for his remaining properties, and also, what is to be done when he dies. We are Igorots from Sagada and our culture calls for certain rites and rituals depending on the occasion. Having been born here in QC, I don’t even speak our language and I’m not that familiar with a lot of our customs. But I know that slaughtering pigs and chicken is part of it. Papa had asked that his ‘senga’ be done while he was still alive so we had that Monday last week, January the 16th.

While guests were having dinner, he demanded to be brought back to the hospital. He was in so much pain. The oxygen helped him breathe, but he couldn’t stand the pain. Before he was discharged from the hospital, we had already signed a waiver to refuse any treatment. At the ER, the doctors wanted to put him in the ICU for close-monitoring. But Papa wouldn’t like that. He needs to know he has company, if he were to stay at the ICU, we can’t be there for him round the clock.

So an agreement was made to put him in a private room, with a private nurse. I didn’t meet Nurse Sarah but she took care of Papa for 12 hours. My cousins say that she was a nice nurse, an angel really. She did something that really made Papa more comfortable.

At around lunch on Wednesday, the 18th, I sent a message to my cousin asking for any news on Papa. She just said to come to the hospital when I get off work. At the same time, my brother forwarded me a message from Ton saying that Papa’s eyes had been rolling and he’s really having a hard time breathing. Everyone was being asked to go to the hospital. I rushed out of the office. My mind was racing, and I cursed at the traffic along E. Rodriguez. I made it to a roomful of crying cousins.

One by one we came. We took turns at his side to say our goodbyes. He faded in and out of consciousness, but he was mostly struggling to breathe. We kept telling him that all is well, and to go to rest. But he wouldn’t. Then it seemed that he was getting better. He was hooked up to a monitor to show his heart rate and oxygen levels. It started looking better and better. So one by one we left the room. Mom and I left after midnight. Papa was asleep. He had been in a very deep sleep since around 4PM. While we watched over him, the nurse came by several times to take his blood sugar reading. He wouldn’t wake up even after a vigorous shaking. We kept telling each other that he must have really been tired from that morning. He’s just catching up on sleep and building up on energy.

Though I was already sleepy having been awake for almost 24 hours (I came from a 3am-12pm shift), I couldn’t sleep right away, not even on my own bed. I don’t remember what time I finally got to sleep, but I got up before 4AM, and read a message from my Mom – she was back in the hospital, and could I come back? I didn’t bother to take a shower, I put on pants and changed my shirt and off I went. The Valet attendant was the same one from a few hours ago.

My cousins and uncles and aunts were already back. Papa’s stats were dropping, but as if recognizing that we all were there, it was starting to stabilize again. But he still wouldn’t open his eyes. We took turns holding his hand and caressing him. Visitors came and went, many prayed and sang hymns around him. He wasn’t moving. But no one was saying that he was in a coma.

It was the 19th – my 12th anniversary with Alfred. But we couldn’t celebrate, could we? He was at the hospital too. Before dinner, we left to get some dinner, and so I could bathe. On the road to Chocolate Kiss, the rain poured really hard. Kinabahan ako. My phone was in my bag and I asked Alfred to check it. Mama’s message said: “Doctora just came. Very low na ang stats ni Papa so its near na daw.”

Dinner was good, but I couldn’t enjoy it very much. My mind and my heart were racing. Do I have time to take a bath? Siguro naman. If I don’t make it back to the hospital in time, it’s okay. I told Papa not to wait for me anyway, but that I would be back. We rushed through the food and headed home. I took one of the quickest baths I’ve ever had, cried my eyes out while praying and talking to Papa. And then we were back at the hospital. I was gone for an hour, tops.

Papa’s BP was playing around 80/50, his heart rate and oxygen levels lower than they were before I left. I called my brother. It is near.

But he pulled through yet again. We sang hymns, the priest came by again and prayed over him. We told each other stories to keep spirits up. Papa wanted to go peacefully, and it looks like he was going to have it. Cousins who were abroad called in to make their peace with Papa. Nikki was on her way home from Baguio. When she arrived before midnight we thought, surely, Papa can go now. We are all here, we have all said goodbye. But he was still fighting.

I thought maybe there’s still someone who isn’t ready to let him go. So I joked around and told my cousin Ton whose been looking after Papa since Lola and Auntie Leesah passed on, to talk to him and let him go. Only yesterday at the burial did Ton tell me that I was actually right, she was still holding on.

We stayed the night, Ton, my mom, Nikki, Che and her daughter Hannah. I got to sleep some, but always at least one of us would be staring at the monitor when it made noise. Always, someone would check if the stats were dangerously low. At sunrise, my Mom asked if I had wanted to go home. I was reluctant, but I agreed. We left with Auntie Nellie, Mama’s cousin who has a house next door. She and her husband came here for Papa’s senga. They were supposed to go back to Sagada right away but delayed their 12-hour drive home because of how things turned out. So I drove the three of us home just before 7AM.

I went up to my room to change clothes. I’d been wearing pants for the past three days and welcomed the chance to let my legs breathe. I had no intention to sleep but I dozed off, and I left my phone by the computer downstairs. I awoke to Dad’s knock on my door – Papa had flatlined. My Mom hadn’t been able to receive the dreaded call because he was in the bathroom. They’d been trying to reach us for nearly 10 minutes already. Mom and I rushed back to the hospital. Alfred too. Outside, we caught Auntie Nellie and Auntie Angela who were also rushing to the hospital. Freedah went with Andrew on a motorcycle. On the way, Mama got a call – he was really gone. We were no more than 5 minutes away. By the time I got to his room, Mama was leading the prayers. I don’t know how she managed to do it, but she gave a beautiful prayer for Papa, amidst crying. Being the first-born daughter, she took it upon herself to be strong for everyone.

We stayed with Papa’s body as people came and went, doctors and nurses too. There was a matter of the time of death because Papa’s pacemaker was still ticking. The kids arrived too, from home and from school. We gave them time with Papa and time to cry.

Papa went on his own terms, peacefully, and without fuss. No dramatic last breath like in the movies. Even in death, he hadn’t wanted us to see him in pain, he hadn’t wanted to bother us.

On a very beautiful morning, Papa left us to rejoin His family in heaven.

My cousin Nikki does a cover of Up Dharma Down’s “Oo.”

I love it. The song suits her voice.

Don’t worry Nik, your facial expressions did not take away any attention from the beauty of your performance. Keep broadcasting yourself!

What happened in the last 365 days? A lot. I wish I had a photo for each day to tell the story.

But I don’t. Hopefully though, by this time next year I’d have a full album to look at to remember the year that was. It could be a photo-a-day, or just a spread for the week. I’m not sure how it’s going to shape up, but I am so excited.

Tracy, thanks again for inspiring me and leading me to Project Life.

Last week I laid down the cover and end pages. This is how the first version looks like, but I doubt it will remain the same until next year.

Yesterday I added our very old family photograph:

The photo is old, and needs to be restored. I hope I can find a reliable shop to entrust it with.

I posted a scanned version of that photo in Facebook, and my mom left a comment giving insight into the occasion it was taken. I’ll share a better view, and the story behind the photo some other time.

I will be printing yesterday’s photo and will be adding it into the album today. The journalling for that is actually already done. I don’t know if there’s going to be a picture for today or not, but I hope there will be

The PL Kit has a lot of these journalling cards included, and I have set aside two each designs to carry with me wherever I go so I can take down notes anytime.

I am so excited already and have so many ideas for this album. I can see it branching off to at least two projects, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself and so I’ll just take each day as I go for now. Amazing.

In the meantime, fill yourselves with more Project Life inspiration from the wonderful Ali Edwards.