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Sunday, October 11, 2009

THE AFTERMATH

After all the ritual before and after the burial, I found myself suddenly free, relieved from the worries of caring for a sick partner for quite a long time. I do not have to rush home before 11; 00 am when I’m out because I gave him his meals personally. I was also freed from the headache of monitoring impertinent boy watchers.

But I’m not happy. I’ve been used to having him around that wherever I go, he’s there waiting for me, calling my name. Now that he’s gone, I feel so empty. Every little thought or event that connects to him bring tears to my eyes. I’ve lost a husband and a friend. If I had known his life was ending I could have savored all the precious time left of him with me. Why oh why, oh why….


He gave me five wonderful children, eight beloved grandchildren, and a soon to be-born great grandchild by our eldest grandson, Pepau. After my retirement from public service, we had two years of bliss before the stroke happened.

Even when he was sick, he taught me to be strong, to stand up for what I believed was right. My outlook in life was a mixture of my father’s serious principles and my husband’s practical nature. He did not leave me totally helpless. I learned to handle things through his guidance.


Still, I long for my old life with him. If only I had seriously given focus to his exercises, even if I had to pull him out of bed early. But no, what has passed is past.

Right now, I’m picking up the pieces of my life; trying to evade the dark waves of loneliness that smash against the rocks of my defenses. Until when? No one can tell.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

HIS LAST DAYS

That evening, my husband was restless. He was paralyzed after a diabetic stroke more than four years ago. I had feed him earlier ahead before Geda, our youngest daughter, and I took our supper. Being used to his moods for more than four years, I thought he was just attracting attention. He asked me to sit on the chair beside his bed.

We talked about the children , Gerando, Gemarie, Gevincent, Genimfa and Gedaross, He often asked me to sit and talk to him after supper. He had been demanding lately, so I made excuses. I don't want to listen to serious talks. Watching soap opera across the room, I joked that I would listen to him only on commercial breaks


All these years, I have been in denial, forever hoping that someday he’ll recover and be able to walk again even how slow. Each time he talked seriously, I changed topic because I was afraid be might bid goodbye. At previous times , he would ride on and we talked about old family events. I was always able to divert his attention to something else. Deep inside I knew he knew what I was doing. Parting words from a loved one will shatter my world. I was purposely evading the issue.

When the commercial break finally came, he pulled me closer so I can hear correctly and watched his mouth to understand his slurred words.

Our older children have families of their own he said, and he was satisfied that they have decent jobs. He instructed me on what to do, where to go, me and Geda. For all I knew, those were his last words. My stomach lurched, when later, he kept calling my name. He was restless and I was afraid. A chill crept into in my spine like iced water poured on my back. I asked Geda to call Gevic. We were going to the hospital now.

We went to Borbon hospital, but our doctor transferred him to Mendero Hospital. He was placed at ICU; Tubes for breathing and eating were inserted on his mouth and nostrils. He was not conscious but he was moving furiously that he squeezed the palm of the nurse who inserted needles on his palm.

Yet after a few hours at the ER, the doctor decided to transfer us to Provincial Hospital in Dao, An ambulance was prepared for us again. I asked my daughter Maya and her husband Jun to take over management of the house, while our youngest daughter Geda and my son Gevic took charge of the never ending purchase of medicines, negotiated with the blood bank for blood transfusions, conferred with the doctors,. and updated Goyen, my nurse daughter in New York, of everything.

Thus began the fight for his life and my fight for sanity. Seeing my husband breathing in a tube through his mouth and feed through his nostrils with both palms in dextrose or medications was beyond my comprehension.. I floated in and out of ICCU to our room like a robot. He had been admitted to hospitals in Ozamiz City many times after his stroke but he was conscious and had never been at ICU.

In my heart, I had many words to say but nothing surfaced to my lips. My tears flowed freely with the words of the lay minister who prayed for him. My eldest son Randy was in the room and I saw him moved back with tears in his eyes.

Then came my daughter Goyen’s call from the States to the hospital, monitoring every hour of laboratory results and updates of his father’s condition. She was aggressive, when she knew his heart was still good, inspiring us, encouraging us to talk to him for he still can hear. Geda and I took turns talking to him. Sometimes, he pressed our hands to show that he heard. Geda placed her cellphone tuned to soft music near his ear. Gerimae, my granddaughter who was also a nurse, talked to him, when she arrived.

Then , all of a sudden, for reasons I couldn’t understand at that time; the doctor said we have to go back to Mendero hospital. If it was some personal problem or misunderstanding, I told him I was ready to beg for mercy from the hospital authorities to spare my husband, to let us stay until his condition was stable. But he needed dialysis, the doctor said, and it was urgent. The next day was a Sunday and it cannot be postponed till Monday. Government personnel are “on call” on holidays and we cannot rely on chances.

I allowed my children to decide for me, because my head was about to snap! So, again, an ambulance brought us back to Mendero ICU.

After his first dialysis, I talked to him. He opened his eyes and nodded when I asked if he could hear me. Then his head turned when he heard a voice. I said,
“That’s Geda. She’s here to get the doctor’s prescription.” He nodded again. I asked the nurse on duty if persons who are treated with dialysis have hopes of recovery. When she said “yes”. I clung to that last ray of hope .

My hopes began to crumble when he had to undergo dialysis for the second time; then third and now fourth dialysis. This time he was weaker and did not respond to my call. It was hurting, agonizing and painful.

I recall the ordeal of seeing him breathing so hard, his breast rising up and down, catching for breath He’d never would have consented that this be done to his body if he were conscious.

Every word uttered by the Sisters of Divine Mercy who prayed for him, pierced my heart deeply. Father Suarin gave him the last Sacrament of Extreme Unction in the afternoon after his Mass but he pulled me aside after it and advised me to accept God’s Will so he can rest.

When my daughter Goyen told me to accept the inevitable, I knew it was time to let go. We had done everything we could do but his time has come. She requested the doctor not to apply the CPR anymore if the arrest came, so there would be no more pain if he goes.

That evening of August 20, my son Gevic did not allow me to sleep in the hospital. There was nothing I could do there. Nurses are on duty 24 hours at ICU. I needed to rest.

At exactly 4:30am of August 21, I awoke and prayed the rosary. It is indeed in our darkest moments , when the pain is great, that we learn to pray our most heartfelt honest to God prayers. I tearfully asked God for a miracle, if it was good for him; but “Not my will but Yours be done , oh Lord”.

I was reading the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy, when our boy called me from outside, to come to the hospital immediately. My God! Help me! We rushed out, almost running thru the night.

I was trembling, when I arrived at the hospital The tubes were gone and he was breathing slowly. Dr. Robles met me, took my blood pressure and uttered words of comfort I cried hard and hugged my husband so tightly crying until his last breath. My strongman has gone. He passed away silently and peacefully. His life on earth was numbered; yes, I have accepted it; but still the realization hit me so hard like a lightning bolt. His sufferings on earth ended and he has gone home to our Creator in His grace. That was my one big consolation.

After four years, six months, and three days, he succumbed to multiple organ failure.


His remains was laid in state at St. Peter’s Chapel at Sto Nino, Pagadian City. A funeral mass was held at San Vicente Ferrer Church in Molave at 8:00 am on August 28,2009. Starting from Pagadian City at 6:oo am , the procession stopped at our home at Barangay Makuguihon in Molave for a few minutes before going to the church. After the Mass he was finally laid to rest at Gabunon Cemetery.

Goodbye, Love.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Molave Then And Now

When I first came to Molave formerly called Salug in 1948, it was a town of mud and fallen trees.. Pathways were formed through constant use by stones and dried earth and when it rained the roads disappear, and people waded through waters up to the knees. The fallen trees just a short distance from our house were so huge, the diameters reaching almost one meter or more that children can run and play on it. We had a year round supply of firewood from the smaller branches and twigs .

But the situation did not deter the progress of the town. I remember the influx of so many people during market days or tabo, mountaineers , selling their wares, subanons with baskets on their backs full of malagkit and rice walking in single files.

I saw the transformation of Molave from the slippery muddy roads to the stone and graveled provincial roads.to asphalted roads , and later to the cemented roads we see now.

Our rice and corn mill was first located at corner Roxas Yangco St. while the parking place for jeeps leading to Mahayag and Dumingag was in the corner of Roxas and Rizal Avenue, across the Petron gas station now , with two Chinese stores facing each other , the New Town Bazar and Pana’s Store. Our neighbors across were Long Life Bakery owned by the Alferez family, the Sanchez family and the Delgado’s and on our side of the street were some restaurants. before the New Town Bazar

There were Christmases when dances were held in the street in front of our house.With chairs and tables used to form a quadrangle, everybody enjoyed the evening to their hearts content with no fear of any distraction or trouble whatsoever. During those times, the Mayor was Pelagio Blancia and the Municipal Hall was in Camp 7.

When Javier Ariosa became the next Mayor of Molave, the townsite was transferred to the present site. Our rice and corn mill was transferred to the commercial area facing the dry goods stalls of the public market. I was away in college and when I returned, my family was already settled there.

I also remember .that stall owners were allowed to sleep in their stores. Evenings were moments of socializing among neighbors Noy Jesus and Nang Narsing Jabalon family, the Hedocils . Nang Abon-Ekuat Roque and Ines Sy and children and others.

The blocks across were occupied by the Amameos. Rosalindas, the Supapos and Talip. Engr Rosalinda , a classmate of my kid sister , Lilit, once played with other children in our rice mill after milling time. My elder sister Liling had her group with Viving Retuerto and the Hedocils.

.. My younger brother Nening spent hours talking with Mely Hedocil above the roof extension of the first floor by passing through the windows of the second floor since our buildings were connected by only one wall.

“Those were the days. my friend, we laughed and danced and sing -------’ the lyrics of that song embodied the feelings we had . The months of April and May was a season of fun and laughter, not only because of the series of activities before the town fiesta, but because it was vacation time. A time for reunions of classmates and friends, schoolmates, acquaintances. Almost everybody we met were our friends. I remember the dances at the old Molave Tennis Court across the Municipal Hall. We went there in groups and went home in groups walking and laughing all the way. Sometimes , my younger sisters who went with us, would run ahead playing. That was before the time of “paregla” , and gang fights.

When I graduated from college , I worked at the Municipal Treasurer’s Office.. Since the Municipal Council hosted the fiesta affairs, we were involved with the dances and activities . I discovered that it was not all work but also a series of invitations to birthdays, fiestas, weddings and baptismal parties.

!Many years later, a big fire razed Molave, which burned down big establishments in the commercial area, including our rice and corn mill and the whole of the public market. My parents corn and rice mill was included. I was already married with two children and we lived separately from my family. Soon new buildings were put up and a new public market came into view.. A better and more uniform market blocks, cleaner too, since owners were not allowed to reside in the stalls . .

With the advent of housing loans , residential buildings sprouted in many vacant lots. Provincial roads and barangay roads were developed . Teachers and government employees availed of the chance to live on houses of their own.. Changes of administration helped in the development of the town, as each political party managed to leave behind some tangible projects to reckon with..

Then a few years back, another fire burned down the public market block. The area was redesigned by a past administration and continued to be improved by the incumbent one.

Sometime in Februaty 2005, we moved to Ozamiz City, as requested by our children for ease in our medical checkups. All my married children are living outside Molave. I visited the town once a month only. One time, I wondered why there were so many people when I alighted from the bus. Every corner was full of vendors. Then someone asked me to stay for the fiesta the following day. Ah, this poor senior citizen had forgotten ! I laughed so hard. I really forgot...

. Molave is not only the booming town that it was once. It has boomed and flourished far beyond expectations. So much that I see so many new faces wherever I go. It has changed a lot. I’ve spent a lifetime in this town and I’m proud of it.

I’ve heard that the street leading to our house in Lapulapu Street is now cemented and I’m happy. Every good news about Molave makes me feel so good. I’m still a Molavenian through and through. I’ve witnessed it blossomed from then to now.

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