Category Archives: Faith

Childhood, Children, Church, Faith, Family, God, Life, Love, Uncategorized

Skipping Holy Week

April 2, 3015. Here we are at NAIA 2, waiting at Centennial Airport. We woke up at 2am to make it in time for our 5am PAL flight to Cebu. Checking in was a breeze, a delightful surprise since we thought there would be a mad rush at the airport because of the long weekend.

It’s Holy Thursday. For the past 13 years, I’ve spent the Holy Week in Manila, serving as a lector in our parish. This time around, however, my daughters decided that we should all go on a fam trip to Moalboal. So here we are, Dada (my mom), Bea, Cara, Niccolo and me, off to a new adventure. My thoughts wander over to the church activities I would miss.

The Paschal Triduum, or the three days from Thursday morning to just before Easter Sunday is the busiest time for servant leaders. All the church bells are silenced, votive candles extinguished, and images of saints and the crucifix are removed or hidden behind violet cloth. The Paschal Triduum begins with Chrism Mass early Thursday morning when the Holy Oils are blessed and all the priests of the diocese renew their vow. After Chrism mass, it is customary for parishioners to have breakfast with their parish priest to show their gratitude and love for him. Later that day, we would celebrate the Mass of the Last Supper where priests go down on their knees to wash the feet of parishioners. This commemorates Christ’s actions on the night before he died, when he washed the feet of his 12 apostles, in so doing teaching them humility and servant leadership.

When I was a little girl attending mass at San Sebastian, I watched the Spanish parish priest wash the feet of 12 fellow priests, and wondered why. Are their feet dirty? Later, as the church became more inclusive and priests scarcer, common parishioners took on the role of the apostles. When we first moved to Southbay, our family was chosen as one of those to be washed. It took some convincing for Mike to agree, but Niccolo was excited to have his feet washed.

After the Mass of the Last Supper, we would do the Bisita Iglesia, a Catholic tradition of visiting seven churches and praying the Stations of the Cross, ending with spending time at the Altar of Repose to keep the Lord company in His time of agony. We always enjoyed this time, choosing which seven churches to go to and comparing the different altars of repose they put up.

At dawn on Friday, we would have the Community Way of the Cross, walking through the different Basic Ecclesial Communities (BECs) of the Ascension of Our Lord Parish, from Villonco to Southbay to Waterfun, Estrada 1 & 2, Aratiles, Mangga, Silangan, then Goodwill. When we first did this about ten years ago, I was a bit worried having to walk and pray in the developing communities, then genuflecting on the dirty streets, beside dogs and chickens. But this also opened my eyes to the circumstances of how other people lived, and I became more thankful of our many blessings, and also more open and understanding of the people around me.

At 3pm, we would have the Veneration of the Cross, the symbol of Christ’s suffering and love for us. We used to call this rite the Seven Last Words. This is a solemn rite where we relive the last hours of Christ’s passion and death on the cross. When the priest enters the church with the cross, stops three times and unveils it partially, he sings a biblical phrase. Fr. Didoy Molina, our beloved parish priest then, was absent when God gave the gift of beautiful voices, so when he attempted to sing, we all cracked up and started giggling.

There is no more consecration of the bread and wine at the mass that follows, but we would partake of communion with hosts blessed the night before during the Last Supper rites. We would then go home, but some of us would stay and keep the image of the Cristo Muerto company.

Black Friday, as we call the day that Christ died, is supposed to be a day of fasting, quiet and reflection on this passion and death. I still recall a time, I must have been three or four years old then, when Pepito and I were playing rowdily by the avocado tree in the backyard. Our mom came out and roundly spanked and scolded us to keep quiet. “Don’t you know that Jesus Christ is dead?,” she screamed at us in Spanish. We kept quiet, wondering who this Jesus Christ was and why he died. To a young child, the concept of death is difficult to grasp, more so when it is someone we don’t know.

Black Saturday is still supposed to be hush hush but come night, we would have a grand celebration as we celebrate Easter, or the resurrection of Jesus Christ. In our parish, we would congregate in the pitch black court outside the church.  The bonfire is lighted and the priest would bless and light the Paschal Candle, saying “You are the alpha and the omega.” These words never fail to touch me, and bring home the message that God is our all in all, the beginning and the end, our Creator, the Almighty to whom we owe everything. And once again, I would be humbled as I am reminded of my nothingness and yet the grandness that God loves me and holds me in the palm of His hand.

The Easter Vigil mass is long and dramatic. It begins with us entering the dark church following the priest holding up the lighted candle. We listen to several readings followed by Psalms which are sung. The readings begin with Genesis, the story of creation, to when Abraham willingly follows the Lord’s command to sacrifice his only son Isaac to God.  He is about to kill his son when he is stopped by an angel and told that God has blessed him for showing his faithfulness to the Lord. God then makes His solemn promise to bless Abraham with descendants more numerous than the stars of the sky or the sands along the beach, descendants who will be a blessing to all nations. The readings proceed to Exodus, or the triumphant flight from Egypt when the Israelites under the leadership of Moses and the guidance and protection of God cross the Red Sea and all of the pursuing Pharaoh’s chariots and charioteers are drowned.

I am usually assigned to read one of these first readings as they are the longest and most dramatic. But it is the second one I love the most.   I put myself in Abraham’s shoes, and wonder if I would be as obedient as him. Imagine being told to kill your only son, the beloved son of your old age, and to offer him as a sacrifice to God. Give up Bea, or Cara or Niccolo? Arghhh! And yet, this is exactly what God did: send His only son, Jesus Christ to live and die on the cross to save us from our sins.

The following readings from Isaiah, Baruch and Ezekiel chronicle God’s faithfullness over the centuries to His covenant to take care of His people. We then have the Epistle and the readings from the Gospel. I love it when we sing the Gloria with all of the lights turned on, as we wave our white flags and ring our bells. Oh, what a glorious time it is as we rejoice that the Lord has risen!

The next day we would have the Easter Egg Hunt in our village. When my children were young, they would join the other children in the village and see who could collect the most eggs, especially the prized Gold and Silver eggs.  Similarly, when we were young, my siblings and I would also go Easter Egg hunting in our yard. What fond memories Easter brings!

Oh, I will miss all of these rituals this Holy Week, but then I will be with my children and my mom. It is high time we have some family bonding. The children are grown up and soon they would have their own families. I hope and pray that we would still be able to celebrate Easter together in the years to come.

 

 

 

 

Children, Faith, Family, God, Life, Love, Menopause, Women

Tempest in a Teapot Six Years Ago

I was browsing over Mike’s Facebook this morning, and came across this note I had written almost six years ago.  I had completely forgotten about it, but it is too funny not to share, so here goes…

June 28, 2009.  Every morning after prayers, I would weigh myself. The scale always reported back an acceptable 110 to 115 lbs. depending on the workload (the more stress, the more I eat). Last week, however, was different. I registered at 117, then 118, then 119 the next day. I shook the scale, then checked again. Still 119! This can’t be, I thought, but the pants have been getting tighter. Horrors! I must start to diet and exercise. 

Then, cuddled up with Mike on the sofa watching my favorite soap, Desperate Housewives, we had a good laugh over Linette’s getting pregnant with twins at 40+. And then Mike teased me, “Maybe that’s why you’re becoming voluptuous.”

That can’t be, I argued. I’m supposed to be menopausal by now. But doubt had started to creep in. When did I have my last period? The last I remember was two months ago. But I haven’t experienced any of the touted symptoms: hot flashes, irate temper, etc. Oh, no!

Over evening snacks in the kitchen, I casually mentioned the possibility of having a new addition to the family to my grown-up daughters and teenage son. I was not prepared for their reaction. Jaws dropped, hands clapped over their eyes and ears, and protests of “What? Are you serious?,” “Mommy, how could you?,” and “Noooooo!” filled the room. After the shock had passed, Bea turned to Cara and said, “I’ll take care of Niccolo. You take care of the new one.”

Cara, my middle child, whipped out her laptop and started to check for menopausal symptoms. She read out the long list. At each point, she asked, “Are you feeling this?” After about 20 symptoms including migraines and aching joints, she concluded that she’s menopausal. Except for migraines which I’ve had since my teenage days, I was clear.

Yesterday afternoon, Cara still could not shake off her feeling of doom, and so she convinced me to go to the drugstore to buy a pregnancy test. We were both embarrassed to buy it, but I finally summoned courage to approach the counter. In the car on the way home, she called her older sister to help me with the test because she said she would faint if it were her. Since the test instructions recommended an early morning test, we had to wait till the morning.

Last night, I attended the birthday party of a dear friend in the village. I confided my worries to a friend who promptly announced it to the group. I naturally became the object of a lot of friendly ribbing, so I retorted, “If this pushes through, you’ll all be ninangs.” This drew another round of ribbing. Imagine our octogenarian friends hosting a baby party? Or a child of six asking me where her ninangs are? We were in stitches all night. Good thing, the conversation moved on Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Vicki Belo and Hayden Kho.

“Don’t worry, Monette, we’ll all be rooting for you,” another friend said as we parted ways last night. But worry, I did. I thought of all the things I’d have to go through again… maternity dresses, pedia visits, all-nighters, pre-school, park and zoo trips… And questions, such as, “Why is the lola accompanying the baby instead of the mom?” Heavens! I’d be 70 by the time debut happens.

Bright and early this morning, I did the test. While waiting for the results, I prayed. Those were probably the longest, most excruciating three minutes I had to endure.

One bar! Negative. Thank you, Lord! Now, I can just look forward to cuddling apos one of these days. That, I wouldn’t mind at all.

 

 

Childhood, Death, Faith, Family, Food, Life, Love

Will you visit me when my time comes?

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IMG_6079Every year, I make the trip to La Loma Cemetery to visit our family plot and pay respect to our dear departed.  As much as possible, I would go on All Saints Day.  This time around, I went with just my mom on All Souls Day, as Niccolo and I had gone to visit Mike and hear mass at St. Therese of the Child Jesus the day before.  Bea was in the US attending a wedding, Cara in Boracay working, and Niccolo nursing a fever at home.   Niccolo tried convincing me to go another day saying traffic would be terrible.  I knew this was going to be the case, but I was adamant.  Nothing would keep me away.

IMG_6065Armed with two large pots planted with white and yellow flowers, candles and a hat to shield me from the sun, I got into the car to go to San Sebastian and pick up my mom on the way to the cemetery.  Luckily, our driver had shown up, and so I didn’t have to worry about parking the car.

As expected, traffic had been rerouted, but with the help of Waze, we arrived at the 5th Avenue entrance of La Loma.  Cars were not permitted to enter the cemetery today.  We usually enter through the Rizal Avenue Extension gate as this was nearest the family plot, but then we were not sure if we could get around given the traffic rerouting so we decided to step out and walk.  It was 3pm and the sun was bearing hot on our heads, despite my hat and Dada’s umbrella.  Soon, Dada gave up using her umbrella as there were too many people around bumping into it, and instead used it as a cane.  She held on to me while I carried the bags with the flowers and the candles.

The streets were lined with makeshift tents selling all sorts of snack items and drinks.  All the fast food joints have come out in force.  As usual, flowers and candles were being sold, but the fare seemed to have extended to clothes and shoes.  Lo and behold, there was even one stall selling leftover Halloween costumes, hideous masks, and blinking horns.  About 500 meters from the gate, we found a tricycle driver who agreed to take us to our family plot.  Thank goodness because it was still a distance away.  While riding the tricycle, I started reminiscing days gone by.

As a young child, each trip was wrought with wonder.  My earliest memory of All Saints Day was in the kitchen watching my grandmother prepare her thick chicken asparagus sandwiches.  She would lay slabs of white bread with their edges trimmed on the plate,  place a curly lettuce on top, carefully pile cooked chicken breast, white asparagus, a pickle and a sliced tomato on top, spread her special mayo dressing on top, then finish this off with another slab of bread.  She then wrapped the sandwiches in big paper napkins, carefully tucking the ends inside.  I must have been about four or five years old then, because I still looked forward to eating the chicken sandwich with the surprising burst of pickle flavor, and lick the gooey mayo that inevitably escaped from the sandwich from my fat little fingers.

My grandmother would order the maid to pack her large silver candelabras into her bayong, together with tall thick yellow candles from Divisoria and a box of matches we children were not permitted to touch.  These were loaded into the car, with the basket of sandwiches, cold bottles of Coca-cola, and armloads of festive flowers in pails of water.

IMG_6086The trip to La Loma always seemed to take forever for the young child I was then, and the plot when we got there seemed huge and sprawling.  I knew we were close whenever I would spy the big white angel with wings spread wide, carrying a wreath that stood on top of my grandfather’s tomb.  The plot was ringed by black iron grills, and had two benches on either side of the gate.  Green springy grass covered the ground, a treat to loll around on.

Paul, Pepito and I would scoop up the molten candles and form them into balls.  Whoever formed the biggest ball would be king or queen for the day.  That was our game, as was hide and seek behind lolo’s tomb.  We didn’t mind the grown-ups who were praying the rosary, though we were constantly told to keep quiet at least until the prayers were over, after which lola would distribute sandwiches and Coke. The adults would then  tell us stories about the relatives who were buried there.  But we didn’t much care as we were intent on playing our games.

Early on, it was just that one large imposing tomb with a tombstone that said Jose Iturralde y Manalo.  This was my father’s father.

IMG_6080To its right were two identical smaller tombs on the lawn:  Apolonio Iturralde y Conding and Esperanza Manalo de Iturralde, my great grandparents.  To my child’s mind, they seemed like little castles with turrets all around, and I enjoyed daydreaming about them.  A tiny slab in front was for Enriqueta M. Buenviaje.   I never learned who Enriqueta M. Buenviaje was, but looks like she was an aunt from the inscription on the tombstone.  The inscriptions were all in Spanish, and my mom would explain what they meant.

IMG_6083To the left were two larger tombs on the lawn: one for my father’s brother, Rene Iturralde y Alvaro, and another for his nephew, two-year old Philip Iturralde who had died during Japanese war and who the family always referred to as their little angel.

I was always drawn to the inscription on the tombstone of my uncle Rene, and for some unknown reason those words have haunted me over the years:

“I am tired of tears and laughter

And men that laugh and weep

Of what may come hereafter

For men that sow to reap

I am weary of days and hours

Blown buds of barren flowers

Desires and dreams and powers

And everything but sleep.”

I don’t know who wrote that romantic poem, but I have a sneaky suspicion it was my dad who had adored his older brother and was devastated when he died.

DSC06777The year I turned ten was cataclysmic for our family.  My father passed away of an aneurism leaving behind a 32-year old widow and five young children aged 4 to 11.  Once again, the inscription was in Spanish, but this time, the words hit home: tu esposa, madre y hijos que no te olvidan.  This was my father buried there, not someone I had never met.  Each year, I would write him letters, telling him how much I missed him, and leave them there.  I never knew what happened to those letters.

To make way for my father’s tomb, they transferred the remains of Apolonio to that of his son, Jose, and placed his marker underneath the angel’s wreath.   His wife Esperanza’s tomb lay intact, looking lonely without him.  I felt bad for them.

Some more years passed, and my grandmother Dominga Alvaro Iturralde (Lola Ingga), my grand aunt Eriberta Manalo Iturralde (Lola Teta) who had reared me as a young child, my aunt and godmother, Maria Luz Alvaro Iturralde (Dada Uds), and my newborn nephew Alfonso Castillo Iturralde were all laid to rest in the family plot.  My aunt Sr. Encarnacion, S.Sp.S. (nee Aurora Alvaro Iturralde, Tita Rory) was buried together with the other Holy Spirit nuns in Christ the King Church.

The inscriptions were now in English, except that of my Lola Teta who had spoken fluent Spanish.   These were no longer just names on the tombstone, but people who had been intimately part of my life, who had cared for and loved me unconditionally, and whom I have loved deeply in return.  I have memories for each one of them, and I would tell these stories to my children.

And because of this, no matter how difficult it is to visit them with all the traffic hassles, I go to say hello each year, offer flowers and candles, pray the rosary for them, and be with them for a brief time, telling them how much I love them.   I believe that my siblings, if they were in the country, would visit them as well.

IMG_6073When I reached home and checked on Niccolo, telling him how tired I was and recounting what had happened to me all day, I mused aloud, “I wonder if my children will visit me too when my time comes?”  I received a tight hug and an “I love you, mom.”  Just as he did yesterday after I stood on tiptoe to plant another kiss on Mike’s tombstone at the Columbarium.   We stood there holding hands, teary-eyed, missing Mike, telling him in our hearts how much we loved him.  Somehow, I felt assured.  It’s the circle of life and love.  It’s what makes us family, and why traditions live on.

Confidence, Faith, Family, God, Life, Love

Alfonso in October

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IMG_5753October 24, 2014.  Finally, I arrived safely in Alfonso, just as dusk began to settle in.  It seemed that Mother Nature had thrown her dark mantle over the green expanse signaling that it was time for weary souls to rest.  I felt peace settling in, just as the cicadas began their chirping symphony.

It’s been a crazy, frenzied two weeks.  We’ve just finished organizing two major international conferences last week: the International IT-BPM Summit (IIS) and the SycipLaw-sponsored World Law Group Conference.   Both were highly successful, thanks to the amazing people who make up TeamAsia.  Concurrently, we were setting up meetings for the IIS Egyptian and Bangladesh delegations that were interested to learn more about the business process management industry in the Philippines. In between all of the conference prep activities, I was busy organizing my mom’s 80th birthday celebration, and working on a book on her life, while juggling Tourism Promotions Board and PACEOS responsibilities.  Clearly, I needed to decompress.   And so did the team.

1904127_10204878157094752_5178903032146269851_nAnd so we decided it was time for a much needed break from work.  Thursday morning, our hardworking Experience Team hied off to The Green Olive Garden Private Hotel near St. Scholastica’s Retreat House in Tagaytay for a strategic planning session.  On the way up, we stopped for breakfast at Rowena’s Café and surprised Karen and Joana with birthday cakes.  The poor girls were not able to celebrate their birthdays properly with all the work that had to be done.

We had The Green Olive Garden Hotel all to ourselves, thanks to Karen who had made all the arrangements.  The spanking clean spacious bedrooms were well-appointed, the beds and pillows soft as down, the food not just filling but appetizing as well.  The cool Tagaytay breeze, the smell of pine trees, and the profuse foliage and flowering shrubs provided a soothing backdrop to the place.  I was assigned the executive room which even sported a Jacuzzi for two in the bathroom.  It was, of course, wasted on me.

10245351_10204007188914336_1289111777421054271_nWe buckled down to work right after a hilarious ice breaker where we had each person tell a story about random items they had brought with them, and then swapped with each other.  The afternoon was highly productive.  After dinner, it was time to chill by the pool with wine, while others had their massage. But first, I had to get on a Skype call with colleagues from South Korea and the US for a smart platform being planned in time for the Philippines’ hosting of the APEC Women and the Economy Forum next year.

10712734_10204007147873310_9059012607933853107_nTurns out the only place where the Internet connection was strong enough was behind the counter of The Green Olive Garden.  While waiting for everyone to sign in, I had a good look around, and noted that the owners must be Vespa fans, as there were several retrospective posters of bikes around.  I also took the opportunity to post the photos of my mom’s birthday on my Facebook, as family and friends have been asking for them.

Our team was already having loads of fun by the pool, doing improvisation theatre, followed by several games that got everyone rolling with laughter, tripping over their Tagalog words, and spilling the beans on well-kept secrets.  Looking around at these young men and women, I marveled at how relaxed and happy they looked, and what a contrast it was to the determined team of professionals who ran the conferences last week.  I felt my chest puff up with pride that this was my work family.  I am so blessed to have them.

IMG_5747The next morning, I woke up bright and early only to discover that everyone else was still asleep, other than Darwin, our training associate who was already in the pool. The clear blue water of the pool glistened in the sun, beckoning me to swim. Thankful I had been spared a hangover from the copious wine I had the night before (each time I lost I had to drink some wine; obviously, I needed more practice with the games), I surprised myself by doing five laps.  Not bad, I thought, considering I sported a back brace and was walking with a cane right about this time last year.

After wrapping up the highly productive strategic planning session and bidding good-bye to the team, I drove to Alfonso. Earlier, I let our driver Jimmy go home as he had to bring his pregnant wife for a medical check-up. Truth to tell though, I just wanted to be alone, to sort out my thoughts.  Driving by myself was a welcome treat.  It’s been awhile since I’ve been behind the wheel.  Humming a tune, I savored the prospect of time alone in the Retreat, while mulling over the events of the past two weeks.

I was a bit worried about a Skype conference call I had to make Friday night.  Internet connection in Alfonso is always spotty, but the recent storm may have wiped it out altogether.  Walking around the farm, the only place that had a reasonable 3G signal was underneath the mango tree beside the cabana.  Oh well, I thought, this is better than having to drive back to Tagaytay.

IMG_5772After asking our caretaker Jeovanie to keep me company in the dark, I spread my festive red sarong on the ground, turned on the computer and tried desperately to connect using my PLDT WeRoam as well as my Globe phone.  The Internet connection was ephemeral and weaker than a butterfly’s gossamer wings. The call kept getting dropped. After half an hour, I gave up, packed my bags and went back to the house to sleep.

IMG_5773For the first time in weeks, I clocked in eight hours of tranquil sleep, rudely disturbed by the cacophony of roosters crowing, chickens cackling and the nun’s geese next door honking. I went out, just as dawn began to break, with darkness giving way graciously to light, the sky awash in baby blue and pink hues.  Pretty soon, the sun showed itself, unveiling the beauty of the farm.

IMG_5830It always takes my breath away when I see sun-dappled leaves, still moist with the night’s dew, bursting in vivid green.  I don’t think there is enough variety of paint in the world to capture all of Nature’s many hues.  Inspired, I walked around the farm, took photos, and decided to settle myself at the cabana to paint.

IMG_5853 I ended up trying to paint myself.  I remembered my first self-portrait.  It was done in oil while I was in college, and I had given it to my boyfriend.  When we broke up, he didn’t return it.  I hope he didn’t use it as target practice.

Before driving back to town, I paid a quick visit to an 81-year old friend in Alfonso who I hadn’t seen in a while.  She and her daughter enjoyed pouring over my mom’s book. Taking my leave, I hugged and kissed her, telling her I love her.  Tears sprung to her eyes.  I suddenly remembered Dada, and how much she appreciated the gesture of the book.  I vowed to call, check on her, and tell her how much I loved her.

IMG_5855Someone dear had told me that I needed to be happy being alone, being myself.  And that I was, at the Retreat, basking in the beauty of God’s creation, and the peace within my soul.  I thought of my beautiful children, my mom, my siblings, Mike, my friends, the people I love most in this life, and was grateful for having them in my life.   But most of all, I remembered who I am, how much I am loved by God despite my many frailties, and thanked Him for the many blessings I have received.

150130_10204018087906804_4382034564640049740_n

On the way back home, Nanay Tinay, the lady from whom I bought flowers in Tagaytay gave me a single red rose before I got back into the car.   I was startled.  With a twinkle in her eye, she wished me love.  And so I drove back with a smile on my face, holding on to that red rose, just happy being me.

 

Death, Discipline, Faith, Family, Goodbyes, Life, Love

Helping families cope with final transitions

The days seem to whiz by so fast these past two weeks, leaving precious little time for writing. Each night, I look forward to writing my blog, but work and family concerns are jealous lovers and take over my free time.

The truth is I need to be more disciplined when it comes to writing.  For 20 years, I’ve watched Mike sit down weekly, and sometimes, daily, to think, to do research, and then type out his articles for various columns, newspapers, and even, books.  Each time he would ask me to copy edit his work, and each time I did, I would fall in love with him all over again, captivated by how intelligent and insightful he was, and how words just seemed to flow naturally.  I pray that I be more like him when it comes to discipline, and so after sloughing off for two weeks, I was finally jarred into writing again.  Something happened the other day that brought back vivid memories of Mike.

Good friends Angie Laborte and Dr. Mae Corvera wanted to meet me at Palms to discuss a conference they were organizing and to pick my brains on how to market it. Angie is one of the founders of Project Pink, a support group for cancer patients and their families.  Mae is sub-section head for Family Medicine & Palliative Medicine at Asian Hospital and board chairman of The Ruth Foundation for Palliative and Hospice Care.  Mae was a bastion of strength for our family during Mike’s last few weeks.  When Mike learned he had cancer, he made me promise not to let him die in the hospital.  I told him then that he would die in my arms. With Mae’s help in palliative and hospice care, I was able to make good on my promise.

That last morning before Mike slipped into a semi-coma is seared into my memory like a burn that never heals.  It was a bright early Saturday morning, and Mike had refused to eat anything since the day before, even ice-cream.  Frail and spent, he was listless and didn’t seem to recognize me.  I was beside myself with worry, and called Mae frantically.  She came quickly with her team, examined Mike, and recommended we bring him to the hospital right away for emergency intervention.  We had been in and out of hospitals in the past two weeks, and I felt like screaming and pounding heaven’s doors for some respite.  Nevertheless, we called for an ambulance.

Is it time, I asked Mae in anguish?  Mae gently told me only God will determine the time, but that it would be good for the children to say goodbye.   She advised me to call my children and ask them to come right away.

We helped Mike into his wheelchair, and brought him to the balcony outside our room.  Niccolo sat close beside him, held his hand, and with heads bowed, father and son talked.  It was heartbreaking to watch, and I turned my back to call Bea first in Boston where she was finishing up her masters, and then Cara in Boracay.  After visiting Mike for a few days, Cara had just returned to Shangri-la Boracay where she worked as a chef, and I knew she had used up all her leaves already.  I called Cara, and she said she would buy a ticket right away.

The ambulance attendants arrived to take Mike, but Niccolo refused to let them take him.  He asked for more time to be with his dad.  I remember weeping silently as I watched them, and then Mae embracing me and telling me it was time to go.  It was then I told her of my promise not to let Mike die in the hospital.  Mae understood, and said Mike just needed some tests done so they would know what next steps to take, and that we could bring him home right after if that was what I wanted to do.   Mike died the next Saturday, not in the hospital, but at home, in my arms, just as I had promised him.

IMG_3832October is Breast Cancer Month, and each year, The Ruth Foundation for Palliative and Hospice Care organizes a conference to promote palliative and hospice care in the Philippines.  On October 14-18, The Ruth Foundation, together with the Department of Occupational and Family Medicine of the Asian Hospital and Medical Center and the Philippine Society of Hospice and Palliative Medicine, will organize Leadership for H.O.P.E. 2014, a five-day conference consisting of an opening and a closing plenary, sandwiching several workshops.  Previous H.O.P.E. conferences were small, but this time, they had invited expert conference faculty from the United States, New Zealand and Asia Pacific.

Still wearing pink ribbons on their bodice from the press conference they attended earlier, Angie and Mae were excited to tell me that Filinvest City had decided to support their conference, and was lending use of the Filinvest Tent for the opening plenary on October 14 and the first two workshops on October 15.  With a bigger venue, the challenge was getting the word out so that more physicians, nurses and health care professionals, as well as, support group leaders, organizers and volunteers would attend and learn from the international conference faculty.

The first workshop, “Hospice & Palliative Care Management,” seeks to help clinical and administrative leaders in program formation, maintenance and management.  The second workshop, “Owning Stage Zero,” will empower support group leaders, organizers and volunteers in providing psychosocial care and support group facilitation in such areas as empathy and compassion; trauma, grief and bereavement; active listening skills; facilitation of support groups and family meetings; and self-care and resilience.

Targeting ministry and volunteer leaders, the third workshop, “Practical Compassion Through Loving Individuals in Final Transition (L.I.F.T.) on October 16-17 will instruct them on how to teach others to provide basic care-giving, to meet spiritual needs, to listen and communicate, to accept crisis and suffering, and to handle aging, stress, dementia and the intricacies of death and dying.

Concurrently, End-of-Life Nursing Education Consortium (ELNEC), together with the American Association of Colleges of Nursing (AACN) and the City of Hope in Los Angeles, California, will conduct a two-day certificate course to teach nurses professional approaches to improve care and quality of life for end-of-life patients.

Finally, the workshop, “Empowering by Example” will have care leaders share their experiences and best practices for palliative and hospice care of cancer patients.

Having been on the receiving end of Mae’s and The Ruth Foundation’s kindness and generosity during the darkest times of my life, I readily agreed to help spread the word.   We need more health care professionals and volunteers trained in the intricacies of palliative and hospice care to extend a helping hand when rough times come and turn our lives upside down.   It’s not just the person who is dying who needs love, sensitivity and compassion, but the people they leave behind who are broken and need angels to help get them through.  I will forever be grateful to Mae and her team for being there when I most needed them.

P.S. To learn more about the conference, contact The Ruth Foundation at [email protected], 8086079, 0906 314 1421 or 0908 814 4799.  And please, may I ask you to help spread the word, so that there be more angels like Dr. Mae Corvera and The Ruth Foundation to help families cope with final transitions?

 

 

 

Beginnings, Death, Faith, Friendship, God, Goodbyes, Life, Love, Resilience

Clearing out, moving on

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This morning when I woke up, I decided to finally clear our walk in closet of all of Mike’s clothes.  I should have given them away long before, but truth to tell, I could not bear to part with them.   Seeing his suits hanging in our closet somehow comforted me.

Someone had told me that it was good to get rid of things that remind you of someone you had loved and lost, and that this was the first step for moving on.  On Facebook, I saw a post that said, “You can’t reach for anything new if your hands are still full of yesterday’s junk.”  And yet another post said, “Think positive and positive things will happen.”

It seems the world was telling me it was time to let go.  Mike was never coming back in this lifetime.  Death had claimed him, and he was back with our Creator.

So with a heart full of hope that life indeed would get better, I did exactly that.  Cleared everything out, and packed them in two suitcases.  Oh, I cried a river while I was doing it, remembering good times with Mike, cherishing our love, but when I finally shut the suitcases, I felt ready to begin life anew.

What lies ahead, I wonder?

Church, Corporate Social Responsibility, Faith, Friendship, Love, Work

Giving back, gaining more

August 1, 2014.  Every last Wednesday of the month, TeamAsia stops work for an hour to celebrate staff birthdays and company achievements, break bread (well, mostly pizza and cupcakes), welcome new staff (who gamely butt spell their names), bid adieu to those who move on, play games, sing and dance sometimes, and generally have loads of fun together.  Called Pop Up Wednesdays, this tradition was started by Bea a year ago when she came back from her studies in Boston to a company grieving the loss of its founder, her dad.  Bea’s arrival was a breath of fresh air, full of sunshine and sparkles, and she quickly formed a team from different departments tasked to be as creative as they can be to come up with a fresh theme each month.

Themes vary depending on the times.  We’ve had Zen (loved the shoulder and foot massages), Frozen (icy games), Glaze (hot choco and donuts), Blockbusters (challenging games), Soirees (getting to know you better), Filipiniana (tested our native tongue), TAkot 2013 (Halloween spooktivities that had the entire office transformed into the stuff of nightmares), Chinese New Year, and more.  Pop Up Wednesdays was a date each month where we tucked away the stress of everyday work life and client deadlines to just talk to each other and reconnect as family.  For a sneak peak into our Pop Up Wednesdays, check out this link, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGBM2H0C4aE.

July 2014Today’s Pop Up was different. July is Corporate Social Responsibility Month, and we wanted to give back to our local community.  Because of the busy week, we moved Pop Up to a Friday afternoon, and went offsite to Haven for Children along Zapote Road.  Haven for Children is a center for male street children aged 7-13 years who are recovering from substance abuse like rugby and marijuana.  Some are addicted to alcohol and smoking.  We were warned not to take frontal photos as some of them have taken refuge there to escape from fraternities and gangs, and to watch out for our things.

My heart sank as I learned from some of the boys that they had been abandoned by their parents, beaten black and blue by barangay tanods who caught them stealing or sniffing, survived on the streets foraging leftovers from garbage disposals or begging for food.  By a twist of fate, this could have been me or my children, I thought.

The initial aloofness was soon dispelled when we began playing our games.  Grouped into six teams with ate and kuya TeamAsians as game masters, the boys enacted values like pagiging matulungin (helpfulness), pag-aalaga ng kalikasan (concern for the environment), pagpapakita ng respeto sa kapwa (showing respecting for others), and pagiging madasalin (being prayerful). Each tableau was unique and I was struck that the boys were more inclusive than most adults, showing prayer in different religions: Catholic, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and in different situations: at home, at church, during calamities and celebrations.  It was difficult to judge the groups; I wanted to hug each and every child and congratulate them.

The hare, wall and archer game (big brother version of paper, scissors and stone) had everyone whooping, cheering, and jumping as they competed with each other.  The hula hoop relay challenged the children’s physical agility, and boy, were they fast!  Tired and spent after the games, TeamAsians and their young wards happily munched on the burgers, fries and soda we brought.  The children then wanted to dance and sing for us, impromptu, to show their appreciation.  They wanted to go on and on, but it was getting late, and sadly we had to leave.  As we walked back to the cars, the kids made “mano,” hugged, and high-fived us.  “Balik kayo, ha?  Promise?,” a little child asked.  I nodded, my heart in my throat.  One of the boys ran after our senior graphic designer and handed her a rosary as a gift.

One of the “nanays” (social workers) observed that the children have never been as noisy and happy as this afternoon’s outreach, although there have been several groups that have visited. “Iba kayo,” she said, “talagang masaya.” Truth to tell, Pop Up Wednesdays have always been noisy and happy, but today was so much more.  It was fulfilling.  We thought we were giving back, but instead, we were the ones who gained, hearts bursting with happiness, in full measure.

The words of Luke 6:38 ring true: “Give, and it will be given to you. A good portion—packed down, firmly shaken, and overflowing—will fall into your lap. The portion you give will determine the portion you receive in return.”

We definitely will be returning.

Faith, Family, God, Love

Roller Coaster Ride

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May 4, 2011.  It’s been a roller coaster ride with the cornea transplant. The first one that took place on a Friday three weeks ago went perfectly well but the very next day Mike accidentally hit his eye with his arm while sleeping and burst a suture. Mike complained about pain Saturday and Sunday, but the doctor thought it was just the natural healing process and told him to just rest and take medication.

We didn’t know the real situation until his Monday checkup, and the doctor didn’t let him go home. He went straight into surgery to save the cornea, and added another five sutures to the 16 Mike already had. The danger was that infection had set in during the weekend when a part of the eye was open. For the next week it seemed that things were getting better other than Mike’s complaint that he was not seeing things as clearly as he did right after the first operation (which the doctor attributed to the additional five stitches that were bearing more weight than the others) and that there was a constant pain in one part of the eye.

So last Wednesday, when Mike went to the doctor, they noticed that there was a new tear and that suture management had to be done. Mike was scheduled for surgery the next day.The doctor removed the five stitches he had added and re-arranged stitches so that there would be equal bearing on the eye. Well, what was supposed to take 30 minutes took about three hours. Once again, subsequent check-ups indicated that things were OK.

Then the other day while I was at a meeting in Makati, I got a text message from Bea that Mike was again going into the Operating Room. That’s when I completely lost it. Before going to Asian Hospital, I passed by our parish church, went on my knees, wept and implored God for help.

Bea and I prayed on our way to the hospital. The operation took from 7pm to 12:30 am. I didn’t even get to see Mike or talk to the doctor before the surgery. I kept begging the nurses for word as to what was happening. All they could say was that the operation was ongoing, and that Dr. Manolette Roque was the only doctor in attendance.

When the doctor finally emerged, he looked exhausted. I hugged him and thanked him. He said he had to re do all the sutures twice because part of the cornea had torn, part of it had dissolved, the eye chamber had almost collapsed, and was leaking like a cheesecloth.  He said he finally got the leaks plugged, had put in a lens bandage, and wanted to see Mike when he woke up.

Both Mike and Dr. Manolette hadn’t eaten or taken a sip of water all those long hours. The surgery was done without general anesthesia, as there was no prep time. At one point, the doctor asked Mike if he believed in God. Mike said he was Christian, and so they both prayed hoping for a miracle. Outside, Bea and I continued praying. I saw Pope John Paul’s beatification on the waiting lounge TV and prayed to him for a miracle.

It took Asian Hospital awhile to get the billing done as we were the only ones left. We arrived home at about 2:30am, and I had to leave for a teaching assignment by 7am.  By 1pm, I accompanied Mike to the doctor.  We feared the worst.

When he removed the bandage, Manolette was overjoyed because the cornea was still clear, the chamber was deep, and there was no leak. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had expected the cornea to die because of all the trauma it had suffered. He was so happy he started to cry. He said there was no explanation. I told him there was only one. God had listened to our prayers and performed a miracle!

Accountability, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, God, Love

Ask and it will be given

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(Sharing something I had written three years ago.  As real then as it is now.)

April 20, 2011.  Wednesday afternoon, Mike’s doctor called to tell us that there was a cornea available that fits the profile needed by Mike. A 21-year old gunshot victim. A quick decision was needed; otherwise, the cornea would no longer be suitable. Mike decided to go for the transplant, and so it seemed that our journey for the past two and half years was coming to a close.

It all began when Mike decided to go for cataract surgery.  He had a cataract in his right eye removed over 15 years ago, and everything had gone well. He has also had laser surgery to correct his vision, and that went well too. So he thought nothing of having his left eye fixed, and decided to go to Asian Hospital and ask them for a recommendation.  He met up with a young woman doctor who had trained in the United States, and whose clinic hours worked favorably for his schedule. Mike was impressed with the confident way she spoke, and thought he was in good hands. After a few visits, he decided to schedule the surgery.

It was a very busy time, work-wise, and so it was only on surgery day that I was able to accompany him to Asian Hospital. Before the surgery, I spoke to the doctor and asked her to walk me through what was going to happen. She told me it was a simple 15-minute procedure using the latest equipment, and assured me that she had done it several times. All she needed to do was replace the lens with a new one.  He didn’t even have to be confined.

I settled to wait in the lobby and worked on my laptop while waiting for the operation.  After an hour, I approached the nurses’ window to ask how the operation was going. They said everything was OK.  Assured, I went back to work. After another 30 minutes had passed, I again approached the window.  This time, the lady doctor came out and said Mike was just resting.  Not to worry.  But when another 45 minutes had passed, and still no Mike, I became really agitated and demanded to know what was happening. The nurses had no answer. I paced back and forth and kept coming back.

Three hours after the operation had started, the doctor finally came out and said everything was OK. I asked her why it had taken so long, when she said it would just take 15 minutes. She said there was a slight complication, but not to worry, his eye would heal and he should be able to see clearly in a few days.

When I saw Mike, my heart sank.  It looked like he had been pummeled, and his eye was grotesquely out of shape. I put up a brave front, and brought him home after settling all the hospital bills.

After several post-op visits and Mike could still not see, we began to worry. His doctor kept giving many reasons why Mike’s eye was not responding as quickly as it should.  I was shocked to learn later that they had to call another doctor to finish the operation because his own doctor had panicked during the procedure and could not put in the lens. His cornea was irreparably damaged due to the long wait that the eye was open and irrigated for the operation.

We consulted different eye specialists, but the prognosis was always the same: he would never recover clear eyesight in his left eye. The only glimmer of hope left was a cornea transplant, and that would be a hit and miss affair.  Nevertheless, we signed up at the eye bank.

Later, Mike found a doctor he liked and could trust wholeheartedly in the person of Dr. Manolette Roque.  An earnest young and distinguished doctor, Manolette had set up the Eye Republic Ophthalmology Clinic.  Manolette quickly became Mike’s confidante and friend.  Both highly IT-literate, they discussed different options for surgery and explored new technologies as they became available.

Being a prolific writer, Mike was severely affected.  Physically, he was in a lot of pain. He got tired easily.  He also lost his depth vision, and would sometimes walk into the wall, or miss the glass as he was pouring a drink. Financially, the constant medicines and visits were a strain.  Emotionally, it took a heavy toll.  He kept blaming himself for choosing the wrong doctor.  He even asked me if I still wanted him.  All I could do was assure him of my love.

I hated myself for not taking better care of my husband. If only I had not been so wrapped up with work that I did not pay attention to his plans for cataract surgery, we could have spent the time searching for a good doctor.  I had so much anger in my heart. I wanted to hurt the doctor, destroy her reputation, sue her for what she did and prevent her from inflicting similar harm to others. I even went as far as consulting a lawyer.  It galled that she never ever apologized or accepted her fault.  But, Mike, being a very private person, did not want me to talk about the situation or pursue the matter.   He vacillated between wanting to sue her and saying he did not want to destroy her life and her livelihood.  Of the two of us, Mike has always been the better person.

It took a while for Mike to adapt to his new condition.  I swallowed my fear each time he would take the wheel, but knew that if I did not let him drive, it would make him feel even worse.  Forbidden to wet his eyes, Mike also had to forego swimming, snorkelling and diving, activities he enjoyed immensely.  While our family and friends continued to pray for his healing, we all adapted to the situation. What was abnormal became the norm. It was thus a jolt of surprise when Mike received Manolette’s call last Wednesday.

When Mike decided to go on with the transplant, I quickly got my mobile phone out and started to text my children to inform them, and my friends to ask for prayers.  Mike asked me what I was doing, and told me to stop telling people as he didn’t want people to know.  I asked him why, and he said it was just an eye operation, and he did not want to bother anyone, especially since there were other people who were suffering from much more serious conditions.  I stopped what I was doing, but when I learned that he had emailed our excom to advise them he would not be around for our next meeting, I decided to go ahead and ask all my friends and family to pray for him, for Manolette, and for the young cornea donor who had died.  I am so thankful that I did.

Yesterday morning, I was touched by the Lord, and felt His presence in my life.  While waiting for Mike’s surgery to begin, I confided in the Lord that I did not know how to pray to Him.  I opened my Bible cover, and saw tucked into a side pocket, a small novena that someone had given me long ago and which I had never read.  It was entitled “Novena to God’s Love.” In the inside back cover, there was a prayer of thanksgiving and surrender.  While reading it, I felt a wave of calm pass over me.  Then, flipping through the pages, I discovered that the footnote for each page was calling out to me:

“Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you.” Matthew 7:7

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.” Matthew 6:8

“My God will fully supply whatever you need, in accord with His glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19

“If you ask anything of me in my name, I will do it.” John 14:14

“Amen, amen, I say to you, whatever you ask the Father in my name, He will give you.” John 16:23

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens. Ephesian 1:3

“Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours.” Mark 11:24

Surely, I thought, this was the Lord telling me not to worry, that he would take care of Mike.  And so, I felt strangely calm while the operation was going on.

When I was told that Mike was now in the recovery room, I asked the nurses if I could see Mike. They said I could not go in, but that I could peek at him through the glass window.  After checking on him, I returned to the nurses’ window to ask if I could see the surgeon and the anaesthesiologist so I could thank them personally.  I was told they had already left.  Then a lady doctor who had passed me earlier and was already quite a distance away, doubled back and approached me, introducing herself as the anaesthesiologist. She assured me that Mike was fine. I was so happy that I could thank her personally, since I had never met her before.

While waiting in the lobby for Mike to recover, another lady doctor approached the nurses’ window. She had her back to me, but she seemed strangely familiar. When she turned, I smiled at her.  She then approached me. When she was closer, I realized that she was the doctor who had fumbled up Mike’s cataract surgery two and half years ago.

She introduced herself and asked why I was there.  I said I was waiting for Mike to recover from the cornea transplant surgery.  She asked how he was.  I am ashamed to say that at that moment, I wanted to hurt her, but suddenly, the words I had read earlier in Mark 11:25-26 flashed before my eyes: “When you stand to pray, forgive anyone whom you have a grievance, so that your heavenly Father may in turn forgive you your transgressions.”

Instead, I told her: “You know, Mike has suffered so much because of what you did to him two years ago. He has been in pain not just physically, but emotionally, mentally and even spiritually.  I have hated you so much and have wanted to sue you and destroy your reputation for what you have done.  But we have not done so, and after praying, I have realized that I must instead forgive you.”

She started to cry and said that she had not intended for it to happen. I understood then that she must have carried guilt and regret in her heart all this time, and that it must have been a heavy burden for her to carry as well. I just asked her to please make sure that she doesn’t harm anyone else, and that she also speak to my husband and apologize to him.  I then embraced her and we parted.

When Manolette came out of the operating room, I was surprised since the nurse said he had already left. I rushed to hug him and thank him.  That afternoon, after checking on Mike, Manolette said he was very happy with the results of the surgery. He rated the operation as 9 out of 10, and only because he had to give Mike general anaesthesia so he would be asleep during the procedure.

The surgery went well, and he is now at home resting. The next three days are critical though, to ensure that his eye does not get infected or inflamed so that the cornea would hold.  But, Mike can see more clearly now that he could for the past two years, and we are so very grateful to the Lord, and to all those who prayed for Mike!

As we enter the Lenten season, I’d like to share with you a passage from the Book of Isaiah (59:6-9) on true fasting:

“This, rather, is the fasting that I wish: releasing those bound unjustly, untying the thongs of the yoke; setting free the oppressed, breaking every yoke; sharing your bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and the homeless; clothing the naked when you see them, and not turning your back on your own.

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your wound shall quickly be healed; your vindication shall go before you, and the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer, you shall cry for help, and he will say: “Here I am.”

Truly we have an amazing God who loves us and makes the impossible possible!  He has everything planned out. I called and He answered.  But first, I had to remove the hate and anger in my heart and learn to forgive.  For it is in forgiving others and ourselves that we open ourselves to healing. How blessed we all are to be called His children!

Accountability, Church, Faith, Governance, Principles, Transparency

A Controversy Like No Other

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July 23, 2014.  Bishop Jesse Mercado was slated to pay a Pastoral Visit to the Ascension of Our Lord Parish at 5pm.  He was to say mass at one of the developing areas and then proceed to the parish for a fellowship and meeting with the parish leaders.  The parish leaders and Fr. Joseph Landero have been preparing for the visit for three weeks. I was asked to emcee the meeting and to help our parish secretary with the PowerPoint Presentation of parish plans during the meeting.

Truth to tell, I was hesitant about even showing up, not knowing how I would be able to handle the visit.  The first time I encountered a Pastoral Visit was in 2008, when I was president of the Parish Pastoral Council with Fr. Didoy Molina as our parish priest. Together with the other leaders, we prepared documentation of our parish activities, achievements, financial report, and plans which we presented in a Parish Covenant Book to the Bishop.  Full of fervor to serve the church, we were so happy when the Bishop congratulated us, saying The Ascension of Our Lord Parish may be a small one but it was an excellent example of a God-filled ecclesial community.

The last pastoral visit was in 2010.  By then, I had finished my term as president of the PPC and was now just a member of the Parish Planning Board.  But still, the fervor was there and we were again congratulated roundly.

This visit though was different.  This was the first time the Bishop was coming to visit after the heated controversy that took the Diocese of Paranaque by storm in 2012, spurring concerned parish leaders and parishioners to question the way the diocese was being managed on issues of governance, transparency and accountability.  The controversy landed in national news and was covered in a chapter in the book, Altar of Secrets.  The Lay Initiative for Transparency and Accountability (LAITY) was established, as the laity pushed for reform, communicating with church leaders, even as far the Vatican.

For being one of those who voiced out our concerns, I was criticized roundly and made a target during parish sermons. The other parish leaders were also treated the same way, eased out of their parish pastoral councils, and some even were not renewed as lectors and ministers of the Holy Eucharist. The priests who had stood up against the bishop were removed from their positions, and assigned to hardship posts.

The controversy cut the community deeply as parishioners all over the diocese took sides.  My daughter withdrew from being a lector, and my son from being an altar server.  Niccolo could not bear hearing his mother lambasted in church.  Mike stopped going to church, and ordered me to stop tithing until we were sure that the monies collected went to their intended beneficiaries.  Pretty soon, I was all alone going to mass, still serving as a lector but hurting nevertheless.  I reminded myself that it was God I was serving and not the church leadership.  And then Mike took ill, and I withdrew from attending LAITY meetings to focus on taking care of him.  I agonized over what had befallen our family for having stood up on my principles.  Did God take Mike away because of this?

On Pentecost Day during mass, Fr. JoLan announced that the bishop had been cleared by the Nuncio of all wrongdoing in a report.  I asked my circle of priest friends if they had seen the report.  None had. I wanted to ask for a copy of that report, as the LAITY as well as concerned priests had met with the Nuncio several times regarding the situation, asking for an answer to our questions.  Such a report would put the matter finally to rest, I thought and would be a first step towards healing the rift.

The day before the pastoral visit, I called Chris, our parish secretary to ask for a copy of the Parish Covenant Book on which the presentation was to be based.  Chris said he was still working on it, but would email it first thing in the morning.  I woke up at 5am that day, ready to work on the prezo, but it had not come in.  With back to back meetings all day, it was not until the afternoon that I realized that I still had not received the promised email.  So, at 5pm on that rainy afternoon, I went to the parish to work on it, but not before first passing by the new adoration chapel.  As I knelt in the still chapel, I prayed for guidance, discernment, patience, forgiveness and understanding.  Let Your Will be done, Oh Lord, I prayed.

At the bahay pari, I learned that Chris was still at work and had not finished putting together the Parish Covenant Book.  I asked him to email what he had finished so far.  Instead, I got the individual reports of the various commissions which were in different formats.  As I rushed to compile these into a coherent presentation, I heard the Bishop and the priests arrive.  I stood up and greeted the Bishop, who extended his condolences on Mike’s passing.  I was surprised that he had known.  Perhaps Fr. JoLan had told him.

The dinner and the meeting went smoothly.  I was itching to grill the Bishop regarding the controversy and the Nuncio report that Fr. JoLan had talked about, but did not want to embarrass the council and Fr. JoLan, and so I kept quiet. Doing so would only make matters worse, I thought. No questions were asked during the open forum.  It was only later I found out that they had been told not to ask questions.  Oh, well!

As we left the room, I went up to the Bishop and asked him why he still had not given Fr. Didoy a parish.  After all, the Bishop had told me that he would do this a year ago.  The Bishop said it was because Fr. Didoy would not see him. What if I arranged the meeting, I asked him.  Would you talk to him as Christ did his disciples?  He gave me his mobile number and said yes.

Will need to storm the heavens with prayers to make this work.