Category Archives: Family

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

Tempest in a Teapot Six Years Ago

April 3, 2015 administrator

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.

Death, Family, Food, Gradtitude, Life, Love, music

A Different Twist to Valentine’s Day

February 15, 2015 administrator 8 Comments

Valentine’s Day 2015. This was not how I imagined the day would be months ago when everything was coming up roses. I had a new love, or should I say he found me, but now he’s gone ahead to heaven, leaving me alone with a broken heart. Just as the love of my life, my husband, my best friend and father of my children did earlier. So now, I have two angels up above. And a heart full of grief that needs to mend. And must. And will!

I arrived from Rome the other day, sick as a dog. My son Niccolo picked me up from the airport. Before going home, we passed by St. Therese of the Child Jesus, to visit Mike, pray and tell him how much we loved and miss him.

The stress of the past three weeks had finally caught up on me. Acute bronchitis, the doctor said, and ordered strict bed rest. But this was not possible as my dear aunt Julia, former dean of the College of the Holy Spirit and youngest sister of my father, had died while I was in Rome. There was a wake to attend to and a burial to make. Just as I had before I left for Spain two weeks ago. It seemed that sorrow had decided to burrow a permanent hole in my heart.

Tita Jill had helped take care of me and my four siblings, aged four to 11, when my father had died. There was no way I would stay away. I arranged for mass last night and early this morning just before her burial in the family plot in La Loma Cemetery. From her friends’ tributes, I learned how much she had enriched their lives with her gentleness, her brilliance, her passion for excellence, her generosity of heart and her simplicity. What a role model she was for all of us!

I could not help but compare the two wakes and burials that straddled my trip to Spain and Italy. That of my boyfriend Rolando Perez Gosiengfiao’s was elaborate, chockfull of family and friends paying their respects throughout the day and night, flowers lining up the corridor, a flag draped over his coffin and smart marines standing guard beside his casket. Each night a different group (Young Presidents’ Organization, World Presidents’ Organization, AIESEC, BCDA, GenRex) hosted the mass and dinner, paying tribute to a great man who had touched their lives and left an imprint hard to erase. My aunt’s was simple, with only intimate family and friends present. But love abounded nevertheless. What struck me was no matter how brilliant or rich or powerful one is, at the end of our lives, we don’t take anything with us. Except for the love we had shared with those we leave behind.

After the burial, Bea and I had brunch at Wildflour. I sampled cacio e pepe pasta for the very first time on her prodding. It’s a wonder I didn’t have this in Rome. It was sinfully delightful, but more than the food, it was the company that made brunch truly special. For how many moms can have the pleasure of lunch with their first born on Valentine’s Day, especially if their daughter is such an attractive young woman that many would like to date? I felt honored that my daughter had decided to turn down all Valentine date requests to spend the day with me.

After brunch, we meandered over to the Saturday Salcedo market, bought flowers and passed by San Antonio in Forbes to say a prayer for Mr. G, as Bea calls Rollie. We then went home to comply with my doctor’s orders.

And lo and behold, a surprise awaited us! Since my birthday, the house has been dusty and topsy-turvy due to renovation. Blue burlap had covered the area on the ground floor where walls were being removed, and new panels put up. Before leaving for Spain, I had decided to take the plunge and fix the large first floor room which had previously served as an office, and later as an entertainment room.

When Mike took ill with cancer and could no longer make the trip up to the second floor, that became his sick room. It was also where he took his final breath and died in my arms as I had promised him. The room was just too sad for me, and so I hardly entered it. But my mom was getting on in age, and was having a hard time going up the stairs, so I decided it was time to make the change. I also had excellent advice from Rollie on what to do with the room.

When Bea and I got home this afternoon, we were greeted by a wonderful sight. The workers had removed the burlap covering the renovations ongoing in the living room, and the place had opened up. It was now spacious, airy, and bright! Oh, what a wonderful feeling it evoked! And I now have a sitting room full of natural light to paint in. What joy!

Tonight, I had dinner in bed with Bea. She prepared her signature tomato and basil pasta, and we had cheese and Spanish ham paired with a Vin de Bordeaux, while watching The Mummy Returns, and then Sex in the City on TV. Cara is working in Boracay and Niccolo spent the day in Clark with his friends. Now, Bea has gone to bed, and here I am writing and reflecting on my life these past few months.

Come to think of it, this was Rollie’s gift for me: a new lease on life. Seven months ago, when my world was dark and I was grieving for Mike, Rollie came barging into my life. Rollie taught me it was possible to love and be happy once again. From the moment he sent me that message on FB, I was literally hooked.

Rollie was always looking for ways to get together, whether for halo-halo, picking me up from an event, offering to help me with my speeches, going to the Saturday market at Salcedo, driving me to Alfonso, showing me where he grew up, or accompanying me to buy gifts. He would sometimes show up unannounced where I was, seeming to have just been in the vicinity. Little did I know that it had been carefully planned.

He was a man of many inconsistencies. Every chance he got, he would introduce me to his family and friends and would post our photos proudly on his Facebook page, tagging me whenever he could. And yet he told me not to write about him because he was a private individual. And so I would untag him. At times, exasperated, I would unfriend him, but he always asked me back. And truth to tell, no matter how many fights we had, we never could stay away from each other more than a day.

We had long conversations, yes, even arguments, about everything under the sun, especially religion, marriage, my church service, my busy schedule, and social customs. Rollie was a professed atheist, and this cut me deeply, being quite religious. It was hard to reconcile that the man I loved did not believe in the same things I did. I refused to eat with him unless we said grace before meals. He was very gracious and obliged me in this. He even accompanied me to mass, though he would not stay all the way to the final blessing.

I kept looking for ways to tell him our relationship could not flourish. One time, I told him our Chinese astrology signs were opposed. He was a tiger and I was fire monkey. And since monkeys and dragons were the best match (Mike was a water dragon), I said I must find myself a dragon. He was so cut up by this remark that he stopped talking to me, and told me I win. When I saw him, he was crying in his living room. When I asked him why he was crying, he said he wanted desperately to be my dragon. Oh, Rollie!

Facebook messenger was our lifeline, a surprising channel for two mature individuals. Like teenagers, we were glued to our mobile phones, waiting for the three dots to start blinking. The roles had been reversed. My children would tell me to stop looking at my phone all the time.

It was sad that my children could not accept our relationship. Early on, Rollie told me he had fallen in love with my family, and looked forward to being part of it. He said he was taken by the love that we all obviously shared. But he was also understanding that it was just too soon after Mike had died. All things will work out in the end, he said. He was so sure of it.

Plans, Rollie had a lot of. Where we would live, where we would travel, what we would do for the rest of our lives. He gave me keys to his condo, and asked me to move in. I told him not unless we were married. Which again brought up the issue of social customs. If we lived in the US, this would not even be an issue, he would argue. Why were papers so important, he asked? I told him it was a matter of values, not papers. Frustrated, he announced he would put up our pictures in his condo to make me feel more at home. I was in tears when his housekeeper in Hong Kong told me at the funeral that he bought a frame on this last trip and told her this was for my photo in Salcedo. He never got around to doing it.

For some unknown reason, Rollie unleashed the poet in me. I would find myself penning my emotions in rapid fire, in a fever of inspiration. I would send my poems to him, and each time, he would catch his breath, amazed at what I had written, and flattered to be the subject of the muse.

We painted together, and he loved the work I did, even blowing up a sketch I had made of him. He was very proud of that likeness of him that he put it up in his living room. For Christmas, Rollie bought me a set of oils from New York after he saw me throw away my old oil set that had dried up.

Rollie loved music, and singing. He brought music back into my life. We would sit and listen to music, and sometimes, he would burst into song. He sang for me at his brother Ed’s birthday, and his sister-in-law whispered to me that it was obvious Rollie was in love with me, and that she hoped I loved him too.

Although he said he envied my writing skills, he showed me a book he had written on his wife after she died and another one he had written about his family. I was very touched by his gesture of love. He encouraged me to write a book for my mom’s 80^th birthday and collaborated with me by digitalizing all the old photo prints.

Last year, Rollie urged me to write a book on Mike to celebrate our life together and to close that chapter so we could start a new one. I was unable to write during the Christmas break because I was sick, so when Rollie said he was going to be away the week Pope Francis came, he told me I should start on that book for Mike. And that was what I did. He called me from Hong Kong to check how I was doing. When I told him I had spent the better part of the weekend crying while writing and that I was only half way done, he told me to “Keep going, my courageous girl. I love you!”

I admired the way Rollie fixed his home. He had impeccable taste. He would bring me flowers and plants for my house, telling me that they livened up the house. Rollie convinced me to renovate my house, to dispel the sadness that had permeated it and to bring back the happiness that was there before. He disliked my white lights and advised me to change all my bulbs to warm white for a cozier feel.

On his last trip to Hong Kong, Rollie biked all the way to Shamshuipo to buy LED lights to surprise me and taught me how to change my lights. He was supposed to come to my house at 4pm to start on the lights the afternoon he died. He never made it home.

Living a fit life was something Rollie embraced with a passion. He biked, swam, watched his food intake, made sure he had eight hours of sleep a day. To keep up, I bought a bike which he promised he would teach me how to use. I think he was more excited than I was. I started going to the gym, and drinking his banana, apple, pechay concoction for breakfast.

The trip to Hong Kong on the first of January was our chance to be together alone. He and I were both so excited to be together. It was a beautiful time, and he told me that he felt so comfortable being with me. It was like being married 10, 20 years. We were so happy together, except for the last night when we had another of our little tiffs, and traveled home hardly talking to each other. But make up we did, as usual. As Rollie said, there is nothing that can stop this love we have. Well, nothing except death, and what a thief it is!

The week before he died, Rollie and I had dinner at an Indian restaurant near his home. He had decided to become vegan once again, and it was the perfect place for that. He said he used to eat there before but was very lonely; it was after his wife had died. But he perked up, saying this time it’s different, I have you with me. I was teasing him about all his past girlfriends, when he took my hand and said, “This I know, Monette, you’re my last great love, the one I will spend the rest of my life with.” I didn’t realize then how prophetic those words were.

If there’s one thing Rollie complained about, it was my need to love and be loved. He said I was too needy. He always told me to become self-sufficient, to be happy being me, by myself. Yes, Rollie taught me I could be happy after the death of my beloved Mike. Now, I need to get on with life, and learn to be happy without Rollie beside me. Circle of life.

And there are many things I am truly grateful for. First and foremost are my three beautiful children: Bea, Cara and Niccolo. I have my mom who loves me unconditionally, my beloved sister, my brothers, their families, Cathy who takes care of me and my family. I have my friends, and my work family at TeamAsia. I’ve loved and been loved by two wonderful men, Mike and Rollie. But most of all, I have a faithful and loving God who never lets go of me, despite my many failings.

At the Sistine Chapel the day before I left Rome, I was blessed to have had the opportunity to go to confession with Fr. Valentine, a black priest who suddenly showed up just as the museum was about to close. Despite more than a hundred tourists milling about, I felt at peace talking to him and telling him about my grieving heart. I asked him for prayers to discern and accomplish what I had been sent here on earth to do.

Someone sent me these amazing flowers yesterday without a card. I have no idea who they’re from, but am truly grateful to the kind soul out there who remembered me. It was after all, a different twist to this special day of love.

Childhood, Family, Life, Love, Women

Oh, how I miss her!

November 9, 2014 administrator

I sat down and finally did some sewing tonight. It’s been years since I’ve touched a needle, much less tried to sew. As I tried threading the needle (and succeeded on the third attempt), I remembered my Lola Teta. Oh, how I miss her!

406 — Lola Teta wearing her formal saya on the occasion of my brother Pepito’s baptism. I am in my mom’s arms.

Pepito, my younger brother, ousted me from my mom’s warm embrace when I was not yet a year old. It was Lola Teta (Eriberta Manalo Iturralde), my father’s maiden aunt, who took over nanny duties. I would sit down beside her while she sewed, and she would tell me stories of her youth.

I remember her telling me of how all the dogs howled when Jose Rizal was executed by a firing squad in Bagumbayan (New Town). She was but ten years old then, but was aware that the adults were talking in hushed tones of what was happening, of how important this man was to the country, and of the books he had written that were forbidden, but nevertheless were making the rounds.

I loved watching her nimble hands embroider and sew. She helped me with my sewing assignments (I was so bad at it, and it was the only way I could pass Ms. Gabriel’s class). Much later, when I was in high school and Lola Teta was in her 80s, she would still attempt to sew. My job then was threading the needle as she could no longer do this.

As a young child, I would watch her work on her black Singer sewing machine, her dainty right foot clad in an embroidered silk slipper, rhythmically tapping the pedal to make the needles hum and work magic lines on the dress she was making.

Lola Teta never married, preferring to take care of her younger brother, my lolo and his children. Come to think of it, none of the women in the Iturralde family in five generations have ever married. They either stayed single to take care of their brothers’ children or became nuns. I broke the “curse” and to make it stick, married twice!

Curious, I asked Lola if she ever had a boyfriend. She said that there was this older Chinese man who lived in the pagoda in Quiapo who would visit and bring hopia, but she felt he was too old for her.

She was in her 90s when I introduced my boyfriend to her. Her eyesight was already failing then. After he had left, Lola commented that she liked him because he had a nice voice, was polite, and his hand was not soft. It was a good thing he was into martial arts training then, which was his saving grace.

Lola was fluent in Spanish, having been tutored at home, and was thus my Spanish mom’s communication lifeline to the family when she first arrived in the Philippines as a young bride. She was a staunch supporter of my mom, explaining Philippine culture and way of life and teaching her Tagalog.

Much like Rapunzel, Lola never cut her hair, and it was longer than she was tall. Washing her hair was a big production. She only used gugo, a local bark that would get soapy when soaked in water. The maids would help wash her hair, and then to dry it would lay it on the back of several chairs. Once dry, she would twist her hair up in a bun and fasten it with a Spanish hair comb and large hair pins.

When she would go to market, I would wait for her to arrive as she always had something for me. I accompanied her on her shopping trips to Quiapo, and we would have siopao and ice cream near the Quiapo underpass. She was a whiz at sungka, and used that to teach me math. We both loved reading Liwayway and listening to the novelas on the radio. To celebrate my birthdays, she would prepare my favorite halayang ube, and would order a kaing of luscious carabao mangoes.

20140921_165827 — With Lola Teta right after college graduation.

Lola always wore a saya, wanting nothing of the modern dress my paternal grandmother would wear. Modesty is a virtue, she would always remind me. Study hard, she would urge me. She was too weak to attend my college graduation, but was happy when I came home with a Summa cum Laude and presented my medals and diploma to her.

After college, I wanted to be a flight attendant and travel the world. When she found out my plans, she was very upset. She forbade me to do this, and warned me that doing so would kill her. And naturally, loving her deeply, I obeyed her, though with a heavy heart.

She was happy when I pursued my masters, and ecstatic when I did well. Highly intelligent, she was a firm disciplinarian, taught me never to compromise on truth, and to always stand up for what is right. Much of what I am is because of Lola Teta, who I carry in my heart always.

Art, Family, Food, Travel

Beautiful Taormina

Image November 8, 2014 administrator

December 2, 2013. Taormina is beautiful! Mario Monforte, Cara’s boss, made reservations for us at Hotel Diodoro, Our room has a fantastic view of the Ionian Sea. The hotel is right beside the public gardens, which surprisingly has cacti, bamboo and banana trees in them. Very quaint. It also has a statue of soldiers from WW1, and a cannon.

Cara and I walked all over town. Such a pretty place. We were ravenous by 2pm but could not find any place open. Every place we went to was either closed for the winter, or would open at night. We finally found a wine bar which served an antipasto siciliano with formaggi and salumi, Caprece salad,bread and Vino Rosso from Etna.

After this we walked a lot more, entering tiny shops for a look see. There was one store on the second floor that sold angel paintings by Anna Corsini and another that sold originals by Pino la Vardera of mixed Spanish and Sicilian descent. We met the artist who apparently has several paintings in various museums. We really loved his work but one small painting cost Eur400 and the larger ones Eur4,000. Mama Mia!

We entered at least four churches and there were many more, almost one in every corner! There was even one church that was being prepped up to be a chocolate museum. I wondered if Sicilians went to only one church as their parish or were able to choose depending on their mood or the petitions they had, something like a smorgasbord of churches. Churches here are generally simpler than those I’ve seen in Rome, Madrid or Barcelona.

We saw one really slim street called Viccolo Strata which had a restaurant. It looks like only slim people can enter, and they better not eat too much or they would never get out!

Oh, and we chanced upon a roman amphitheater behind Sta. Caterina church. Almost every nook and cranny of Taormina is picturesque and all I want to do is sit and paint.

Cara had been looking for a resto that serves pasta ricci and a pistachio pasta that Pinky and Ken raved about. She also wanted to eat granita, and I’d been dreaming of gelato since Madrid. But tired we were, so we headed back to the hotel for some much needed rest.

After resting a bit, Cara and I went down to the reception and asked for recommendations for dinner. The front desk officer suggested we try Trattoria de Nino, close to the funicular. It was quite a hike but well

worth it. We had spaghetti ala bottarga and involtini de vitello with vino rosso Siciliano. The trattoria was quiet, but soon filled up with a party of well dressed Sicilians celebrating a birthday. Walking home in the rain was not much fun, though we had gelato at a cafe beside Don Bosco.

I woke up to a dreary gray morning. Mount Etna was shrouded in heavy clouds, mysteriously silent. It was raining kittens and puppies. After a hearty breakfast, we trooped to town, Cara with her bright yellow umbrella and me with the rainbow colored umbrella. We visited the Taormina museum for some glimpse of its history and art. Cara loved the old clothes and dainty lace. I enjoyed looking at the sculptures and paintings. Interestingly enough, there were several images of San Sebastián.

Back at the hotel, I quickly fell asleep. The next day, Cara told me she could not sleep because the wind was howling and the glass windows were rattling. She was afraid that Mount Etna which we could see from our window would erupt. Little did we know that that was exactly what Mount Edna did that night.

After the museum visit, we hied off to the Greek amphitheater, marveling at its majesty and wondering how performances were done. Both of us being theater buffs, we thought how busy backstage would have been with costume changes and props, and wishing we could enjoy a play or opera there. Cara complained about the grainy volcanic black earth entering her boots.

Walking back to town, we visited shops along the way, looking for a trinacria for Cara. A trinacria is a winged head of Medusa with its three legs symbolic of the triangular points of the island of Sicily. Trinacia is also the ancient name of Sicily. Our quest for a beautiful face led us to enter almost all the curio shops. After settling on one, we then trooped to Bam Bar for a granita, cutting through a secret garden with Roman walls.

Bam Bar is famous for its granite. Saro Bambaro who owns the 17-year old bar was very gracious, telling us his story and showing off the photos of famous people who have sampled his granite, including Antonio Banderas, Michael Douglas, Marisa Tomei, Dolce and Gabbana, and many more. We met his 75-year old mom, who every morning still opens the shop. Cara’s strawberry and almond granita was delicious, taken with fresh cream and a toasty warm brioche. My espresso coffee granita was just right for a rainy day. Inside Bam bar, the ambiance was homey, with colorful fresco on the walls.

We meandered through Corso Umberto, window shopping until it grew dark, and searching for a restaurant that serves pasta ricci to no avail. We ended up in Il Cyclops for a pistachio pasta and Taormina pizza, opting to stay outside. A troubadour sang love songs in Italian, which made me miss Mike so much. I slipped on his wedding ring which I keep on a necklace with a champagne pearl he gave me, and momentarily felt his arms around me. The troubadour introduced himself to us. Rosario was his name, and he explained that he sang by night and was a music therapist by day. His introduced his cousin who played classical guitar and was a music teacher by day.

A trio of young men could not help but approach Cara to introduce themselves. Cara immediately introduced her mom, thinking this would stop them. Well, it did not. Italians as a rule are not shy when it comes to expressing themselves. Several times in the past two days, men have whistled, honked, greeted us. So this is Italy!

Cara was so tired she fell asleep right away. I tried staying up, hoping to glimpse Mount Etna venting a little. Well, it did not, but this morning, I finally saw it, washed in whites and grays, mysteriously beckoning. I got up and took out my paints and started feverishly painting. And as I worked, Mount Etna’s tip began to glisten in yellows and oranges as it caught the sun’s rays. Slowly, the the grays and whites gave way to vibrant greens and blues. I put away my paints and just soaked in the beauty that God gave us. What a marvelous and awesome Creator we have!

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

Will you visit me when my time comes?

November 3, 2014 administrator 5 Comments

Every 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.

Armed 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 5^th 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.

The 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.

To 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.

To 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.

The 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.

When 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

October 25, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

October 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 80^th 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.

And 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.

We 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.

Turns 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.

The 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.

After 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.

For 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.

It 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.

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.

Someone 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.

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

September 13, 2014 administrator

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.

October 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?

Family, Food, God, Resilience

Alfonso after the Storm

August 3, 2014 administrator

August 3, 2014. Home at last in Alfonso! Everyone’s schedules finally converged and our family drove down to The Retreat for the weekend. We had not visited Alfonso since Glenda happened, and I feared the worst at what I would find.

We arrived at dark last night, with the rains pouring, after a brief late afternoon stop at Bag of Beans. Not having had lunch, Niccolo and I were both hungry but it took some girl convincing for Niccolo to try out a new place. His heart was set on pizza but Dada had just come from Rome and didn’t want any. I was pleasantly surprised at how pretty Bag of Beans has transformed from the rustic place Mike and I would visit years ago. Their porkchop tastes just as delicious and smoky as I remember it to be, and the raisin bread I bought was still warm from the oven.

We stayed indoors last night watching a love story on DVD, against Niccolo’s protests, but then it was one against three so we won that round. Dear John, it was. Not a weeper, thank goodness! Signal was spotty, weaving in and out, so I finally gave up trying to connect to the outside world. The night was cold and the wind whipped as I stepped out to the lanai. Alfonso nights are always magical. Peace settled into my soul, and I whispered goodnight to Mike’s spirit. I turned off the garden lights and locked downstairs. It felt good to be back home, in bed and listening to the pitter patter of the rain outside.

Early this morning, I set out with our caretaker Jeovanie to check out Glenda’s damage to the farm. The landscape was different. I could see all the way to the other embankment, which used to hide behind our lush foliage before. Bereft of their crowning glory, the trees seemed much thinner and more fragile, just like Bugsy is after taking a bath. Capiz lights that adorned the trees were battered; some had lost their shells. Fallen santol, rambutan and coconuts littered the ground, though I spied some kalamansi and dayap clinging on. It will take a while before we can enjoy the fruits of the farm again.

Trunks cut in half by the lashing of the wind stood sadly by. Trees leaned precariously on their sides, as if bowing down to the powers that be, unable to get back on their feet. It seemed that the biggest trees were the ones that could not withstand the onslaught of the storm and were uprooted completely: Five mangoes, one guyong guyong, one langka, one antipolo, several bamboos, and about a dozen and a half mahogany trees. The boys had tried to clear as much as they could but I still had to clamber over fallen logs to get around, and balance on the slippery moss-covered stones. Surprisingly, none of the 14 Stations of the Cross trees were damaged. Mike had taken care of them.

Jeovanie’s roof had flown off, but was now back in place. He tells me that most of our neighbors had lost their roofs, if not their entire houses. Why even the St. Paul nuns next door were not spared. Luckily, our house, outside kitchen and cabanas were not damaged, although Jeovanie said that at the height of the storm, he feared that the large picture windows would cave in with the pummeling of the wind, and that he and his wife Bleng were able to save the large glass top of our dinner table before the wind carried it off.

Despite the storm, however, the ground was lush with green, and new shoots were springing up. Rain, our dog, was running around, chickens were scratching for food while the roosters puffed up their chests to crow, birds chirped and flew from tree to tree. Everything smelled fresh and clean, as if God had given the world a bath to start the day right. And as I passed, the ylang-ylang tree perfumed the air. New life begins, and hope springs eternal.

Faith, Family, God, Love

Roller Coaster Ride

July 29, 2014 administrator 2 Comments

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

July 29, 2014 administrator 2 Comments

(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!

TeamAsia founder and president, trainer, event organizer, food and art lover. President, Philippine Association of Convention/Exhibition Organizers and Supplier Philippines · teamasia.com