Since I was unable to go to his service in L.A., Mama read this for me during the service. This was my first time to write a eulogy. It took me over 3 hours to finish it as I would break down every once in a while. It was a good catharsis though. I felt better after writing it. H has been very supportive and has been keeping me strong. I still have my spaced-out moments or my suddenly-bursting-into-tears moments, but I feel a bit better now. Thanks to everyone who’ve sent me comforting words. You help cushion this very low moment in my life, and I am grateful to have friends like you.

For Wowo

I’d ring the doorbell and there he would be. In his unbuttoned checkered polo, white sando and shorts, his eyeglasses resting on the tip of his nose and a welcoming smile, he would make his way to the gate. I’d offer to close the gate for him but he would just wave me off. I’d enter the house and there he would be, seated on the corner living room chair nobody else dared to sit on, watching a blaring basketball game, or at the head of the dining table eating his dolce. When I was younger, there he would be, sitting by the breakfast table answering the newspaper’s crossword puzzle or clicking away on his trusty typewriter. When I was much younger, there he would be, driving his white car after picking me up from the hospital, cracking jokes about being a slow driver to make me laugh. There he would be.

They say “God gave us memories so we can have roses in winter”. This being my coldest winter, I am thankful to have shared many beautiful moments with Wowo.

What keeps me warm in this winter is the memory of him being a perfect husband. He loved Maymee dearly. He was always by her side, making sure she was safe, preparing her medicine, even painting her toenails when she was sick. It went without a doubt that he loved Maymee quietly but passionately.

What keeps me warm in this winter is the memory of his cooking. His Christmas Ham, Beef Tapa, Pancit with Tokwa, Caldereta and many more dishes are Project Six classics. Being the true Bicolano that he was, there was one dinner when he showed us just how much he enjoyed spicy food. He munched on a whole siling labuyo. Only Wowo could ever pull that off.

What keeps me warm in this winter is the memory of his voice. When Josh was a baby, Wowo would sing him to sleep – a song with no words, a lullaby we now sing to his great-grandchildren. His voice was deep and strong, very much like him — very much like his laugh! After cracking a joke, and he loved jokes, his eyes would crinkle, he’d smile a toothy grin and then he’d laugh loud and clear. I miss that laugh.

What keeps me warm in this winter is the memory of his strength. He was quiet in his ways, but was sharp even in his old age. He would question things he didn’t understand. Not only was he strong in mind but in body even in his 80s. He would cross the street on his own and walk as briskly as the next soldier. He would teach himself how to operate the hospital bed so there would be no need to call the nurse. Wowo was always quick to the draw.

I now look at the green gate with sadness. I still dare not touch the living room corner chair. I feel the emptiness of the dining table. I wonder where the typewriter is. The silence of my tears overwhelms me and my heart aches at each memory. But just as Wowo was strong to his last breath, so should I be as I keep him alive in my heart.

I find solace in the fact that the best has come for Wowo. He is finally free of pain and burden. I rejoice because I know that Wowo is laughing, singing, cooking, cracking jokes and walking as briskly as he did, as he should. He has started a journey back home. I picture him walking down a path of silver balloons with the angelic voices of little girls singing his welcome. It may be winter where we are, but it is springtime where he is. There he is. And there he should be.

I wrap my fingers around a string
Holding on to the memory of your smile.
Your laughter still rings in my head
Your booming voice still throbs in my heart.
I used to tell you I loved you,
A grin would break upon your face and
You’d pat me hard on the back.
I still feel the jolt of that pat.
The head of the table is now empty,
So is the living room chair no one dared sit on.
I will no longer see you waving goodbye to me
As I drive away from your home.
My fingers clasp the string more tightly
Remembering the warmth that emanated
From such a stern demeanor.
Only you could carry that off.
Words are tangled in my heart.
Nothing can capture the breadth of sentiment I have for you.
The memories are too many,
The memories are too few.
I will miss you deeply Wowo.
I let go of the string and watch my silver balloon
Soar into the sky
Finding it join many others of its kind.
They rise among the clouds,
Into the hands of little girls
Whose angelic voices only you can hear
Whose angelic voices sing your welcome.
I can no longer see you
nor the silver balloons.
But I rejoice in your peace.
I rejoice in your journey back home.

Col. Jose G. Ignacio. Feb. 4, 1922 – Oct. 15, 2004. Crossword puzzles. Statistics. Thick novels. Brick games. College blue books. The Book of Knowledge. Dolce. Pancit with tokwa. Cheesy garlic bread with extra garlic. An extra loaf of that one too. A glass of brandy. A bottle of Pale Pilsen. The biannual Carlos Primero. Big, bold handwriting. His walk outpacing all others. The blaring television. The sound of a rusty typewriter. I shared your love for a lot of things. And now nothing will ever be the same again.

I was asked to write a short piece for his service but I’m still unable to get my thoughts together. Maybe later, maybe this afternoon, when my thoughts are more organized. I’ve cried all there is to cry I think. I’ve spoken to my Grandmother, who sounded so broken. She used to speak of being lost if ever Wowo goes away. It must be devastating for her and I pray that she is given the strength to get through this.

He went peacefully and bravely. The best has come for him. I am happy that he is finally free of pain. He’s in Heaven now, with his friends and siblings who have been preparing his welcome party. I pray that he is resting well. I am out of words now. The silence of tears overwhelms me and my heart aches with each memory. I worry about the piece I have to write for the service but I know the words will come again. For now, they fail me. I hope he knows how much I loved him. I think he does. I will miss you, Wowo.

Boracay has always been a magical place to me. Whenever I visit, I always vow to return. I enjoy having breakfast by the beach. Waking up to the gentle crashing of the waves is a beautiful way to welcome the morning. In the afternoons, I enjoy conversing with those who sell beaded anklets and necklaces. I also find time to have a coconut oil massage right there on the beach, where I can hear the waves and the breeze dance together. I never pass up the chance to grab a shake at Jonah’s. I cherish watching the sunset and seeing the birds and bats fly across the orange sky. I relish sitting in the sand, anticipating the big waves that refresh my sun-drenched skin. In the evenings, I look forward to eating barbecued hotdogs (P15 a stick — that’s around US$0.25) as I walk along the aisles of Talipapa (market). Having fresh seafood cooked any which way you want is a must-try! A restaurant called Honeybee’s is the way to go. I also enjoy exploring the different sand sculptures of the island’s children each night. They are marvelous artists and they light up their creations with candles. As midnight approaches, I choose to sit by the beach with a glass of wine or a bottle of beer in one hand while I gesture freely with the other, talking animatedly with friends. The morning welcomes me again with the sound of crashing waves and chirping birds.

Even though I haven’t even started my Boracay vacation, I already know I’m vowing to return. I’ve scratched my Boracay vacation wish off my wishlist. I’ll be there for a couple of days for some rest and rejuvenation. I promise to keep myself safe from the sun, feel the sea breeze on my face, eat well and have lots of fun. And now… surf’s up!