I just got back from a trip to Tanay, Rizal where we, that is my mother, my father, and I attended a funeral.  The woman who died wasn’t technically a relative; she was the wife of my father’s uncle.  But still, she and her husband lived with us in the compound and treated us better than some of our blood relatives ever did so we took the time to pay our respects. 

Here’s a little history about the deceased’s family.  She was a housewife, who for the last two years took care of her retired electrician’s husband who suffered a stroke.  Said husband died last December because of a heart attack.  They had three kids, Claire, Cathy and Emon, all of whom have families of their own, but because of inappropriate life-altering decisions made here and there, they’re just barely getting by.

It’s been years since I’ve last seen Claire, the eldest, and it’s ridiculous how much she’s changed.  For one thing she has three little daughters now, but more importantly, she was in command of things.  If I were put in her position I’d probably be having a mental breakdown and would be totally useless.  I can’t imagine losing my mother just fifty days after losing my father.  I just can’t. 

But still, she was in command of the situation.  I can see that she hasn’t slept or eaten properly since Monday and my heart went out to her when she broke down as my mother hugged her but she showed incredible strength, physically, mentally and emotionally considering the situation.  She managed to laugh, smile and even crack jokes in front of the guests.

A few minutes before the designated burial time I was seated outside of the house because I felt stifled in the crowded living room.  Then there was this low guttural moan that pierced through the air; with a jolt I realized that the casket was finally being closed.  I didn’t know who was crying but I felt their pain.  It was simply impossible not to. 

When the casket was being carried outside to the hearse we all stood and watched.  I saw Cathy breakdown into a trembling mess on my mother’s shoulder—the nearest person to her at the time.  And then out of nowhere Claire appeared beside me, tearstains on her face and her shoulders shaking. 

Being the emotional blockhead that I was, I panicked.  I didn’t know what I should do.  But then something warm suddenly enveloped me, as if warm water was poured down my head.  My arms worked without me willing them to and I hugged her; her, technically being my aunt whom I haven’t seen or spoken to in years.

It was the first time in my life I ever had to comfort a person who’s just lost somebody extremely important to him or her.  It felt weird, I’ll admit it, but it also felt good.  And right.  It felt right to be hugging this person, almost a stranger, who’s feeling this type of pain that I can’t even begin to comprehend. 

I supposed that this was one of those steps that I needed to take on the path of adulthood.  After all, life isn’t always peaches and roses.

And with that, I’d like to kindly ask you if you could spare a couple of prayers for Jun and Jessie Nicavera.  They have been good parents and outstanding people.  They will be missed.