By Ma Teresita R. Santiago

Tes Santiago’s mother is an avid supporter of Misyon so Tes has come to love the magazine.  Because of the many inspiring stories Misyon has featured, Tes has been dreaming of becoming a missionary herself – and she is still praying about it.  Meantime, she wants to share her own story…

Daddy’s Girl

In August 2000, my father was diagnosed with cancer and the doctor advised that he only had six months to live. I had thought then that this was going to be the lowest point of my life.  I was so close to Pop.  My brothers and sisters always told me I was my father’s pet.  This is somehow true because since I was little, wherever Pop was, I always tagged along, giving up everything just to be with him.  He was a military man and he had a very strong personality.  We looked up to him as a very honorable man, very firm, someone who can never be swayed.  He had always taught us honesty, respect for others, hard work, generosity and frugality – these were never hard to learn because we saw these traits in him.

Both in wheelchairs

I made sure that I spent much time looking after him in the hospital.  When we brought him home by September, I was his home nurse, administering Insulin shots and attending to his other needs.  But as the days went by, Pop continued to lose weight.  He was not at all improving like we fervently prayed he would.  Their golden wedding anniversary was soon to come and it was my earnest wish that he and Mama would be able to renew their marriage vows.  I didn’t give up in begging God to help Pop and allow him to celebrate this special occasion.  And when he did, I was never happier.  Both in their wheelchairs, my parents renewed their 50th year of being together.

Test of cancer

By March the following year, Pop started losing weight drastically, lost his appetite and was bedridden.  He was no longer talking and we were wondering maybe these were his last moments with us.  It was Palm Sunday and we were preparing to give communion to Pop.  But to our surprise, when we arrived in the hospital, Pop was talking with his eldest granddaughter Molly.  Watching him talk after a long time of grimacing in silence, I was warmed all over.

Cry like a man

I greeted hum and showed him the blessed palm which I got that morning Mass. He said it was not a Palm Sunday but a “Pop Sunday” and said that someone will pass away that day.  I asked him was he referring to himself, and he just smiled.  This was the start of our deep conversation, about our belief in God, death, God’s promise of eternal life.  I asked him was he afraid to die and he said no but he felt like he was in an execution chamber and began asking questions: Was he a good man?  A good son?  A good brother?  A good father?  I told him, “Yes, you are a good father.  You can see that in the seven of us, your sons and daughters.”  Then he asked, “Is it okay to cry?”  I can’t remember if I had seen him cry before.  Maybe because he was a military man and military men are expected to be really tough.  I said, “Yes, it is okay to cry.” And he cried.

Brown scapular

While we were talking, I saw the brown scapular he was wearing and held it in my hand.  I reminded him of the promise of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel that “Whoever dies wearing the brown scapular shall not suffer eternal fire.”  He then recalled one of our out-of-town trips in Vigan when he left his brown scapular in the bathroom.  He was so sorry that he never got it back and so Mom gave him another one.  Then he remembered Mom and felt sorry for her, for leaving her alone at home.  I assured her that when he’s gone, we would take care of Mom the way he took care of her.

Farewell Dad

The last day we heard Pop speak was when his high school friends visited him.  He was so full of fun and energy and he talked and laughed a lot.  Watching him so alive I couldn’t help but wish for a miracle that Pop wouldn’t die.  Not a single day passed without visitors in the hospital.  Friends, relatives, officemates, brothers and sisters in the community came to offer support and prayers.  It was so comforting to think that Pop was a loved man.

His remaining days were just spent in groaning, sleeping, sometimes shedding of tears.  I could see how Pop was suffering because of the grimacing of his face.  I reminded him about what Mom said that every time we feel pain, we are sharing in the suffering of Jesus and we can offer that suffering for poor souls in purgatory.

Then on April 25, Pop gave his last smile to Mom – his bestfriend, his partner for 50 years, his classmate since elementary, his companion in times of grief, in times of sickness, in times of need, in happiness and sorrow.  Pop left us with a smile on his face and this was more than just enough to comfort us.

Losing someone

Losing someone I love was not the lowest point of my life like I always thought it would be.  There is grief, of course.  There is a sense of loss, of loneliness, of longing.  Once in a while I still break down and cry, realizing how much I miss my Pop.  But more than that, I rejoice in the Lord’s assurance of eternal life for those who believe in Him.