AERON WAS DUTIFUL in always accompanying me to the toilet, assisting me in my needs, down to providing me with pampers, so that my next accidents would not cost me any more underwear (Temu would have a field day when I place my order as soon as I’m discharged). So weak and helpless was I I could not control any involuntary urge, especially to purge, my septuagenarian self became so dependent on a sixteen-year-old. (Back at home, in my helplessness, he and Mom Weng even joined forces to bathe me I had to practically throw all shame and caution to the wind.)
It’s almost as if I want to prove to myself and to my world that I do not need God’s love, that I can make a life of my own, that I want to be fully independent.
This was blatantly belied by my helpless state at East Avenue Medical Center, where I was totally dependent on the nurses and nursing aides there. Especially when I meet an “accident,” which was often. But the nursing staff never groaned or moaned whenever I needed help. My helplessness only an imagined condition.
Bedridden and limp, I was also at the mercy of a kid, although bountifully buoyed by the visits of my wife, brother, sons, and friends who got wind of my confinement. Prominent of these were Ate Guy and (Commissioner) Tess, whose visits were either announced or a surprise, both tremendously welcome in each way. (The only fly in the ointment their tokens of concern got filched from the cabinet drawer when I was not aware, the cabinet being overhead or I was probably asleep.)
I appreciated the fact that Maricel, my charity ward mate (her husband Budz and their daughter Maricris) were obviously poor there was no hiding their reluctant reception whenever we shared food with them. They so deserve the relief with Budz’ devotion to his wife, evidently heavier than his small stature, and the many times he would lift and lay her down, without the slightest sigh of fatigue. He was also their runner (our occasional one, sometimes) who would fetch hot water downstairs for their thermos so that we may have piping hot coffee, or milk, as the case may be, and other errands he never minded to run (We were fortunate that, at the Philippine Heart Center, we had it 24/7; plus a fridge which gave us all the ice and cold water that we needed). Budz was quick to respond to my “accidents” when Aeron was not around I never had to worry about
scattering my waste in my diapers.
There is no discounting that Sunny, my remaining living brother, would leave his wife in Laguna to visit me. He knew I needed company and conversation other than the given circumstances already existing. His sneak visits were crucial I savored every moment he was present.
Because I was chained to my hospital bed, I missed my ritual on Wednesdays. The ritual, aside from holding a spiritual significance for me, became my stronghold. Ever since Kuya Boni gave me the Holy Cloak Novena to St. Joseph (copies of which I distributed to San Jose, ang Tagapagtanggol Parish friends and fellow servers), the devotional day has always figured in my midweek vespers. Because of this day, I have become attached to the Holy Family, starting with the Divine Mercy Chaplet (a precious gift from Ate Amy Reyes), the Holy Rosary (which incorporates my petitions for the sick, the aged, the angry, the disabled, and the dying to heal and recover in accordance with God’s will; the adopted, the help, the lonely, the lowly, and the bereaved to live in harmony with people who are not family, hold their heads high in spite of a menial occupation, transform their sadness into solitude, live with the word of God in their poverty, and be at peace with their loss and grief; the ten current dearly departed in my list; the ministries and missions that spread the evangelization of the earth; the health, well-being, and endurance in suffering of families and friends and friendships; and the novena to my patron and advocate, St. Joseph, which lifts up 96 friends, families, and factions.
Ate Myla appreciated my inability to perform my ritual and gave me a rosary. Sadly, I must have dropped it in my sleep; I could no longer find it the next day.
But my prayer life would not have been as strong and steadfast were it not for the influences that my wayfaring collected. First and foremost of all my accumulations is the Legion of Mary. From its fledgling years with Kuya Ed as the Praesidium President (followed by UtoLiza, Sis Rhea, and the incumbent, Ate Myla), who would’ve thought I’d survived the hospital-hoppings that hounded my latest life of neglect and carelessness and landed me in Diliman General Hospital, Orthopedic, Philippine Heart Center, and East Avenue Medical Center. And necessitated my wife Myrna to engage in all of the paper chasing that she was never accustomed to experience in her whole life.
Add to this, Ates Myla and Clare, my twin angels of mercy. These doctors took turns in appraising my physical condition and recommending the procedures necessary to arrest my arthritis, slightly enlarged heart, kidney disorder, acute respiratory failure, hospital-acquired pneumonia and, when I was already discharged, an acute attack of amoebiasis which caused me more than 50 toilet trips. Even when I was already back home, they never ceased to check on me.
Ate Myla and Sis Tes were visiting me when Fr. Eidh sent over the hospital bed that was stored in the rectory. It was personally delivered by Kuya Ricky, and has made my days restful to this day (Kuya Rene thankfully assured me there was no imminent need for it so I could continue enjoying its comfort.) Fr. Eidh would later return with them to anoint me (my second time the first being administered by Fr. Abe Arganiosa, before he was transferred to the Good Shepherd Parish Shrine. How could anyone be so blessed!
And who would not appreciate receiving communion from Kuya Nonie one Sunday morning, thanks to the arrangement made by Kuya Dante, EMHC Head.
It is the rebellion that places me outside the garden, out of reach of the tree of life. It is the rebellion that makes me dissipate myself in a “distant country.”
It was a rebellion that did not make sense and made me learn that walking, not only my talk, but everything aswirl and whirling about and around me, produces rhyme and reason. Because there is no reward in hopping, jumping, skipping, or rushing to anything that will not be worth the adrenaline. This is what Mary taught me in the Legion, after all, had I only taken time to remember. Discipline is not only exterior, for all the world to see (and appreciate), but interior, where only God is the audience.
When I attended the Legion meeting last Saturday, everyone (Ate Rose, Sis Tess, Mom, Dad, Sis Irene, Sis Rhea, Kuya Nonie, Sis Pinky, new recruit Sis Kat (Ate Myla’s neighbor), even Sis Ria, who had to excuse herself because she was caregiving for her Mom who was suffering from a bad fall, was glad to see me. I missed telling Sis Bing how I missed her because she left early but we touched base later and we disclosed the desire for a mutual hug. I felt their overwhelming welcome and joy that I was back on my feet (despite my walking stick) and simply looked forward to my joining the apostolic activities I missed. Ate Myla was quick to admonish me that I do not have the clearance yet to indulge in strenuous pursuits, and spared me any such assignment. Ate Rose drove me home and saved the little that was left in my walking energy (and gave me the usual token of support).
What I look forward to next is singing once again with my beloved Pneuma Choir. Kuya Patrick responded to my message that I don’t have to take the stairs to the choir loft (which I feared I cannot do yet but will certainly try); I can sing along with them downstairs. His wife Ate Nice joined him by saying that just seeing me in the Sunday Mass is enough to make them happy.
I was met by some of the Kasambahays serving as collectors led by Ate Precy, who recommended crushed avocado seed mixed with coconut oil for my arthritic left leg, should the ailment arise again. Their hearty welcome gave me courage to climb the stairs and I was happy to be able to do it. On the choir loft that I missed, I was received warmly by Kuya Patrick, birthday girl Ate Icon, Ate Mica, Bea, Reese and her young friends, and finally embraced by Ate Nice, from whose embrace I felt the profound joy she pronounced in her posts. I saw my neighbor Ate Marivic emerge on the stairs and exclaimed that I was happy to see her as a uniformed Lector/Commentator.
Later on, I joined Mom and Dad on the ground. And Ate Clare who caught me just as I was leaving, and reminded me of my consultation with Ate Lilybell, her choirmate/Cardiovascular medic whom I met a little later. Followed by Ate Minnie, Ate Neneng, and Ate Ivy. While Ate Nice and the others waited in the car until we were done and, indeed, made sure I was driven safely home, before they let me go.
Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist in looking for it elsewhere? Why do I keep leaving home where I am called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father?
No longer, Lord, accept my avowed prayer, will I stray from your warm, loving, protective mantle again. For the love and sacrifice of Myrna, Alex, Aesop, and everyone around and surrounding me, and the prayers and self-denials of my many friends. Until I am face to face with You. And leave behind a moral universe minus my misdemeanors.
Amen.
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