dual*ities

This morning, I received this text from my good friend Tin: “I just finished lighting a candle for Nanay at St. Jude…It’s amazing how much I miss her even after 4 years.”

“Nanay” here pertains to a dear, dear friend who has become a big part of the lives of many people I know. Her name was Rose. She passed away on February 28, 2001, a couple of hours after serving as a Eucharistic Minister in the community Ash Wednesday Mass at ADMU. She was 33 years old.

I did not get to light any candles for Nanay today. Nor was I able to attend the commemorative mass that was offered in her honor. But I remembered her in my own little way. Waxing a bit nostalgic this evening, I digged up an old issue of the now extinct JVPFI external newsletter Pagkukusa—the one entitled “Paggunita: Remembering Rosemarie M. Cabrera (July 22, 1967-February 28, 2001)". As I read through the pages, I relived the pain, the shock, the confusion, and then, eventually, the hope, that the JVP community and many others felt as an effect of her death. An editorial, which I forgot I had written, perhaps sums up the entire experience (at least from my standpoint):

"On the road to recovery, and just as things were taking on a brighter hue, the JVP community suffered the momentous loss in the passing away of Executive Director and dear friend Rose Cabrera, or simply Rosing to many of us. But as days passed and memories of how Rosing lived her life enveloped us, what stayed with us were not the struggles and the pain, but the overwhelming love that she has shown us during her lifetime. Somehow, knowing that she has left is with many good works to carry on, gives us the strength to move on. “Always believe in the morning after”, Rosing would say. And we did. Thus, amidst the mourning, a glimmer of hope begins for JVP and for the many other people whose lives she has touched. And Rose’s legacy of love continues."

And so, I remembered. Again. But what came back so vividly to me was not so much the pain or the loss, but the love and the hope that surrounded all those who bore witness to the event. In the end, I guess that’s precisely Rose’s final “pabaon”…her ultimate “habilin” to all those who have been part of her journey. The triumph of love amidst the sacrifices. The hope of a “morning after” amidst the darkness. She believed in these. And as long as we believe in these too, the spirit of Rose will always be alive and burning in each one of us.

Of course, that could mean, too, that we will go on missing Rose for another 4, 14, or 40 x 4 years. But that, I guess, is the whole point of it all—that is, to go on missing her and remembering her. That way, we can constantly remind ourselves of what she stands for. And that, perhaps, will give us something to continually learn from and aspire for.