burying what you can't

you don't normally call your grandfather tatay.
tatay means father, after all.
but still all of us, his grandchildren, called him that.
because he was.

he was tatay when he would wake me up real early in the morning for a glass of milk, some white squarish cookies they called hakubena, and a book or two that he would read to me.
he was tatay when he would take his bike, hours after that early morning snack, along with some empty plastic bags and hours later return home with bags full of the sweetest of bananas or the freshest of fish for lunch, snack and dinner.
he was tatay when, aboard a shipping vessel to cebu from masbate, he would ask me to sleep during inspection time so we need not pay for my fare.
he was tatay when he would walk unwalkable distances for good bread, even with the presence of a car, jeepneys and stuff.
he was tatay when last summer he sent to me, even in the presence of e-mail or text or phone calls or webcams, a beautifully handwritten letter about choosing what path to take in life, choosing a career and valuing education.
he was tatay when two weeks ago, in our last real conversation, he still talked about school. that's the first thing he asked even if he already had a hard time speaking and rarely uttered a word thanks to cancer.

because that's what he was. he was a teacher, a mentor, an adviser, a grandfather, one who valued education more than anything else in the world. he touched so many lives with it and he is happy. he is even happier seeing you all today gathered for him. he was tatay. he will rest in peace.


-my response with the occasional sob during the necrological services of tatay,
the late Charlemagne G. Merioles, Sr. buried april 2 2005.