Promise Kept
We have just arrived from a 17-day trip to the Holy Land as I listened to the messages left in our voice mail at home. The urgency in Auntie Nita's voice was hard to ignore. She informed us that Auntie Pelina passed away and that we needed to come and sing at the services. It's one of those things we have done over the years. We sang during her (Auntie Pelina's) youngest daughter's funeral services - an untimely death which broke her heart. We sang during her husband's funeral services just a couple of years ago. We have to sing at her funeral services. It would not be right if we didn't. Besides, she had always told me how she enjoyed listening to me play the guitar and sing. I promised her I would sing to her whenever she needs me to, and I always keep my promise.
We arrived at the mortuary towards the end of the services. The priest was giving wonderful reflections on Auntie Pelina's life as a woman of unrelenting faith. After the reflections, members of her family spoke about her - as a mother and as a grandmother and one granddaughter even sang a couple of songs. When asked who else wanted to say something, Girlie spoke on behalf of the rosary group. Eloy, the deceased's middle daughter, asked if anyone else would like to share some thoughts about her mother. Realizing there would be no other chance for our group to sing as the services were about to conclude, I raised my hand, walked to the podium with my guitar and said goodbye to Auntie Pelina with a song.
I sang a song about remembering a loved one who had passed away; on how much we love them; on how we have no power to stop them from leaving, but their memory would always be in our hearts and on our minds as we continue with our own journeys through life.
This is a song I first heard during my mother's funeral in 1988. I was not there in person and I watched her funeral services on video. I did not know the song's title, but I learned the words and the melody from the tape I asked my sisters to record for me. Somehow, I found the right chords in my guitar later. I have sung that song a number of times, and I had been approached and requested by people to sing it for them when their time comes. It sounds like a morbid request but people know what touches them - and this song does that.
As the song was in Tagalog, a number of the Filipinos had their eyes closed, absorbing the lyrics in their hearts. Those who did not understand the words felt the melancholy in the melody. They understood the message without knowing the actual words - at least that's what the non-Filipino mourners told me afterwards.
Auntie Pelina's children thanked me after the services. They said it was a very nice surprise and that they were sure their mother loved it. I thanked them for giving me the chance to say goodbye.
I have kept this promise.
Now I can start gathering my thoughts about my recent trip.
Filipinos are very "familial". Everyone older than you is an Auntie or Uncle or Tita or Tito (also Auntie or Uncle), or if they are not much older, Ate or Kuya or Manang or Manong - whether or not they are blood related. This is a way to show respect and regard. In the Filipino culture, calling an older person by their first name is generally considered disrespectful.
We arrived at the mortuary towards the end of the services. The priest was giving wonderful reflections on Auntie Pelina's life as a woman of unrelenting faith. After the reflections, members of her family spoke about her - as a mother and as a grandmother and one granddaughter even sang a couple of songs. When asked who else wanted to say something, Girlie spoke on behalf of the rosary group. Eloy, the deceased's middle daughter, asked if anyone else would like to share some thoughts about her mother. Realizing there would be no other chance for our group to sing as the services were about to conclude, I raised my hand, walked to the podium with my guitar and said goodbye to Auntie Pelina with a song.
I sang a song about remembering a loved one who had passed away; on how much we love them; on how we have no power to stop them from leaving, but their memory would always be in our hearts and on our minds as we continue with our own journeys through life.
This is a song I first heard during my mother's funeral in 1988. I was not there in person and I watched her funeral services on video. I did not know the song's title, but I learned the words and the melody from the tape I asked my sisters to record for me. Somehow, I found the right chords in my guitar later. I have sung that song a number of times, and I had been approached and requested by people to sing it for them when their time comes. It sounds like a morbid request but people know what touches them - and this song does that.
As the song was in Tagalog, a number of the Filipinos had their eyes closed, absorbing the lyrics in their hearts. Those who did not understand the words felt the melancholy in the melody. They understood the message without knowing the actual words - at least that's what the non-Filipino mourners told me afterwards.
Auntie Pelina's children thanked me after the services. They said it was a very nice surprise and that they were sure their mother loved it. I thanked them for giving me the chance to say goodbye.
I have kept this promise.
Now I can start gathering my thoughts about my recent trip.
Filipinos are very "familial". Everyone older than you is an Auntie or Uncle or Tita or Tito (also Auntie or Uncle), or if they are not much older, Ate or Kuya or Manang or Manong - whether or not they are blood related. This is a way to show respect and regard. In the Filipino culture, calling an older person by their first name is generally considered disrespectful.
posted by PHLOR TORREJOS at 6:13 PM
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