Today, I remember our family reunion last year, which took place in my grandparent's house. Seldom do we meet with my relatives — some are busy at work, students are confined by school work, and parents are tending to my nieces. We all have different things to do in different homes, in completely far different places. But whenever my grandfather asks us to visit him, everything is set aside, and everyone just packs their things and starts their engines for a long travel to a place we once lived.
On a sunny morning of March 18, I saw myself standing above these people squeezed like sardines on the cold, old floor of our house in Panugnawan, Cebu. We have beds, but sleeping on the floor just like the old times feels more comfortable than any other mattress. In the photo are my cousins sleeping, and I intentionally took this photo to remember these little things in life I should be grateful for. I was laughing watching them sleep like a rug, but there was an emotional happiness behind it. This is how we look whenever we find ourselves gathered in the house, in a province of peace and happiness.
On our first day, we came to the decision of visiting my grandmother at the cemetery as part of our practice every time we are complete — to show our love even after her absence. My grandmother was always the light and joy of our home before, a happy partner of my grandpa, and the chef cook for us, her grandchildren. That day, we did not only remember her but spent time with her in her new home where she is comfortably waiting for us.
Before departure, we were outside the house waiting for the driver to come back from the market since he bought food we would bring to the cemetery. Whilst waiting, we were also on standby for my cousin who climbed a mango tree because we craved for it at the last minute. We were fortunate that we already had salt and pepper stocked in the house to pair with the mango.
The driver contacted and informed us about his arrival at the parking area, a 5-minute walk from the house, and told us to meet him there to avoid backing, which would consume unnecessary time. I walked with my cousins immediately since the elders were still busy preparing, and it was scorching hot, so while the sun hid behind the clouds, we took the opportunity to walk fast but still ended up caught by it.
The travel from our place to the cemetery took approximately 45 minutes. I am not familiar with the cemetery's name, but the landmark of it is an Iglesia Ni Cristo locale, a religion I deeply respect. We had two vehicles for the travel since we are a bunch of Felicano people that we cannot fit in one vehicle.
Without any doubt or ado, my grandfather took his moment to visit my grandmother's bed by the time we arrived at the cemetery. He caressed the grave of Lola, while the sunlight hit gently on his back — a perfect moment to capture an eternal love. I believe the sunlight was my grandmother's way of hugging my Lolo while he was emotional as he remembered their days together. My Lola's death was my first heartbreak — painful, but you cannot make sense of it right away. Grieving was my first sign of healing, and I learned how it comes in waves. It is a love that doesn’t know where to go but has a destination.
After Lolo, we then gradually took our time to talk at Lola's grave and offer our prayers to her. Everyone was present — from her husband to her children and her joyous grandchildren. It was a memorable part of our reunion and a perfect start indeed for our gathering. I hope Lola felt our love and care for her through our prayers and offering.
These are some of my uncles drinking beer while we were in an emotional state of remembering Lola. Men have this way of coping with grief, and I understand them. They were so funny when they got hit by the alcohol, telling jokes around while remembering Lola through their humor. It only takes a bottle of alcohol to make them vulnerable.
We spent almost five hours in the cemetery amidst the hot daylight. It was warm still to know we were complete and in presence for our departed loved one. We took photos while some were recollecting their memories of how my grandmother took care of them when they were still children, as well as her sacrifices to raise them. The elders have vivid memories of her, and we asked them to tell us stories since we were too young to remember those things.
My cousins and I squeezed in a corner of the cemetery to talk also about our earliest memories of Lola Lita. I learned many facts about her that I didn’t know and shared my most beautiful memories of her with them. Then we headed to her grave again to take some photos because we missed taking photos with her.
When we returned home, our hearts were full of love and satisfaction. The moment we traveled, we were greeted by a sky painted with soft golden light — a sight so calm and beautiful that it felt like a silent blessing from above. The laughter with my cousins, the voices of the elders, and the smell of new wind made everything feel complete again. As early as possible, we got home because we had another trip to do which as our visit to a beach in the same town. I will share it in my part 2 next blog where I will highlight one of the paradises in my Lolo’s town..
That day I realized that home is not only where we live, but where our hearts rest. It is where memories breathe, love never ends, and even those who have gone continue to live with us in every smile, every story, and every moment we get to have.
