Mamang surbetero’s bell clanged down the streets as I fanned my lola to sleep. March has arrived and the ceiling fan’s endless spinning couldn’t drive away the humidity of the coming summer air.
I slowly watched my lola fall to sleep, listening to the churning of the fan high above me. The faint traffic sounds could be heard from Laon Laan.
The silence was defeaning.
After hearing my lola say “kunak pay apok nga alaen nak kuman nu isu’t ipalubos ni Apo,” I guess I couldn’t help myself.
To translate that, my lola just said for the nth time that she wishes to die if it’s God’s will.
It probably physically hurts so much, this cancer that is eating my lola away. But to hear her so often without any spirit to fight this off hurts me so much.
March for my family is not the coming of the summer air. March is a chance for us to fight for my lola’s life. It’s a chance for me to stay with her, the apoko or granddaughter who didn’t grow up in her stead.
This is a chance for us to experience God’s miracle over death.