My grandmother,
Reginalda Candido-Valloyas, passed away on Sunday night.
She was 95; she died peacefully in her sleep. She was a great woman who in spite of the challenges of the Japanese occupation dealt on our family, made sure that the family was well-taken care of. She helped build not only a clan that saw the rise of entrepreneurs, thinkers, and social servants - she also made sure that we knew each other and were there for each other.
She will be greatly missed, specially by me.
She raised me up and insisted on picking me up to school even if I were already in Grade 3 because "I want to make sure you're safe". I remember her waiting patiently as I took my piano lessons up to 5 or 6 in the evening and how she would tell me to constantly pray because "God always knows better than you". Or "smuggling" non-cafeteria food over the gates because I hated cafeteria food on Mondays.
She believed in me - and that made all the difference.
She believed - in spite of not having mastered the piano nor any other musical instrument - that I was destined to be a great musician and pianist.
She would sit beside the piano on her favorite rocking chairwhilst I learn Moonlight Sonata, Fur Elise, and the Flight of the Bumblebee (that she said was "horrible; change it..." [I wasn't sure if she was referring to either me changing my style or the piece itself;I decided to drop it, haha.). She was the first to hear all my compositions and my playfulness on the piano - my first 'judge', my first 'critic', the first to say 'I like that - play it again" until I myself would be too tired of my own work.
(I never learned how to put them in notes... they are probably gone - but hopefully, not from her memories).
She pushed me to the limit - believing that limits are nothing but concepts and beliefs. She constantly asked, "So what are you going to do about it? You're better than you think you are - so go look for a
solution."
When I got into fights in school, she would be the first to rush to the principal's office to complain and face the parents of the bullies - even if sometimes, it was my fault. And if it were my fault, I would never hear the end of it.
She never, ever raised her hand nor her voice. She would speak to me gently and rationally - treating me like an adult in spite of being a rebellious teenager.
When I left the province to pursue my university degree in Manila, I know that she cried but she didn't show it. She just said, that day, "Take care - and pray. Do your best. But you don't have to always win against others. Just do your best."
And in the same breath, she said "I just can't believe you grown so fast."
The last time I went home - and when she has not yet succumbed to Alzheimer's - she said, "Don't forget your Nanay (Mom) and Tatay (Dad) no matter where you get to. Don't forget your sisters and your
nephews. Don't forget me." I said yes and I promised her that I wouldn't.
Then she said, "If I die, I am going to miss you all."
Well, I guess she misses our family.
And we miss her, too.
I miss her. And oh my, how I miss her.
She's a good woman. A great grandmother. My inspiration. My pillar. The wind beneath my wings. The woman who contributed so much of herself that I can be what I can be - even when I myself doubted so much of me.
She will always be remembered.
And in my heart, her name will always be there.
"Agyamanak, Mamang. Haan ka nga pabayaan. Maturog kan. Haan kayo ag-worry. We're going to be fine."
Death is nothing at all. It does not count.
I have only slipped away
into the next room.
Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly
as it was.
I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so
fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each
other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of
me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your
tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always
laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile,
think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that
it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost
of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the
same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What
is this death but a negligent accident? Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.