Dear Departed: Honoring the Life and Legacy "In Loving Memory Of"

In loving memory of:

Richard Page-et

John Mark Dewey

-A collection of reflections, memories, and subtopics unspoken

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Grandpa’s Silence, Grandma’s Song: Old Days with Deaf Grandparents

In Memory of Richard “Day-asen” Page-et

Retrieved from Aunt Lugay's photos.

Every day the world wakes up with the gentle rhythm of life intertwined with the echoes of a bygone era. Growing up as a kid, the world I knew was a bit different. In our home, the heartbeat of our family pulsed to a different beat – one shaped by the silent strength of my deaf and oral grandparents. 

As the sun timidly peeked over the horizon, I would rise to find my grandparents in the kitchen, cocooned in a world of their own making. Grandpa, with a deck of cards as his constant companion, would deftly shuffle them with practiced ease, his face a mask of concentration as he shuffles in a game of Solitaire. Grandma would tend to the ‘dapwan,’ a quaint fireplace nestled within the house, its flames dancing in harmony with her movements as she boils water for a morning cup-a-tea.

On some days, I watch Grandma set to work in the kitchen, preparing a hearty meal for Grandpa’s ‘lukso,’ – his daily journey to the fields where he toiled under the sun’s relentless gaze.

I vividly remember, when my cousins and I decided to join in on the ‘lukso,’but instead of working and helping Auntie in the fields, we opted for a day of mischief and exploration. We went to this pond, my excitement in catching a fish became a big disappointment when it slipped. I left my cousins crying, lost in my thoughts, I wandered aimlessly until I stumbled upon Grandpa in his garden. Without a word, he handed me a handful of worms, urging me to try again, but this time “Catch one for Grandma.” I went back with no result, but it was what he said that made me go through that day – All for Grandma.

At times where there are cultural events, I see them both in different groups. When everything else is in place, with a casual shout at each other’s ears, they would bid farewell to the revelry and retreat into the comfort of their home, their bond unyielding in the face of noise and chaos.

In intimate family gatherings held at their house, though he seldom spoke, his mere presence spoke volume - I never heard him talk in gatherings, but when his social battery is dead, I would observe a silent ritual unfold before my eyes. With a glance exchanged across the room, Grandpa would signal the end of the evening, a subtle cue that spoke volumes in its simplicity. And like clockwork, Grandma would remain by his side, her unwavering devotion keeping her awake until the last guest departed. That, to this day, makes me really shattered. Grandma, always, always stays awake, until she can, even though she cannot hear anything from all the conversations we’re all having- the love that she has for the family is immeasurable too.

Amidst the silence, there was a symphony of gestures – a language all their own. Every argument – it’s just wild. Funny, I remember both yelling at each other – moments of uproarious comedy. Picture this: Both yelling at each other trying to convey something to Grandma who, in turn, responded with equally enthusiastic yells and gestures. It was like watching a great movie, with the two of them playing the lead roles in a hilarious game of charades. Their attempts to understand each other would often lead to fits of laughter, as gestures become more exaggerated and expressions more animated. Auntie would try to step in or maybe one of my cousins would if they’d had enough. To Nikko, Steven, and Dominic, I know you have much more stories that would be funnier than this – can’t wait to hear about all that too!

Their daily routines were a testament to their resilience, their unspoken stories echoing through the walls of our humble abode. Tales of survival during World War II, woven into the fabric of our family history, lingered in the air like whispers of a distant melody. Their love was a shield against the harsh realities of war, a silent vow to stand together against the tides of adversity. Their stories may have been whispered, their resilience spoke volumes, echoing through the corridors of time with unwavering strength that continues to inspire me to this day.

And as I carry their stories with me, I am reminded that sometimes, the most powerful tales are the ones left unspoken – the ones that echo through the corridors of time, weaving themselves into the very fabric of our existence.

In those quiet moments, as I watched the flicker of candlelight dance across their faces, I realized the depth of their love. It was a love that transcended words, a love that spoke in the language of gestures and glances, a love that illuminated our lives with its immeasurable warmth and tenderness.

To Lolo Asen Rest in Peace

 

Guardian of Hearts: Honoring the Life and Laughter of Grandpa, Priest, and Friend Extraordinaire

In Loving Memory of John Mark “Tengdan” Ayban Dewey

Retrieved from Lola Janice's photos.

We look up to a man who embodies the spirit of joy and friendship. A beacon of light in a world often shrouded in darkness.

From as far back as I can remember, Fr. Mark was the life of every gathering. He had a knack for turning even the most mundane moments into memorable adventures. His laughter was infectious, filling a dark room colours you never knew you could paint.

In the tapestry of our lives, there are loops of strength that weave themselves quietly. For him, those threads were knitted with a singular purpose: to face his struggles head-on, with a resolution that was as tough as it was admirable.

Behind this charming man, he bore burdens that few ever knew. He was a man who faced his trials alone, shouldering the weight of his worries with a quiet dignity that spoke volumes of his inner strength. Though he confided in family and friends from time to time, he carried most of his struggles in silence, a testimony to his fiercely independent spirit.

A moment sitting in the same room, watching him gaze the afternoon lost in his deep thoughts. You just can’t help but question yourself about his worries. The answer comes down to, “watching the children go home, is something that heals me,” often I would ask why and often I would get different answers, “they remind me of my days, where trouble was nothing but a sorry,” “it’s good to know that they’re going home,” “their noise makes me feel at ease, I just love the drama, listen to that guy shouting ‘Iginek mus sa!’(Be quiet!).”

As I rummage words in my brain, these little moments will stand as normal conversations with me, not until, I’ve heard different a perspective from a friend of his.

When a person dies, let the dead be at peace –

but

When a person you cared, longed, supported, and loved dies, let yourself be at peace –

This didn’t stand with me alone, but to some of his friends too, friends whom he adored, and loved to hang out with.

In times when you’re lost, you cannot imagine how God wants to heal your wounds. It will always be a mystery remained unspoken.

Conversations I have with myself under a warm sunny afternoon stands in the yearning to seek counsel from a departed soul contends with the resolve to plan a development forward after an exhausting week – my phone rings and I was debating whether to pick it up or let it go.

One of Padi Mark’s buddy back home called me and asked about how I was doing with the book. In response, I confessed my uncertainty, lamenting that only one contributor had come forth with a tale.

Days before he died, we loved the way he always described his grandnieces. Every discourse orbited his sister - it’s always his family. You knew he always thought of things – and not just random stuff he could blurt out to make a conversation, he’s always hands-on about all your future, about the well-being of his sisters.

Tears cascaded freely, therein lay a truth I clung to dearly – in inexplicable ways, he continues to watch over us, he still knows what to do, he may not be present, but his presence is felt through people he’s touched, people he turned into gold.

Little things like asking about his worries held significance – you never knew that simple conversations like this is what he treasured, and I want to make peace with the fact that you need to know what he’s always felt. He always had his moments of ‘ay inayan ubpay si anuk-a,’ (I’m a bit worried about this person), but he always brought up the positivity of situations like those.

I’ve known about Padi Mark’s tender side – especially when it comes to his grandnieces - I remained unaware of the depth of his emotions in matters such as these. Each syllable a fragment of his enduring legacy.

His grandnieces are his pride, you are where he draws the line. Where he never thinks twice about giving you much more than what he gives himself. The love he has for you is immeasurable, so be the legacy who wants everybody united, if not the family, then your generation – his grandnieces alone. We both know it’ll make him happy.

The stories went through a lot of revelations I never knew would heal me, would help me move forward, would make me at peace within my past self, - A REDIRECTION.

To everyone: For all the actions and short-comings I’ve caused, and all my imperfections – my apologies. I understand the weight of accountability and accept full responsibility for my past transgressions.

I want to become a source of positivity and support in the lives of whom he’s supported entirely.

In the tapestry of friendships, Padi Mark wove strings of unwavering support and boundless empathy, becoming the cornerstone of comfort. Their troubles whether weighty or trivial, found sanctuary in the warmth of his embrace, and amidst the ebb and flow of life, he remained an anchor for those adrift in stormy seas.

Afternoons where they choose to stroll, each step – burdens of the day grew lighter, carried away on the breeze. Amidst the symphony of rustling leaves, conversations flowed like a healing balm; shared laughter and tender confessions, bonds of camaraderie were strengthened.

Café’s where the aroma of ground coffee offers different stories. His friends found sanctuary for their weary souls amidst the comforting ambiance of clinking mugs and soft murmurs. Over steaming cups of coffee and tea, they poured out their hearts, laying bare their fears and insecurities in the safety of his compassionate gaze. And in those moments of vulnerability, he listened not with judgement, but with a profound understanding that transcended words.

His wisdom – to many people he’s touched, tempered by a lifetime of experiences, offered a solace and clarity in times of confusion, while his unwavering support served as a lifeline for those lost in the tempest of life’s uncertainties.

Though he may have left this earthly realm, his spirit lingers on in the cherished memories of those he held dear. For in the quiet moments shared, his legacy lives on – a testament to the enduring power of friendship and the transformative impact of a kind and compassionate heart.

To his friends, the people he’s touched, and the people who were around, our sincere gratitude and appreciation for the unwavering support, love, and kindness you have shown when he was here. Your presence has been a source of immense comfort – and knowing that you were there for him made us at peace.

Padi Mark held each of you in the highest regard, cherishing the bonds of friendship and camaraderie that he shared with each of you. Your friendship meant the world to him, and he spoke of you all with warmth and affection.

In moments of joy and sorrow, triumph, and tribulation, you stood by his side, offering unwavering support and companionship. Your laughter echoed in his heart, and your shared memories illuminated his darkest days. You were his confidants, his allies, and his pillars of strength, and for that, we are eternally grateful.

But beyond the confines of friendship, Padi Mark’s influence extended far and wide, touching the lives of countless individuals with his kindness, wisdom, generosity, and compassion. His legacy lives in the hearts of those he touched, a witness to the sincere impact of his presence.

-Grandnieces

To Padi Mark, Rest in Peace