by jose roxas leveriza
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My uncle, Marino Roxas, is the Last of the Mohicans of my mother, Pura Roxas Leveriza's family. Everybody has passed on. My eldest brother said we are now the batch at the departure lounge. Truer than true because when I browse the obituary page I randomly glimpse familiar names then turn the page quickly out of nervousness. Hope to be brave but to hear the now boarding call would be dreadful. Thus at the ebb of his life, Tiyo Maring reached the ripened vintage marking ninety-two years which is not bad at all. In fact, it is a great accomplishment worth emulating.
Conflict between his progeny drained his will and strength drastically. The psychological hurt radiated to his knees and made it buckle beyond the comprehension of the Orthopedist who dismissed the ailment as wear and tear from aging. My eldest brother and I paid him a visit and witnessed his former wiry form now blackened by ashen luster to go the way of wobbly antiques and shriveled like parched autumn leaves cluttering on the ground. Tiyo Maring barely woke from his on and off stupor and slumber to weakly mumble our names. The defiant spirit had retreated somewhere deep and unfathomable. An old man resigned to his fate greeted us to croak his last ounce farewells.
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His feet came out of the blanket as it was pulled apart to reveal emaciated pick up sticks, My brother and I took turns hugging him on the bed, showering the genuine affection Tiyo Maring richly deserved for the way he stood up for our mother, Pura, and the rest of their family during his watch which was done with unceasing heroism. During the retreat to the mountains when they were barely out of their teens to escape the Japanese invading horde, Tiyo Maring herded the whole family including his stretcher bound father saddled by pneumonia for lack of antibiotics, with grit and hawk eyed protectiveness all the while lugging a 45 caliber Tommy machine gun to ward off bandits and the ever threatening Japanese advancing patrols.
In time of peace during the ebullient baby boom postwar years, he cut a dashing and dynamic figure as a banker to rise as deputy director of the Development Bank of the Philippines which served in the forefront of rehabilitation efforts for the ravages of World War II. He used his influence to take care of the family's backyard and like the unrelenting guerrilla in time of conflict, Tiyo Maring employed guile and all the means under his employ to help the family get restored in material comfort and security. And now it is his time to go. Fittingly, he was last because of his mandate from his own father to see to it that all members were ushered properly to the next life. Fighting back my emotions, I turned to his wife, Tiya Ester who was neither there nor somewhere else due to erosion of stroke and bussed her on the forehead.
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My brother sat on the chair next to the bed and gripped both Tiyo Maring's knuckles while trying to decipher the inaudible coughing groans struggling to formulate words. Claiming a narrow wedge at the foot of the bed with half my derriere, my thoughts began to swim with the Abba Krishna prayer. O' Most Holy Almighty God The Father In Heaven, The Abba Krishna, I Love You. The opening lines kept running in my head and a voice inside whispered that if I petitioned the God the Father, I could obtain a reprieve for the infirmity besetting my Tito Maring. It came from nowhere and never in my life did I envision perverted me receiving the gift of healing from the Abba Krishna. Writing about His great glory with the most artistic language I could possibly muster wrong or right and making His Holy Name, Abba Krishna rank prominently like a jingle in the Google search engine must have washed away my stigma of being undeserving to some extent.
I blurted in a state of shock to my brother that I was going to pray over my Tiyo Maring. My brother cringed by reflex like I muttered the unspeakable. Being a lay apostle in his parish in Magallanes Village where he gave out communion during mass to assist the celebrant, my brother always thought that I strayed too far out of bounds from conservative Church toe lines with my own stabs at ecumenism with a radical bent. The Abba Krishna Father God engulfed me right there and I felt energized and uplifted with a connection to a supernatural or psychic source. My hands trembled with an inkling of an invisible current seeping through my being from heaven upwards and moved on their own volition towards the twin kneecaps of Tiyo Maring, so grotesquely bulbous but withered. Cupping the petrified spokes in my palms, I started to pray fervently inside my heart. O' Most Holy Almighty God The Father In Heaven, The Abba Krishna, I Love You, Please Cure My Tiyo Maring. Please make him well enough to walk again.
One week later the good news reached us that Tiyo Maring is up and about. I told my brother the about the development sort of to refresh his memory about my unsolicited role. My brother pretended not to remember what transpired inside the room or maybe it never even registered in his memory, but he flashed a wan smile half thinking half cheering with clandestine thoughts and feelings I will never know. Thanks be to God but still a voice persistently whispers like a cold wind from innermost recesses repeating silently like a song. If you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ then the Abba Krishna has cured you and if you believe in Allah, then the Abba Krishna has cured you, and so forth down the line_ _ _
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