Adelia Knew A Secret

March 4. Pagsanjan, Laguna. Adelia A. A.’s finally back in her hometown. She died yesterday in a bathroom accident that's common among old people. That bathroom is across the room where I sleep. She lived 94 years. 94 years of which, she didn’t spend a day working. She never married, but she seemed to have found joy in dedicating her services to the Philippine Independent Church. She was given a dinstinction for that service. She called sugar “refinado” when I tried to make her coffee, but with diabetes she refused the cookies I offered. She loved Bingo. She used an abanico. She prayed constantly. She constantly powdered herself, being rather compulsive about hygiene. She had an excellent memory for stories about almost-forgotten friends and relatives. She had a hearing difficulty which made her, quite literally, just lend a deaf ear to the DTS sounds booming from an 8.5 diamond set-up across the room. And as long as she was able, she walked towards the Sto. Niño to touch it and make the sign of the cross.

To have lived this long, so persistently and idependently, she must have quietly kept a secret to happiness.

But then we grieve her loss. And my mother grieved the most, since she always took care of Lola Del. I hate how it’s all a cliché, but like the grieving and the death it’s all just inevitable. You cannot help but be deeply touched by the affection shared by people who’s lives she touched. How you are thankful she didn’t suffer terribly during her death, but still wished she was around.

Quietly still, and probably as happy as always to be here, she is home.