September 12: Blessed are those who mourn...

My father passed away when I was 15 yrs old. I will never forget that day, September 12, 1986. I was already on my way to our study hall in our minor seminary in Bulacan when the rector called me. He told me I had to go to the hospital because my father was brought there that afternoon. I was half running when I left the seminary. But before I went out of the gate, I stopped and looked back at the Blessed Mother's image in the middle of the seminary grounds. The sun was setting and almost gone, but I could still see Mama Mary's image. I uttered a short prayer asking her to take care of my father no matter what. I knew it was already too late to ask for a miracle to take away his cancer. Somehow that whole year we have been preparing ourselves for the inevitable. But can we ever be really prepared for the experience of death?

I arrived in the hospital a little before 6pm. My mother, Ate Cristy and Sheila were there together with our aunts and uncles. It was quiet, it was eerie. I was brought to my father and held his hand for a while. He looked very tired. He was in terrible pain. But he recognized me. We prayed the rosary and I knew he was taking every effort to join us. I knew the struggle was nearing its end. We were able to finish praying the rosary -- his last breath, almost simultaneous with our Amen.

It was very painful for all of us especially for Ate Jane and Ruth who were not there when he passed away. They were both in school then, Ate Jane in Ateneo and Ruth in UP Baguio. They both thought it was unfair that daddy only waited for me before he left and did not wait for them as well. I'm sure later they realized that daddy needed to rest already.

Fast forward to September 12, 1998. The whole family was gathered together with our relatives and friends, not to commemorate a death anniversary, but to witness my ordination to the diaconate. Yes, on the same date when my father died, I was ordained as deacon. It was a day of blessing. It was a day of thanksgiving. Yes there were tears, but this time tears of joy. My youngest sister Sheila wrote me a letter a few years later. She told me that since our father died, she used to spend September 12 crying and remembering him and that the last time she did that was during my ordination. She knew daddy was already happy and at peace. It was a day of healing for all of us.

Another fast forward. September 12, 2000. Ate Jane gave birth to her second child Iggy. This time there were no more tears. It was a day of rejoicing as we welcomed the latest addition to our family. It was a day of thanksgiving for the gift of life.

Yesterday, September 12, I celebrated mass for three important intentions: daddy's 21st death anniversary, my 9th anniversary as a deacon and Iggy's 7th birthday. It was at first unbelievable that three memorable events happened on the same day for our family. The Gospel yesterday was the Beatitudes from St. Luke. "Blessed are you who mourn now, for you will rejoice." We mourned on September 12, 1986, but God found a way of transforming that sorrow into joy through the gift of the ordained life for me and the gift of Iggy's life. Two lives to replace that one he took back. Indeed our God is a God of surprises. He can turn things around for us, if we will only believe ... and wait...