Of that Sun­day

Sun.Star Davao - - Y-SPEAK - By Rudylen P. Anino-dela Torre Rudylen P. Anino-dela Torre, 28, is mar­ried. She is a public school teacher at F. Ban­goy Cen­tral Ele­men­tary School - SPEd Cen­ter, Davao City.

That mo­ment when you thought scenes that we see in movies do not hap­pen in real life. How­ever, they do.

July 19, 2015 was per­haps one of the dates that our fam­ily would hardly for­get. When we were sup­posed to re­lax and have our fam­ily time be­cause it was a Sun­day, we were brought to the realm of wor­ries and dis­be­lief on that very same day since my younger brother has lost his right leg.

Morn­ing of that Sun­day, some­one called and in­formed my mother that my brother met a ve­hic­u­lar ac­ci­dent in Ka­pa­long (roughly 90 km away from Davao City). The caller said that my brother’s foot was just caught by his mo­tor­cy­cle. Just that. Af­ter the call, my par­ents, my sis­ter-in-law, and my nephew went to Davao Re­gional Hos­pi­tal in Tagum City where my brother was con­fined. We weren’t ac­tu­ally that wor­ried at first be­cause then again, “his foot was just caught by his mo­tor­cy­cle.”

Few hours af­ter they had left, ev­ery­thing went quite nor­mal at home. My hus­band was busy read­ing news online. I was busy cut­ting posters for my class­room. The rest were pre­oc­cu­pied with their own agenda. How­ever, at 1:43 PM of that same Sun­day, my sis­ter-in-law called me. She was cry­ing. With the ex­changes that we had, there was this one line that kept on ring­ing in my ears: Put­lunon ang tiil ni Ruben (Ruben’s foot/leg will be am­pu­tated). A few min­utes af­ter I re­ceived the call, I told my hus­band. Then, I cried.

When my hus­band and I were on our way to Tagum, a lot of thoughts were run­ning in my head. Per­haps, the peo­ple around could also sense that I wasn’t fine. I was ap­palled with the news. Re­ally. I wanted to poke my brother on his nape or punch him hard on his arm. I wanted to scold him lim­it­lessly. I wanted to ask him a lot of ques­tions: Why did you have to go to Ka­pa­long? Why didn’t you lis­ten to your wife when she told you not to go? But, I couldn’t. All I ever did was weep and pray and ad­mit that what hap­pened wasn’t a movie. It was real.

As we ar­rived in Davao Re­gional Hos­pi­tal, my par­ents wel­comed us with poignant faces. “Pu­tol na dyud (ang tiil), te,” my fa­ther re­marked (His leg is fi­nally am­pu­tated). I just couldn’t help but feel sad about what hap­pened. Never have I thought that such cir­cum­stance would hap­pen to our fam­ily. De­spite this, I just came to re­al­ize that what hap­pened on that Sun­day had a pur­pose. It taught us a les­son. This les­son might have been learned in a very painful and dis­tress­ing way, but we still be­lieve that it hap­pened for a rea­son. Per­haps, that was to bring our fam­ily much closer to­gether.

As of this writ­ing, my brother’s al­ready out of the ICU and now at the or­tho­pe­dic ward of the hos­pi­tal. I was also able to speak with him through mo­bile phone, too. I was about to move to tears when I heard his voice, but above that, I was happy to know that my brother’s get­ting bet­ter.

In­deed, that Sun­day was one of the worst ever. Nev­er­the­less, I just hope and pray that I wouldn’t be able to see that very same sce­nario in our lives again which I have al­ways thought only ex­ist in movies.

De­spite this, I just came to re­al­ize that what hap­pened on that Sun­day had a pur­pose. It taught us a les­son. This les­son might have been learned in a very painful and dis­tress­ing way, but we still be­lieve that it hap­pened for a rea­son. Per­haps, that was to bring our fam­ily much closer to­gether.

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