Unannounced death

LAST 19 July, my mother, Carmen Guerrero Nakpil, turned 93. Almost apologetic, she affirmed that, she had never intended to live this long. When she starts talking like that, we tell her that it is all up to God, until a priest advised us to stop theologizing. Instead, we should tell her not to worry about us and assure her that we will take care of each other.

On her birthday, I received an early morning call from a family friend asking about my mother’s health, beating around the bush, until she finally asked where she could pay her last respects. A cascade of text messages followed, many inquiring about Mommy’s health, some directly expressing their deepest condolences. I did not dare tell mother about the baffling messages that kept coming, though she was quite annoyed at my being glued to my iphone instead of giving her my undivided attention.

Apparently, an article about my mother written by Pablo Tariman, a dear family friend, appeared in a local newspaper that very morning. In glowing terms, he related how he had first heard about her, where he first saw her (from a distance, too enthralled to approach), how he would devour her columns (“Consensus of One,” Sunday Times Magazine), and how she loved going to concerts. His article included a photograph of Mommy taken in 1948, looking every inch a queen in a spectacular terno by Slim’s. Pablo called himself her “eternal fan”, so I surmised that readers thought she had died because “eternal,” in today’s marketing lexicon, is associated with the afterlife, as in, “eternal homes” and “eternal plans.”

My eternal gratitude, Pablo, for that outstanding eulogy. We opened a bottle of champagne and toasted to Mommy’s happiness in the years to come. (ggc1898@gmail. com).