He came for him

Three weeks shy of my daddy’s 1st Death Anniversary on the 29th of this month, his older brother passed away yesterday morning.

Tito Cesar or “Tatay Diko” to us, is the second from the eldest of eight boys. “Diko”, which is an appellation for the second elder brother (next to “kuya”), died peacefully in his sleep. With his passing, there are only four of the De Leon brothers left.

The first one to go was the third brother, Tatay Tony, who died in September of 2000. He was followed by the eldest, Tiyong Ben, in 2002. Almost two decades later, my father passed away last year.

Tatay Diko spent his twilight years similar to how my father did with his—sitting on the front porch by the gate watching people. Both of them were like a permanent fixture of Tramo street, that when you type in our home address in Google Street View before, you will see them at the very spot (their faces blurred though) on the satellite image.

However, this was not the only reason a lot of people knew them, as all eight brothers were born and raised in the same place. Suffice to say, they were there all their lives that they’ve seen people come and go and witnessed how the neighborhood changed over the years. I guess this made them proud in a way, having an excessively high opinion of themselves (a trait which I think all of the brothers possess in varying levels), thinking they are far better than the people around them.

I was not close to Tatay Diko and for whatever unspoken reason why’s that, I didn’t bother knowing anymore. I don’t even remember the last time we talked except indirectly when I tell my nephews to say hello or goodbye to him when we go out and had to pass by the gate.

God knows my oft-misunderstood behavior around him was more out of respect rather than disregard and contempt. I may be distant and seemingly indifferent, but this doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him because I do, especially when he started showing signs of cognitive decline and senility many years ago.

That wasn’t how I remember Tatay Diko growing up. He was the uncle who lifts weights, boxes and does push-ups every morning. The one who doesn’t smoke (unlike most of his brothers) and tells really corny jokes. Tatay Diko was also my go-to person when I needed a slogan every poster-making contests in grade school. He’s an intelligent man who reads broadsheets and devours English crossword puzzles (and the only one who can challenge him when it comes to that was my dad—who was equally bright). To his many grandchildren and great-grandchildren, he’s Tatay Pogi.

But perhaps aging gets the best of anyone that it can later turn one grumpy and irritable. That after some time the funny person you once knew would be gone and replaced by someone who huffs at the slightest annoyance and fumbles. I witnessed this with my own father in his later years, how his personality and mood shifted for the worse after his first stroke.

When my dad died, it was no surprise that Tatay Diko took it really hard. After all, the two of them almost have the same daily routine: Sit by the gate and watch people all morning, go inside before lunchtime when it gets unbearably hot, then come back and sit there until sunset. My mom and Nanay Babes (Tatay Diko’s wife) never understood why they spend their days like this but can’t do anything to stop them. Later on, they’ve probably resigned to the fact that it was already their way of life so they let them be.

Weakened by his age, he only managed to go to the funeral but wasn’t able to come to daddy’s cremation. As it was a custom, the funeral procession had to pass by the house one last time. From the vehicle where we’re at, I saw Tatay Diko, sitting on the same spot, looking on as the hearse carrying daddy’s remains pass right in front of him. Whatever his thoughts are that very moment, no one will ever know, and perhaps would only be between him and my daddy. It was heart-wrenching seeing him sitting alone to where they were usually together.

Days following my father’s death, Nanay Babes and Kuya Chiqui, his son, would find Tatay Diko quiet and alone in his thoughts, sometimes would even have trouble sleeping. There is no need for him to say it, we all knew that it was his way of processing his grief.

When I got home from work last Monday a little after three in the afternoon, I saw Tatay Diko on the same spot I see him every single day. He was sitting on a monoblock chair, leaning on the wall, with a half-filled plastic cup of gulaman beside him.

The first thing that ran through my head was, how can he bear this heat? It was particularly warmer that afternoon and I myself was sweating bullets coming home from a short commute. But as I would have it every day, I passed by him with only that thought in my mind.

My mom, who’s always been concerned of Tatay Diko (she says he reminds him so much of daddy), asked me if Tatay was there and if something was amiss. I told her exactly what I saw, and I even said (more like asked) why he was even staying outside when it was so hot. When I think about it now, I can’t even recall if his eyes were closed or not, if he showed any signs of difficulty whatsoever, because I always walk with my head down every time I enter the gate.

The following morning, Nanay Babes found him unresponsive in his sleep and was declared DOA shortly after.

***
It was only after that they told us the pancit incident that happened last Sunday.

There was a children’s party just right across the street and Tatay Diko was given a plate of pancit. There were two versions of the story I heard—one was when the neighbor gave him the plate, Tatay Diko left it somewhere. When he was asked where the food was, he answered: “Binigay ko kay Luis.” (I gave it to Luis).

They asked him: “Sino’ng Luis?” (Luis who?)

Tatay Diko answered: “Si Luis! Kapatid ko!” (Luis! My brother!)

Another version was Tatay Diko was offering the pancit to his other brothers who were also there at the time, but when they refused, Tatay Diko said, “Ayaw din ni Luis eh.” (Luis doesn’t want to take it too.)

I don’t know which among these versions was accurate and did actually happened, or if some of the details had been changed as it gets told over and over, but there’s no doubt about one thing: Luis, my father, was there.

Most Filipinos believed in this superstition called “sundo” (to fetch, when translated in English), a belief in which when a family member or a friend who’s already dead shows himself up to another, would mean that he was there to accompany the person to the ‘other side’.

We believed that last Sunday when Tatay Diko kept mentioning daddy, that maybe he was really there about to fetch Tatay Diko.

That he came for him.

Death they say should be viewed as a natural thing and that it shouldn’t be something we fear. But I think it’s not really death that scares most of us, but more of the fear of the unknown. Where do we go? What comes after all of this? Will we see our loved ones who passed on?

Watching shows like “Hollywood Medium” and “The Last Goodbye” convinced me that there’s still life beyond what we know and that all those who died are still with us. It makes you less scared when it’s your time to go.

There is some comfort in thinking that the two of them are together now. And as how my friend said it on his comment: The siblings are chillin’.

RIP, Tatay Diko.