Memories of Discontent

Today is the feast of all saints. Growing up Catholic, the highlight really is visiting and praying for dead relatives. As a child it is a huge day for a quiet town as car loads of relatives come from the city and instant reunions of old acquiantances ranspire over grave markers and streets leading to the cemetary. Our flowers are usually bought from Quiapo includes yellow and white chrysanthemums and baby's breath arranged in old ceramic pots filled with stalks of gabi cut to serve as base. No one wants to carry the arranged flowers because once they are filled with water they weigh up to two kilos an the cemetary is a kilometer walk from the house.

This is the day when there are more flowers than a Santacruzan. Every one trampling throught the main street is carrying all sorts of flower arrangements. Pineapple juice cans wrapped with bond paper with red and orange santan flowers. Huge red circular flowers with no name. Bandera espanola arranged in coke bottles. Floral arrangements from shops with white and violet dendubriums. The procession starts early in the morning and swell by midday and last until seven in the evening. Honking horns, shouting, traffic and crowds snaking across the streets.

My father's grave lies in the middle of the new wing of the cemetary. He had it made after his brother died and joked that having one's grave made ahead of time will prolong one's life. He died a peaceful but painful death while sleeping in his favorite chair. I have several regrets that I was not able to take care of him before he died and I was not able to tell him how much I love him. But I know he knows about it as I kissed him good night the night before he died. I have not been able to visit his grave evey first of november since the years that followed after his death. I wish I could if only to show him that he was not wrong after all when I asked him why he is good to all these people and he replied so that they will remember you after you die.

I don't know who among my father has helped still remembers him. What I know is that deep in my heart no matter how painful and regretful I am, he will always forgive as he had done ever since I was a child. Papa I love you.