Roughly 22 years ago, my father's family had their first death experience.
My Nanay Cena, (my Lola) untimely lost her third son, Tito Boboy. He was bound to Cebu when he had a heart attack. He was just on his early 20s and he died on board a ship - away from his family. But it happened when my twin sister and I was four months closer to our first birthday. So to speak, I never really had any memory of Tito Boboy and the whole ordeal.
I grew up looking at his pictures wondering why I haven't met him. I remember how my Lola would tell us then that he joined our Creator long before we learned how to walk and talk and close and open our hands. How could a 5 year old ever understand the meaning of death and dying? Years then passed by a blur and his pictures on my Lola's walls passed by my eyes and mind in a blur too. Every now and then, one family member would mention their brother and I would listen nonchalantly to their stories of the Tito I never met. Every year, my Lola would offer a mass on his death anniversary and prepare something special to eat over dinner - something we have all grown accustomed to over the years. Even though my Lola always offered him prayers every night when we used to pray the Holy Rosary together, it never really occurred to me to pay closer attention to him. After all, my life story pretty much started without him already.
Today, out of the blue, as my family and I were on the road to our province, my mother talked about the last few years they all had with Tito Boboy. How he used to stay over night in Dipolog before going home in the province after every school year; how he used to accompany his brother's father-in-law in the tennis court; how he used to give hints to Mama that he's hungry so that she'll ask him to buy snacks for them; how he used to be the only son who don't talk back to Nanay; how he used to be the quiet one among his siblings.
All that, I gathered today and I thought of how little I know of my Tito Boboy. I didn't say anything, I just listened to my mother and Tita exchanging memories of him and I realized that even though I haven't met him, that I don't remember anything about him at all, there is this special place in my heart I have kept for him all these years. All those stories I have heard about him when I was growing up; some forgotten, some aren't, had developed this old familiar feeling similar to a child's favorite blanket he or she used to can't sleep without. Yes, he may not have cuddled me as a baby, he may not have looked after me when I needed looking after, or offered me a hand when I tripped on my feet learning how to walk;and yes he may seem to be a complete stranger to me, it won't change what I now know - that I will always love him dearly.
It's sad that it took me twenty years to realize all these but as I am still putting all these into writing at five in the morning, having no sleep since seven am yesterday, my heart is overjoyed to have realized all these things about my family. How my Lola and the rest of the family shared with me pieces of the Tito I wish I have met; instilling in me the value of unconditional love and strong family ties fill me with so much pride that I belong to a family as loving as my own.
Tito Boboy may have passed away many years ago but his memory will always be a part of this family.
My family.
This is my tribute to the Tito I never met.
