I wanted to share with all of you this beautiful tribute that Hawaii Ballroom Dancing Association Manoa made for my Uncle Nofre. What I want you to notice is his million dollar smile in every one of these pictures. Man, he really knew how to live life -- surround yourself with people who love to dance and love to eat. How can you go wrong?
Here is a short vid that I took of Uncle dancing with Verna. Enjoy.
My babies
Saturday, December 27, 2008
HBDA Manoa Chapter
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Spoiler Alert!
I think you'll have to bear with me while I go through this process of grief. Hey, it is my blog. I get to run the show.
A few weeks ago, I watched a movie with Joan Allen (whom I so admire) called Yes, written and directed by Sally Potter. It is a very artsy movie told entirely in iambic pentameter. SPOILER ALERT!!! In one scene, the aunt has died. Joan Allen's character, She, runs to her aunt's side too late. While She is brought to her knees in grief, her aunt's body lying inert on the hospital bed, we hear her aunt's voice. This is a portion of that monologue which has been running through my mind since Uncle died.
I suppose I'm sounding a little bitter.
I loved the truth in Aunt's monologue. I don't know if Uncle Nofre would give voice to this poem. I'm sure he would never cop to it. But don't we all privately harbor the desire expressed here? Don't we all want to be cried and wailed out? Because I know, I know that this is how I'm mourning my uncle. He is a part of me that I cannot bear being torn away. My eyes are red-rimmed, and sleep comes only from pure and utter exhaustion. I can barely leave my house. I cry at every turn. I cried at the gas station while I waited for Hubby to fill the tank. I cried talking to the ticketing agent on the phone. I cried while walking the aisles at Safeway. I am to the point that I don't even try to hide the tears. I just let them flow and hope that stony silence will suffice if a stranger asks me what is wrong.
If I could scream at Heaven and change the events of that day, I would, until my throat went raw.
I wish that I could turn back the clock and call him before he went into surgery. Just so I could selfishly remind him that he needs to wake up at the end of all of this. He forgot that step. Just so I could tell him that Princess is waiting for the promised sleep over at his house in August. Just to remind him that my son has plans to bunk with him when he goes to University of Hawaii Manoa in 7 years. Just so I could hear his voice one more time and tell him those words. The three short words that are supposed to sum up all that he meant to me and means to me still. If only my phone call could have encouraged his heart to take up its life sustaining rhythm again.
But instead I have to focus on the blessings. I got to talk to Uncle a couple of times last week. I still have his voice on my answering machine. Not a week went by that he didn't call and ask how the kids were faring. I got to see him almost every day when I was there in October. On my last night in Hawaii, I got to see him cantor at mass and we had dinner afterwards. He got to spend 2 full days with Lil'T while Mom was recovering from her surgery. Yes, these were the blessings.
And still, my heart is left wanting more.
A few weeks ago, I watched a movie with Joan Allen (whom I so admire) called Yes, written and directed by Sally Potter. It is a very artsy movie told entirely in iambic pentameter. SPOILER ALERT!!! In one scene, the aunt has died. Joan Allen's character, She, runs to her aunt's side too late. While She is brought to her knees in grief, her aunt's body lying inert on the hospital bed, we hear her aunt's voice. This is a portion of that monologue which has been running through my mind since Uncle died.
AUNT:
(V.O.)
If and when I die
I want to see you cry
I want to see you tear your hair. Your howls of anguish fill the air.
I want to see you beat your breast and rent your clothes and all the rest.
And, sobbing, fall upon my bed.
I want to know that I am dead.
I want to know I'm part of you
and that you cannot bear me being torn away.
I want to see you dressed in black, with red-rimmed eyes from sleepless nights of grieving;
I want to hear you protest at me leaving.
I want to see you in each other's arms, and wailing.
See you kick a chair and punch the wall and see you, moaning, fall upon the ground and scream.
I want to know this isn't just a dream.
I want my death to be just like my life.
I want the mess, the struggle, and the strife. I want to fight and see you fight for me.
I want to hear your last regrets the things you wish you'd done and said.
In fact I'd like that just before I'm dead.
Don't let them put you off,
or make you go, or say it's bad for me, or makes it hard for me to leave. It won't be true. I want to see you grieve.
Don't let me drown in silence all pious and polite.
Let's make a lot of noise! A different kind of light will fill the room.
I want my death to wake you up
and clean you out. And as I end I'll hear you shout.
SHE
No, no, no!
AUNT
(V.O.)
But I will go.
I suppose I'm sounding a little bitter.
I loved the truth in Aunt's monologue. I don't know if Uncle Nofre would give voice to this poem. I'm sure he would never cop to it. But don't we all privately harbor the desire expressed here? Don't we all want to be cried and wailed out? Because I know, I know that this is how I'm mourning my uncle. He is a part of me that I cannot bear being torn away. My eyes are red-rimmed, and sleep comes only from pure and utter exhaustion. I can barely leave my house. I cry at every turn. I cried at the gas station while I waited for Hubby to fill the tank. I cried talking to the ticketing agent on the phone. I cried while walking the aisles at Safeway. I am to the point that I don't even try to hide the tears. I just let them flow and hope that stony silence will suffice if a stranger asks me what is wrong.
If I could scream at Heaven and change the events of that day, I would, until my throat went raw.
I wish that I could turn back the clock and call him before he went into surgery. Just so I could selfishly remind him that he needs to wake up at the end of all of this. He forgot that step. Just so I could tell him that Princess is waiting for the promised sleep over at his house in August. Just to remind him that my son has plans to bunk with him when he goes to University of Hawaii Manoa in 7 years. Just so I could hear his voice one more time and tell him those words. The three short words that are supposed to sum up all that he meant to me and means to me still. If only my phone call could have encouraged his heart to take up its life sustaining rhythm again.
But instead I have to focus on the blessings. I got to talk to Uncle a couple of times last week. I still have his voice on my answering machine. Not a week went by that he didn't call and ask how the kids were faring. I got to see him almost every day when I was there in October. On my last night in Hawaii, I got to see him cantor at mass and we had dinner afterwards. He got to spend 2 full days with Lil'T while Mom was recovering from her surgery. Yes, these were the blessings.
And still, my heart is left wanting more.
Uncle Onofre's services
Memorial service -
When: December 29th, 2008
6 pm - 9pm
*7 pm mass
Where: Saint Pius X Church
2821 Lowery Ave, Honolulu, Hi
*Uncle specified that black was not really a color choice. It is a celebration of his life. Dress comfortably (his words) but respectfully (my words).
Burial Service
When: December 30, 2008
9am - 11am
* interment at 11am
Where: Mililani Memorial Park
Makai Chapel
* Same dress as above
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Uncle Nofre
It isn't really right for me to have two posts back to back with the same title. After all, it has only been a week. But this writing is to tell you that my heart is broken. Uncle Nofre passed away this morning.
To say that he was so very well loved, it doesn't really match the magnitude of this man. I have no doubt that he will be mourned by countless hearts. I'm sure he was a celebrity. He certainly was one to us. A few months ago, he told me that he never used to regret never marrying and having children until now in his old age. How he never had kids of his own. I reminded him that every single one of his nieces and nephews believed him to be a father to us. The grandkids always thought of him as Apo.
When Uncle came to visit for Lil' T's baptism, we went shopping. He was holding her in his arms and cooing at her face. A woman came up to him and said, "You sure look like a proud grandpa." And instead of correcting her, he just said, "I do, don't I?" We were all his children.
I'm sorry I can't be eloquent this morning. I'm typing through tears. I thought that maybe it would be easier to tell everybody at once this way. A friend of mine reminded me that he's probably catching up with my dad right now, talking about the kids and how cute the grandbabies are. So I'll find comfort in that.
Bye Uncle. I love you.
To say that he was so very well loved, it doesn't really match the magnitude of this man. I have no doubt that he will be mourned by countless hearts. I'm sure he was a celebrity. He certainly was one to us. A few months ago, he told me that he never used to regret never marrying and having children until now in his old age. How he never had kids of his own. I reminded him that every single one of his nieces and nephews believed him to be a father to us. The grandkids always thought of him as Apo.
When Uncle came to visit for Lil' T's baptism, we went shopping. He was holding her in his arms and cooing at her face. A woman came up to him and said, "You sure look like a proud grandpa." And instead of correcting her, he just said, "I do, don't I?" We were all his children.
I'm sorry I can't be eloquent this morning. I'm typing through tears. I thought that maybe it would be easier to tell everybody at once this way. A friend of mine reminded me that he's probably catching up with my dad right now, talking about the kids and how cute the grandbabies are. So I'll find comfort in that.
Bye Uncle. I love you.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Uncle Nofre
My mother called me last night with the words, "Uncle Nofre is going to the emergency room by ambulance."
Thank God I was sitting down already when I answered the phone. The last time she told me that one of my uncles was going to an emergency room by ambulance, the outcome was not good.
Turns out that Uncle Nofre was feeling some shortness of breath and called Dr. Gaby, his GP. Anyway, Gaby told him to call an ambulance. Uncle protested saying that he could drive to the hospital. Can you believe that??? Oh Uncle! Anyway, she protested and Uncle relented. The ambulance took him to the hospital. My mother was notified and got on the phone to let the family know what was going on.
My cousin Lydia met Uncle at the emergency room. Thanks Lydia. That was really a relief to have you there. I hope that you weren't too inundated with phone calls. I imagine that must have been difficult -- especially with my mother giving everybody your mobile number so we could call you and ask how things were going.
Tests were run and Uncle was discharged into Aunty Snuffy's care. I'm sending out a plea for prayers for Aunty Snuffy because now she'll have the 2 brothers to take care of under one roof. Patience and love, patience and love. And when those fail: beer and poke, beer and poke.
Thankfully it wasn't a heart attack or something more dire. With luck, his condition can be handled with some changes in his medicine regimen and diet.
So please, send healing prayers for Uncle Nofre. And just in case, beer and poke never hurt nobody.
Thank God I was sitting down already when I answered the phone. The last time she told me that one of my uncles was going to an emergency room by ambulance, the outcome was not good.
Turns out that Uncle Nofre was feeling some shortness of breath and called Dr. Gaby, his GP. Anyway, Gaby told him to call an ambulance. Uncle protested saying that he could drive to the hospital. Can you believe that??? Oh Uncle! Anyway, she protested and Uncle relented. The ambulance took him to the hospital. My mother was notified and got on the phone to let the family know what was going on.
My cousin Lydia met Uncle at the emergency room. Thanks Lydia. That was really a relief to have you there. I hope that you weren't too inundated with phone calls. I imagine that must have been difficult -- especially with my mother giving everybody your mobile number so we could call you and ask how things were going.
Tests were run and Uncle was discharged into Aunty Snuffy's care. I'm sending out a plea for prayers for Aunty Snuffy because now she'll have the 2 brothers to take care of under one roof. Patience and love, patience and love. And when those fail: beer and poke, beer and poke.
Thankfully it wasn't a heart attack or something more dire. With luck, his condition can be handled with some changes in his medicine regimen and diet.
So please, send healing prayers for Uncle Nofre. And just in case, beer and poke never hurt nobody.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Ding dong, ding dong
I remember when I was a little kid, I couldn't wait for Christmas. God, there was just so much anticipation and excitement. I used to be able to sing "Silver Bells," to myself and find tingly warmth in my heart all of a sudden -- all those Christmas warm goodness came rushing in all at once.
Now, I feel like Christmas is a major term paper or school project that I just haven't finished. It is all in stages. There's the requirement of bringing the kids to the Christmas in the Country horse rides. Extra credit for bringing apples or carrots for the horses. If you miss the deadline, there is no make-up because there is only one day for that. Then there is the Santa Pictures that is a required component of the assignment. There are only 2 weekends that allow you to get that done. For extra credit you can order pictures and send to the family. I've missed the extra credit for the past couple of years. Then there is the optional project of sending out Christmas cards for which you must write a newsletter. The newsletter can be done in November but the actual mailing tends to fall by the wayside. I've got cards addressed and stamped from 2 years ago. I have to add stamps to them to send them because the postage has gone up twice since I didn't send those cards out. Of course there is the compounded guilt when I get Christmas cards from family and friends. There have been less of those because I've missed sending out cards for the past 2 years. The advent wreath assignment is particularly tricky because I've been foiled in the past by the general unpopularity of pink and purple taper candles. Either everybody else has cleared them out or I'm not looking in the right place. There is also the looming deadline of getting presents and shopping done. Because all family live far from us, we've got to consider shipping times. There are no easy wish lists for our relatives and I hate the guileless present of money (although it is my fall back position) so there is much agonizing over what to get. Plus there is the added bonus of my husband's birthday coming on the 9th of December. This means that I've got to plan some kind of birthday celebration in the middle of all this holiday stuff. There is also the assignment of putting up the trees and decorating. This part of the project must be done the day after Thanksgiving and no sooner. There is the daily task of making sure that the Wise Men are making their way to the Baby Jesus. This goes on for ages because they don't make it to Him until Epiphany. Thankfully we're not terribly popular people so there aren't a plethora of Christmas parties to go to. That would mean I'd have to shop for a Christmas outfit on top of everything else. Who knew this Christmas magic assignment was so hard?
I think I may get a failing grade.
Then there is the part of Christmas that hurts my heart every year. Unpacking the Christmas books and seeing the one that Dad read to Riker right before he went to take his shower. There is the unexpected listening to "O Little Town of Bethlehem" on the radio -- the song Dad was singing when he was walking behind me as we went to receive the Eucharist. There is the memory of my teasing him that there was no way I wanted to leave home for Christmas the following year. He made the plea to the whole family that we all go to his house for the next Christmas. We did, but not the way he wanted. There is unpacking the snowball candle that was a gift from my friend Sharon. When Dad died, we lit that candle every evening while we prayed the rosary for him. He was even in on moving the Wise Men around the living room. That last morning, he was singing "We Three Kings." I flew into a panic because I had forgotten to aid them on their journey. I remember trying to shush Dad, but I didn't know that he had already moved them for me. I remember him getting out his uke and playing every morning. Before, I used to sit with him and learn while he played, but that year, with the busy Christmas season, I missed my opportunity for a good jam session with him. It is funny, I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday but I have absolute clarity of the weeks before Dad died. I know that it would make my father incredibly sad to know that Christmas is forever altered for my family and me. He loved this time of year.
Right now I have just finished reading what I wrote. The part of me that likes each of my essays to have a clear direction and theme can't stand what I've written. It is disjointed -- light in the beginning and sad towards the end. Heck, what do you call this part? But I think this is what Christmas has become for me. I'm still disjointed. I find the joy of the season through my kids -- getting glimpses of their magical anticipation of the day. And then I feel the mourning that Christmas has come to represent for me. I spend the whole season in this emotional ping pong game -- with the abundant busyness of the season to distract me.
And so I'm off to shop today -- get Princess the Magic Bullet blender she saw on TV and just must have. I need to plan the next couple of days -- packing our schedule with horses, pictures and even a birthday party. At least this is better than the assignment from Jan. 1.
Taxes.
Now, I feel like Christmas is a major term paper or school project that I just haven't finished. It is all in stages. There's the requirement of bringing the kids to the Christmas in the Country horse rides. Extra credit for bringing apples or carrots for the horses. If you miss the deadline, there is no make-up because there is only one day for that. Then there is the Santa Pictures that is a required component of the assignment. There are only 2 weekends that allow you to get that done. For extra credit you can order pictures and send to the family. I've missed the extra credit for the past couple of years. Then there is the optional project of sending out Christmas cards for which you must write a newsletter. The newsletter can be done in November but the actual mailing tends to fall by the wayside. I've got cards addressed and stamped from 2 years ago. I have to add stamps to them to send them because the postage has gone up twice since I didn't send those cards out. Of course there is the compounded guilt when I get Christmas cards from family and friends. There have been less of those because I've missed sending out cards for the past 2 years. The advent wreath assignment is particularly tricky because I've been foiled in the past by the general unpopularity of pink and purple taper candles. Either everybody else has cleared them out or I'm not looking in the right place. There is also the looming deadline of getting presents and shopping done. Because all family live far from us, we've got to consider shipping times. There are no easy wish lists for our relatives and I hate the guileless present of money (although it is my fall back position) so there is much agonizing over what to get. Plus there is the added bonus of my husband's birthday coming on the 9th of December. This means that I've got to plan some kind of birthday celebration in the middle of all this holiday stuff. There is also the assignment of putting up the trees and decorating. This part of the project must be done the day after Thanksgiving and no sooner. There is the daily task of making sure that the Wise Men are making their way to the Baby Jesus. This goes on for ages because they don't make it to Him until Epiphany. Thankfully we're not terribly popular people so there aren't a plethora of Christmas parties to go to. That would mean I'd have to shop for a Christmas outfit on top of everything else. Who knew this Christmas magic assignment was so hard?
I think I may get a failing grade.
Then there is the part of Christmas that hurts my heart every year. Unpacking the Christmas books and seeing the one that Dad read to Riker right before he went to take his shower. There is the unexpected listening to "O Little Town of Bethlehem" on the radio -- the song Dad was singing when he was walking behind me as we went to receive the Eucharist. There is the memory of my teasing him that there was no way I wanted to leave home for Christmas the following year. He made the plea to the whole family that we all go to his house for the next Christmas. We did, but not the way he wanted. There is unpacking the snowball candle that was a gift from my friend Sharon. When Dad died, we lit that candle every evening while we prayed the rosary for him. He was even in on moving the Wise Men around the living room. That last morning, he was singing "We Three Kings." I flew into a panic because I had forgotten to aid them on their journey. I remember trying to shush Dad, but I didn't know that he had already moved them for me. I remember him getting out his uke and playing every morning. Before, I used to sit with him and learn while he played, but that year, with the busy Christmas season, I missed my opportunity for a good jam session with him. It is funny, I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday but I have absolute clarity of the weeks before Dad died. I know that it would make my father incredibly sad to know that Christmas is forever altered for my family and me. He loved this time of year.
Right now I have just finished reading what I wrote. The part of me that likes each of my essays to have a clear direction and theme can't stand what I've written. It is disjointed -- light in the beginning and sad towards the end. Heck, what do you call this part? But I think this is what Christmas has become for me. I'm still disjointed. I find the joy of the season through my kids -- getting glimpses of their magical anticipation of the day. And then I feel the mourning that Christmas has come to represent for me. I spend the whole season in this emotional ping pong game -- with the abundant busyness of the season to distract me.
And so I'm off to shop today -- get Princess the Magic Bullet blender she saw on TV and just must have. I need to plan the next couple of days -- packing our schedule with horses, pictures and even a birthday party. At least this is better than the assignment from Jan. 1.
Taxes.
Monday, December 1, 2008
The new world order
I apologize that I have not been able to post for awhile. See, my husband has installed a filtering program for our internet access (don't ask). It has disabled my ability to access the posting tab of Blogspot. So I'm checking to see if this will work. I'm going to be emailing posts directly to my website and then they will hopefully be posted immediately. Sad part is that there will be no editing after I hit that send key. That is okay though. I'm used to that kind of hair trigger email send button.
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