In times of grief, it is sometimes so hard to let the happier feelings through. Yes, we have to dance with the grief, let it wash over us and feel it. But right now I want to focus on the gratitude. I want to thank my Uncle for so many joyful memories.Uncle Johnny was the youngest of what my father affectionally called, “The Original 5.” He was the youngest of the 5 siblings, and the last of the four brothers to leave. When my father passed and my five year old son was at a loss as to how to make anything better, he looked at Uncle Johnny and thought the same thing all my cousins have thought over the years, Uncle Johnny and their Uncle Sandy looked alike. My son asked Uncle John so innocently, “Would you be my Apo since you look like him then we can all be happy again?”
In the original 5, there was a gap between my Aunty Dinay and my Uncle Nofre of 10 years. Then Uncle John came along 2 years after that. A young teen when her brothers were little, my Aunty Dinay was often babysitter for them, thinking of them more as her kids than her siblings. As a kid, like his brothers, my uncle was involved with sports. He played baseball, basketball, and football. Did you know that he was an All Star Running Back 1959-1960? Just in case you were one of the few people in Hawaii not to hear him say that he was an All Star Running Back 1959-1960. My mother recalls going to the Waipahu High School football games as a newly minted Bolosan with the rest of the extended family. When my uncle or one of his fellow players would miraculously make it into the endzone with the football, my grandmother would jump up cheering, “Homerun!!!”
My older cousins and my brothers talk about Uncle John as the cool young uncle, good at sports and and an outdoorsman by all accounts. But just because the nieces and nephews thought he was cool, didn't mean that Uncle John had any game.
My Aunty Snuffy met Uncle John because her best friend Lydia Cadang was cousins with those boys. Her sister Leatrice was a mother hen of sorts, always baking goodies and cooking. What teen aged boy doesn't need food? – my Uncles John & Onofre were always over at their cousin's house. At first, Aunty Snuffy wanted nothing to do with Uncle John. She only liked hapa boys – forget those pinoys. But somehow, the sweet demeanor and kind heart got through to her. Maybe it was his smile or his voice. Or maybe the way his palms sweat so nervously when he reached for her hand. It softened her heart, made her appreciate his kindness and give this Filipino boy a chance. She knew he was the one after 2 months. However, it was an additional 2 months of dates when predictably, Aunty wondered if that boy would ever kiss her. His palms sweating and his heart probably beating out of his chest, he parked the car, told her to look out the window. “It's the Little Dipper.” As they both leaned forward to gaze up at the stars, he leaned over and kissed her.
They were married just shy of 46 years. Seven years after they wed, they got the phone call for Shamayn and were told to go to the hospital to see if they wanted to adopt her. So big and encompassing was their love, they could not imagine anyone saying no to that cherubic face. The minute they laid eyes upon her, she was inextricably their daughter.
With Shamayn, my uncle tried to relive his glory days in sports. Despite his long work hours at Wahiawa General as the manager of the Diagnostic Imaging department, a career that encompassed 37 years, he'd come home and insist on Shamayn practicing sports with him for 2 to 3 hours after school from the time she was 7 or 8 years old. She recalls his unorthodox methods to get her over her fear of getting beaned in the face by a ball. He had her sit with her hands behind her back and then threw a ball at her face over and over again. His rationale was that if she just felt what it was like to get a ball to the face, she wouldn't fear it. This kind of reminds me of my father “teaching” me to swim by throwing me in the water and saying, “now, swim.” Hey, we both survived our Bolosan daddies and we're stronger for it, right? But he supported all of Sham's athletic pursuits – sacrificing to buy her sports equipment and showing up for her games dog tired, sometimes (embarrassingly) snoring in the bleachers. Maybe that's just how he cheered Sham's team on.
When I asked her what the biggest lesson her dad imparted to her was, she said it was perserverence. It takes a kind of bravery to persevere in the face of whatever crosses come our way. So teaching her to not fear getting beaned in the face by a ball – it was a way to teach perseverance. She came out the other side willing to deal with the scary things that life would throw her. Eyes wide open and with the faith that she'd make it.
When Sham was about seven years old, her parents decided to grow the family again. This time the process was aided by my mother Norma, and my Aunty Lydia Bolosan, who knew of a girl who wasn't ready to be a mom. My Aunty Snuffy got the call that her son had been born and had the joyous duty of telling my uncle the great news. Usually people give news of the birth of a child this way, “It's a girl or boy, so many pounds and ounces, and so many inches long.” Aunty called Uncle John at the hospital and got through the sentence, “It's a boy,” when she heard the phone drop and my uncle yelling down the hallways, “It's a boy! I have a son!!!”
By the time Jaron was going through school, Uncle's illnesses had started catching up with him. He wasn't able to put Jaron through the paces like he did Shamayn. The focus of Jaron's activity with his father was fishing. I'm reminded of the stories of my grandfather taking all the grandkids and his children to go fishing and crabbing at the Campbell Estates. There is a direct line from father to son, the passing on of wisdom from my grandfather, to my uncles and dad, to their sons. Fishing imparts patience, teaches you to be observant of nature, and in an almost primal way, teaches you to provide for your family as a man. In these recent years, Jaron did so much to take care of uncle, policing Uncle’s diet, ensuring he’d taken his meds and went to his doctor’s appointments. But still, when there were things that needed mending or when Jaron needed advice, he turned to his dad.
How blessed Uncle was that he got to be there to see both his daughter and son marry. That he got to meet their respective husband and wife. That he was given the gift of knowing his grandbabies. They were his life.
Kona, his eldest grandchild marvelled that even though his Papu was in a wheelchair, he could still beat him at HORSE. But that was okay because Kona could always beat him at “hangman” or best him at “I Spy,” taking advantage of his colorblind grandpa. Shaynie struggles with the loss of her Papu, grappling with the eternal question of “why?” Davyn says his best memory of his Papu is playing ball with him. I'm guessing he wasn't old enough to get beaned in the face yet. And Kalyssa rightly claims that she was her Papu's baby. Sometimes Papu would help the kids with their homework. And at those times, the homework needed to be redone. Always redone.
Queen Elizabeth once said that the price of love is grief. We all certainly are paying that price. But I want to amend that statement to say that the price of gratitude is suffering. And Uncle had more than his fair share. It would be hard to talk about Uncle John and not mention how he struggled with illness. How each challenge seemed to make his physical body less able to withstand the assaults of disease. It would have been so easy to give in to despair. But no, that’s not what I saw when he was ill. When all of us believed that he would succumb, he’d fight back and come out alive on the other end. We joked about his catlike 9 lives, shoots, 18 lives. But there was no luck there -- just sheer willfulness and stubbornness. I have to admit that even in this last struggle, I thought that there was a chance he had one more miracle in him. Against all hope, somehow he’d do it just one more time. And in a way he did. A couple of days before he died, he was awake and lucid. We got a glimpse of him before illness. In that window of lucidity, he asked Aunty Snuffy to sing with him – Dahil Sa Iyo. So perfect that this be their last duet. He loved her voice and was her biggest fan. So proud he was of his wife's talent. Despite his constant struggle with illness, his joy was intact, and I believe strongly that it is because of his faith in God and the love of his family.
In Uncle John's own words, “...the Lord never forsaked me and he carried me.
...In 1995 when I lost both my kidneys and I started dialysis, I spent four and a half hours on dialysis three times a week. I was in deep depression … and felt like I was going out of my mind.
(My friend) Paul told (me) to pray for him (because) he had cancer and (he) was smiling. I couldn't understand why he wasn't sad and worried. He said if you can't handle it, give it to the Lord.
So I prayed and gave it to the Lord and found peace and comfort...”
Sure, as illness decreased his physical abilities, he found other avenues of joy. How can we ever forget his conga playing or his beautiful voice. He really could make a joyful noise unto the Lord. Before the Bolosan brothers started leaving the stage, the five siblings would get together once a month for lunch. I remember laughing at the thought of the four brothers in a car together. Uncle John in the driver’s seat as he was the youngest, but he could barely see. My dad, with his hearing loss and resistance to wearing his hearing aids, would spend the time saying, “What? What?” Uncle Nofre, Uncle Morris and my dad would all tell Uncle John where to turn, to avoid the pedestrians, and to slow down because they were approaching an intersection. Nothing shakes your confidence in your driver more than him asking, “Hey, what color is the light?” See, that’s the thing I think about too -- imagine what it is like in heaven right now. I kind of think the four brothers are laughing it up. I think they’re singing over beer and poke. Harps have nothing on ukes and congas playing.
So yes, I will try hard to concentrate on the gratitude along with the grief. I thank you, Uncle John, for choosing my Aunty Snuffy -- how blessed I am to have her in my life. She’s given me unconditional love and so much laughter. She’s another sister for my mother. I thank you, Uncle John, for choosing my cousins Sham and Jaron. How did you know that they would make our family complete? You’ve given me life long friends in them. I thank you, Uncle John, for being my uncle, for being that tangible connection to my father, because when I looked at you, it was impossible not to see my father’s face in your features. Thank you for agreeing to be a replacement Apo when my little boy needed it.
I'd like to end with a prayer that Uncle John wrote for all of us.
“Lord, heavenly Father, I want to thank you for all your blessings and thank you for carrying me through my trials and suffering. Now please bless all of us here for we are getting older in age and we need your help to carry us through our trials and sickness, Through Jesus Christ, Amen.”
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