For the first time in my life, someone close to me has died–my lolo, Dr. Federico Azarcon Eugenio (Jan 23, 1923-Jan 21, 2009). He was almost 85 years old.
Because I was the eldest grandchild, I was somehow close to my lolo. He was close to me and my sisters because of the closeness between him and his daughter, our mom.
Life did not seem to be easy for him. From stories from my mom and her siblings, our lola left them high and dry–vurtually abandoning them and taking almost all their money and other assets. He raised 7 children all by himself–making ends meet by teaching dentistry at the National University.
He worked hard, had pretty strict work ethics and ran his life, his household, and his kids with discipline and an iron hand. They lived on very little–yet he managed to send his kids to school and provided for them the best way he could.
It was he who taught my mom, me and my sisters to keep striving. There’s a lot we learned from him–most important is to remain strong, tough and unwavering.
He stood proud and worked hard despite a limp. He had his right leg busted courtesy of two big bullet wounds he got during World War II.
My lolo was not only a dentist and a former Dean of the College of Dentistry at the National University, he was also a soldier–he enlisted (and was an officer, I think) of the United States Army Forces in the Far East (USAFFE).
He was in Bataan when it fell, he went through hell as a prisoner of the Japanese–enduring the Death March–defying death when many of his comrades succumed to Grim Reaper’s scythe.
In the 1990s, when the US government entitled USAFFE veterans to American citizenship and benefits, my lolo, like many others like him, chose to face living alone in unfamiliar places, for a chance to bring their families in the land of opportunity, and so as not to be burdens as they became old, and sickly.
And for over a decade, he lived by himself and fended for himself. He asked for very little help–save for the year he fell and was confined to a wheelchair for the rest for his life.
He barely complained–even when some of his children almost forgot him and even when he was seen as a burden by those who were supposed to care for him. Even when his arthritis pained him, he took the time to write letters and cards to us back in the Philippines. And he took the time to call us often–at his expense–just to check on how we were doing.
We tried to get him to stay in the Philippines a few years back–because the thought of him living alone was hard for us. But he said he would be a burden to us–for the US government would not give him his pension, or even pay for his medical expenses if he were in the Philippines.
So he stayed in the US because it was the most practical decision to make.
Lolo in the ICU
Even when he was fighting for his life, it was still the welfare of his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren he was concerned about. He made sure that all of them were okay, if not en route to a future that held promise and opportunity.
And then, he took his final breath. He died very peacefully–when he was sure everyone he loved would be okay.
It’s true what they say–you only know how much a person means to you, and how much you really love that person when they’re gone.
The grief is intense–like darkness clawing through my chest–it’s a blank emptiness–but my lolo taught me to be tough and to cope.
There are so many things that could have been done–the veterans bill could have been passed, moves could have been made to allow him to stay in the Philippines with benefits and all, we should have not allowed him to live alone, or the petitions could have been expedited so that his family could have been with him much, much sooner–but there’s no use playing the blaming game, or chanting a litany of “if onlys.”
And now, we can’t even have a proper wake and do prayers and stuff for him–because we can’t go to the US for various valid reasons like work, money and children and not one of the family members can bring his mortal remains back here because of the same reasons.
Even in death, practicality prevails. He will be cremated and his ashes sent by mail to the Philippines.
I am still trying to grapple with how we could do this to someone we love.
I take comfort now in text messages sent by my friend RG–that lolo is doing much better now, and that for sure, he watching over us.
I know that he’s probably flying, zooming from child to child, checking in on all of us.
