Another open letter to Daboy

Dear Daboy,

I know why you seem to be smiling inside that little box, so serene as if in sweet slumber. I’m sure you “see” the tens of thousands of fans and admirers, many of them from far-flung provinces, waiting in a kilometric line outside of the Heritage Chapel just for a glimpse of you. The queue will grow longer and longer until Thursday, June 12, when you will be laid to rest, also at the Heritage Park, after a 3 p.m. Mass.

No, your remains won’t be cremated. You left word that your body should be preserved, so that your friends and your fans could see you intact even for the last time. Wish granted.

The send-off will for sure be as star-studded as the “get-together” at Heritage which feels more like a party than a wake.

“It’s so inspiring and heart-warming,” said your wife Lorna Tolentino of the grieving fans. Such outpouring of love and affection for a fallen local idol has never been since December of 2004 when FPJ left all too suddenly, given no chance to bid farewell (not even to his wife Susan Roces), unlike you who had all of two years to prepare everything, to plan things to the last detail including what to wear (coat and tie) on your final journey, where to hold your “despedida,” and to bring closure to lingering issues.

“We are so moved,” said your sons Ralphe, Renz and Mark Anthony. “Now we know how much they love Papa.”

But the viewing time will end tomorrow at 3 p.m., after which the chapel will be closed to the public so that you and your loved ones will spend your last night together.

Sunday night, Fanny Serrano had to retouch your makeup because the heat of the lights was turning your complexion darker.

“Ayaw ni Daboy ng ganyan,” said your bosom buddy, Sen. Bong Revilla in half-jest, recalling how “vain” you are, taking as many as three baths every day, compared to the “two and a half times” he did. You look dapper in your dark suit, with blue-and-white-striped tie, as impeccably dressed as you were in life.

Lorna said that you spent your 25th (silver) wedding anniversary last June 1 quietly, the day you asked to be brought home from the Cardinal Santos Medical Center, just the two of you, and that was for your first (civil) wedding officiated by your mayor-friend in a Nueva Ecija town. A few years later, on June 10, you and LT had another civil wedding, this time before then Quezon City Mayor Adelina Rodriguez, and a fairy-tale church wedding on June 23, 1992 in Villa Escudero, Quezon.

“We usually had our private times together in the comfort room,” said LT who acted as your nurse, herself attending to your very personal needs. “That’s when we had the time all to ourselves while we were in the hospital. Did we have to say ‘sorry’ to each other? We did, in a way. I have said ‘sorry’ to him a few times and he did several times. When I asked him what for? He said, ‘For taking care of me, for all the sacrifices you are doing for me.’ I assured him that he didn’t have to apologize for anything.”

In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, ‘till death do us part. You and Lorna more than lived up to your vows.

Although LT has already, albeit reluctantly, entrusted you to the embrace of the Great Comforter, I could sense that she hasn’t totally let go, that she’s holding back...not only tears but your presence, your being there...because she said that she doesn’t feel like going home to White Plains where you left Saturday morning, June 6, maybe because if she does so, especially after your burial, the reality of your being gone forever will finally sink in, along with the beautiful memories, and then she will — finally, finally, finally! — break down, giving way to the grief she has been storing up these past two years, starting in 2006 when you were first diagnosed to have peri-ampullary cancer.

Your Ate Merle remembers you as a shy boy, named after the great Rudolph Valentino over whom your mom infanticipated when she was heavy with you, that’s why you were nicknamed Ofo-Ino. Merle said she never thought you would be an actor because you were such a cry baby, breaking down in tears if somebody as much as looked at you a minute longer.

“Papa is really a comedian,” said Mark Anthony, speaking of you in present tense.

“He has a great sense of humor,” said Phillip Salvador, another bosom buddy of yours.

You were in pain but you never showed it, covering it up by, that’s it, cracking jokes.

When Jinggoy begged of you to please don’t leave, “Malulungkot kami kapag nawala ka,” you assured him not to worry.

“Dadalawin kita,” you said, remember?

Being afraid of ghosts, Jinggoy said, also in jest, “Only during daytime, not at night.”

You didn’t need to make that promise, Daboy.

Yes, you will forever be with us; your presence will forever be felt. Not just by Jinggoy, your family and your friends but by the millions of your fans who are there outside the Heritage Chapel to bid you goodbye and those who can’t make it there, offering prayers for you.

In one of your movies, you said, “Trabaho lang, walang personalan.”

Correction, Daboy: Everybody is taking your leave-taking personally.

Au revoir,

— RICKY

(Note: The Ricky Lo Exclusives will devote its whole episode tonight, starting at 8:30 on Q-11, to Rudy Fernandez, “Daboy Everybody Loved.” Please watch it.)

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