Farewell to a dentist
August 5, 2001 | 12:00am
No matter where you are, I could still hear you when you dream. Drown – Smashing Pumpkins
A couple of weeks ago, my Cebu-based Lolo Raul (or Oly) Ronquillo, brother-in-law of my own maternal lolo, stretched out on his bed for his customary afternoon nap after reading the paper. In a few minutes, he was asleep. Out came a loud snore... and then silence.
He never woke up. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital, having succumbed from a massive heart attack.
His immediate family was aware of Lolo Raul’s desire to be cremated within 24 hours of death, but decided against it because that meant eldest child Omy, who is based in California, wouldn’t be able to view the remains.
After Tito Omy arrived in Cebu, the cremation could ensue. The body was wheeled into the crematorium, then my Tito Robee snapped final pictures of our lolo in his barong. The procedure took all of three hours, plus an hour-and-a-half waiting for the ashes to cool.
At any rate, when the remains of Lolo Raul were planed back to Manila, they were already in a jade-colored urn. I had never been to a wake where there was neither body nor coffin, so it was a totally new experience for me when we went to the Santuario de San Jose mortuary in Greenhills.
The urn was perched on a piece of driftwood and decked with flowers. On its right was a portrait of my late lolo.
Musician friends of my uncle, including violinist John Lesaca, filled the small chapel with songs and beautiful music. It became a jam session of sorts which, along with the instant coffee, pretty much perked up everyone on the premises.
Curiously, we didn’t feel like we were disrespecting the dead by the loud banter and all the singing. In fact, we felt Lolo Raul was there savoring the din of the impromptu reunion of family and friends. We walked to the urn and my mom lifted the cover to show me the ashes. They were sealed in a clear plastic bag.
It was hard to imagine this bag of ashes had once been my lolo – my very first dentist who had deftly drilled, scraped and extracted whenever he saw fit. Lolo Raul was ever one to crack jokes during family reunions and on the dentist’s chair.
We had seen very little of him the past years because he had decided to move to Cebu with Lola Nady and their bunso, my Tita Ayo. But surprisingly, they came to visit for the annual Maceda reunion last Christmas in Navotas. Lolo Raul sported a short-cropped ’do which made him look a lot younger (despite the fact that all his strands were silver). He was as loquacious and spirited as ever, inviting us to come visit them in Cebu if ever we were in the vicinity.
This was a golden opportunity to take picture after picture of the whole family of the late Zosing and Miring Maceda. I couldn’t shake a foreboding that day, though. The mad picture-taking spree made me wonder whether we all knew something we didn’t want to admit – that this family picture was going to be the last complete one (not counting the relatives in other countries, of course).
But I guess none of that matters now – because were able to take full advantage of the last reunion Lolo Raul attended – exposing frame after frame after frame, and exchanging warm conversation.
On the eve of the final service, a concelebrated mass was held at the mortuary. The songs from the UP Concert Chorus were poignant and beautiful, and such an outpouring of attention for Dr. Raul Ronquillo would have made him blush with embarassment. Even the sky seemed to be condoling with us as the rain fell in buckets.
When the last guests bade farewell, the Ronquillos started fixing up the place. I thought there would be an all-night wake, but I had been mistaken. After all, there was no body to look after; no coffin to leave behind. Rather unceremoniously, Tito Omy lifted the urn and placed it in a box, later sealing it with duct tape.
Tito Robee, never one to let a comedic episode pass, said, "At least masasabi ko naempake ko tatay ko."
I didn’t consider it a moment of misplaced frivolity, or even disrespect. It was a realization that a wake is but a send-off for mortal remains – but not for the indestructable. Memories, after all, are always where we want them to be. They are in our heart’s jewelry box of moments – where all the living and dead loved ones thrive forever.
A couple of weeks ago, my Cebu-based Lolo Raul (or Oly) Ronquillo, brother-in-law of my own maternal lolo, stretched out on his bed for his customary afternoon nap after reading the paper. In a few minutes, he was asleep. Out came a loud snore... and then silence.
He never woke up. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital, having succumbed from a massive heart attack.
His immediate family was aware of Lolo Raul’s desire to be cremated within 24 hours of death, but decided against it because that meant eldest child Omy, who is based in California, wouldn’t be able to view the remains.
After Tito Omy arrived in Cebu, the cremation could ensue. The body was wheeled into the crematorium, then my Tito Robee snapped final pictures of our lolo in his barong. The procedure took all of three hours, plus an hour-and-a-half waiting for the ashes to cool.
At any rate, when the remains of Lolo Raul were planed back to Manila, they were already in a jade-colored urn. I had never been to a wake where there was neither body nor coffin, so it was a totally new experience for me when we went to the Santuario de San Jose mortuary in Greenhills.
The urn was perched on a piece of driftwood and decked with flowers. On its right was a portrait of my late lolo.
Musician friends of my uncle, including violinist John Lesaca, filled the small chapel with songs and beautiful music. It became a jam session of sorts which, along with the instant coffee, pretty much perked up everyone on the premises.
Curiously, we didn’t feel like we were disrespecting the dead by the loud banter and all the singing. In fact, we felt Lolo Raul was there savoring the din of the impromptu reunion of family and friends. We walked to the urn and my mom lifted the cover to show me the ashes. They were sealed in a clear plastic bag.
It was hard to imagine this bag of ashes had once been my lolo – my very first dentist who had deftly drilled, scraped and extracted whenever he saw fit. Lolo Raul was ever one to crack jokes during family reunions and on the dentist’s chair.
We had seen very little of him the past years because he had decided to move to Cebu with Lola Nady and their bunso, my Tita Ayo. But surprisingly, they came to visit for the annual Maceda reunion last Christmas in Navotas. Lolo Raul sported a short-cropped ’do which made him look a lot younger (despite the fact that all his strands were silver). He was as loquacious and spirited as ever, inviting us to come visit them in Cebu if ever we were in the vicinity.
This was a golden opportunity to take picture after picture of the whole family of the late Zosing and Miring Maceda. I couldn’t shake a foreboding that day, though. The mad picture-taking spree made me wonder whether we all knew something we didn’t want to admit – that this family picture was going to be the last complete one (not counting the relatives in other countries, of course).
But I guess none of that matters now – because were able to take full advantage of the last reunion Lolo Raul attended – exposing frame after frame after frame, and exchanging warm conversation.
On the eve of the final service, a concelebrated mass was held at the mortuary. The songs from the UP Concert Chorus were poignant and beautiful, and such an outpouring of attention for Dr. Raul Ronquillo would have made him blush with embarassment. Even the sky seemed to be condoling with us as the rain fell in buckets.
When the last guests bade farewell, the Ronquillos started fixing up the place. I thought there would be an all-night wake, but I had been mistaken. After all, there was no body to look after; no coffin to leave behind. Rather unceremoniously, Tito Omy lifted the urn and placed it in a box, later sealing it with duct tape.
Tito Robee, never one to let a comedic episode pass, said, "At least masasabi ko naempake ko tatay ko."
I didn’t consider it a moment of misplaced frivolity, or even disrespect. It was a realization that a wake is but a send-off for mortal remains – but not for the indestructable. Memories, after all, are always where we want them to be. They are in our heart’s jewelry box of moments – where all the living and dead loved ones thrive forever.
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