My Uncle Manong

I can’t remember anymore the first time I met him. But my memory of him consists of huge smile, loud voice, and big bills.

Mama called him, ‘Manong’ so I would call him, Uncle Manong. At first, I really didn’t know what his real name was. I just took it for granted that his name was Manong. It wasn’t until high school that I realized his name was really Cresencio. But by then, I got used to him as Uncle Manong. Besides, Cresencio was a mouthful.

When he’s in the house, nobody could fail to notice him. He was usually loud—talked out loud, laughed out loud, even his whispers were like stage whispers. Even in sleep—his snores are loud. But there was never a dull moment when he was around.

We would be excited and always looked forward to his visits. And why not, he would never leave without giving us an orange (P20) or pink (P50) bill in our hands. Our parents never gave us any amount more than one peso coin. To us, he was like Santa Claus.

When I was growing up, he struck me as a very active healthy individual. I never saw him grimace in pain or heard him complain sick.

When I became a teacher, I would bump into him in some conferences and athletic meets—at age 60 at that. Beyond that age, he would be present during special occasions of any clan gathering that he would be informed about—funerals, weddings and reunions. Even when he started being forgetful, he was still his old active self.

Oh, he was very energetic that kept us younger generation wondering if we would ever be as active as he when we reach that age, or if we would ever reach that age.

Then, in the middle of this year, he came stayed with us while seeing a doctor about a lump in his nose that interfered with his breathing. He even demonstrated, “O, lain na ako tingog tungod aning naa’y gabara sa ako ilong.” Indeed, his voice was different.

A series of tests confirmed he had an advanced stage of cancer that had possibly spread to some parts of his body. He had one session of chemo and we thought he was actually going to get better. But then, one night he had a fever and we took him to the hospital where he stayed for a month.

After a month or so of being poked by needles and tubes my Uncle finally cried enough! He complained he was tired, and insisted he go home to Mangagoy. His children and his wife couldn’t do otherwise but obey his wishes.

He was then taken home and cared for by his children. After a month, his children bade him good bye.

It was both a sad and joyful moment. Joyful because he would no longer be suffering. And sad, because we are surely going to miss this loud jolly energetic Santa Claus. Why do you think it took me over a month after his passing to write about him?