IT WAS a three-day visit to the Philippines I wish I never had to take.
I had to come back to my homeland for a reason most Filipinos living abroad dread and fear the most — the death of a loved one.
My younger brother David died unexpectedly on September 28, 2013 at the young age of 44, due to sudden cardiac arrest triggered by complications of muscular dystrophy — a disease that caused the progressive weakening and degeneration of his skeletal muscles over time, which began in his early teens.
His doctors said there there was no cure for muscular dystrophy — that medication and therapy could only slow down the course of the disease.
We were also told that his life expectancy might be shorter, depending on the rate and degree of muscle weakening and how it would affect his lungs and heart.
While we knew the inevitability in our minds, no one among my family thought it would be this soon. Our hearts were not ready and we probably would never be ready for the pain of losing him.
Had I known he would be gone this soon, I would have visited the Philippines sooner. I would have called him every single day, I would have moved heaven and earth to bring him here to the United States and toured him in places he only had dreamt of seeing like Disneyland, Universal Studios, New York City and San Francisco!
But all these wishful thinking are now inutile because my brother is gone. No matter how much I cry or wish that he’s still alive, it now sinks in that I will never ever see him again. It is just so painfully devastating.
During David’s wake, my brother Joel played a montage of David’s pictures through the years, since he was a cute little baby. Other family members also shared their memories of David during the eulogy.
These broke my heart into pieces. Not only did they make me yearn for my baby brother more, I also came to ask myself: where was I in the last decade of his life?
Where was I when they were sharing so much fun and happiness with David in their out-of-town trips, birthdays and Christmases?
Where was I in during their simple (even mundane) everyday and weekly routine of sharing family meals, watching teleseryes, strolling in the park, playing scrabble or bowling, shopping and eating out in the mall?
Where was I when my brother needed someone to talk to during his moments of sadness and despair, when he was licking his wounds and nursing a broken heart?
Where was I when he was having a bad day, to see and notice it despite his silence? I could have at least held him and hugged him and done something to cheer him up.
Where was I? Where was his “ate” during the last years of his life?
Had my presence in his life been reduced to occasional phone calls, Facebook comments and a few reunions, when we go to the Philippines for vacation?
Had my being his sister been limited to being Santa Claus to him during birthdays and at Christmas?
Where was I when he needed his ate the most during the lowest point of his life?
I was thousands of miles away, living in the United States with my husband and four children. I have been away from my family in the Philippines since 2001.
I know we should not regret nor apologize for the choices we made for the good of our family here in America.
However, it is moments like these that make us confront the painful truth: that uprooting ourselves from the Philippines means choosing to let go of the opportunity to nurture our relationship with the family we left behind. It can’t be helped, no matter how much we want things to remain the same.
We, who live away from our loved ones back home, delude ourselves into thinking that we can live our everyday life in America or elsewhere around the world, and still expect that the people we left behind will always be there — that the relationships we physically fly away from will still thrive and grow, despite the distance.
Unfortunately, this is not always the case. Sadly, these ties with the most important people in our lives become collateral damage to the choices we make, even though we know that we are doing them for the right reasons.
Having said these, I urge kababayans living abroad to make each day count and to shower your family back home with all the love that you can give — not just through money, nor the balikbayan boxes you send.
Despite the rat race of our lives, let us find time to talk to each and everyone of them, whether through Skype/Facetime/video chat. Or we can also send them personal messages through handwritten letters, or private messages through email or Facebook.
Conversely, if you have loved ones working in another country so you can live a more comfortable life in the Philippines, use all tools available to you right now to ask how they are doing, what concerns they have, and what they look forward to. Or you can do it simply to lift their spirits and inspire them.
Your kababayans living abroad need your love and companionship, as much as you need them. Let them feel they are not alone. Let them know that they are important to you, not only because of the material things you receive from them.
They are often lonely or in despair. Your phone calls, letters and love are what they hold on to, to keep them going.
Loving from a distance should all the more compel us to live for the urgency of NOW. Who knows, this moment may be our last chance to show how much our family back home (or away from home) means to us, and just how much we really love them.
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Gel Santos Relos is the anchor of TFC’s “Balitang America.” Views and opinions expressed by the author in this column are are solely those of the author and not of Asian Journal and ABS-CBN-TFC. For comments, go to www.TheFil-AmPerspective.com, https://www.facebook.com/Gel.Santos.Relos
