Let me borrow this leaving-the-building phrase from the fans of the late king of rock and roll. It was announced at the end of his concerts, and when the fans heard it, I'm sure they felt sad. Show is over. Go home now. But many of them lingered, hoping for an encore. Sometimes there was, at other times there wasn't. In both instances, the fans had hope.
My brother Benjie has gone. For good. We are devastated. We can linger, but there is no possibility for an encore ever. And unlike the king's multitude of fans, Benjie has only us, a mere handful. We miss him so, like fans miss the king. And some of the king's fans say he's not really dead, but in hiding, or in some sort of hiatus. The hiding and hiatus have been for quite some time now, I'm sure the king is entitled to be dead by this time. We can assuage our grief by saying the same thing, that my brother is in some hiatus somewhere, ready for a comeback at any moment, but we know otherwise, of course. He's never coming back.
I did not and do not miss the king. Mom did as she was a big fan. I'm not. But Mom took me to many of the king's movies, and I particularly enjoyed the one he made while doing his mandatory tour of duty in Europe in the late 50's or early 60's, "G.I. Blues." And, oh yes, how can I forget "Clambake"? I can say now with certainty that early on I exhibited a penchant for sun, sea, and sand. I never managed to live the dream, though, and today the nearest-to-my-domicile, passable mercury and dioxin levels-beach is some four hours or more drive away. Life.
I'll miss this guy Benjie for sure, our king of comic relief. He always had a funny thing or two to say. We grew up together, played, fought, and roughhoused. We enjoyed the same cartoons, and Godzilla movies; ate the same candies, and sometimes got a good spanking together for our misdeeds. We shared things with each other, but at times selfishness took hold and we kept things from one another. We were kids, and kids play out the entire gamut of adult behavior. But his selfishness was kid stuff, and he grew up to be a very generous person.
We had steel bunk beds. I occupied the top, and he, the bottom bed; the rationale being he was younger and so could fall from the top bed. I was acrophobic and I was assigned the top bunk. Just sweet. Our bunk beds doubled as indoor playground equipment: Sometimes it was our playhouse, and we hung a blanket on one side. The bottom bunk was the house, of course. At other times, it was a bus, and instead of a blanket, we had imaginary bus seats and passengers. We alternated playing bus driver and bus conductor, with the driver always focused on driving and the imaginary road, and who also did maintenance work on the bus, using a pen or pencil, some old toys, or whatever, as tools; while the conductor barked the destination and called out to passengers: Quiapo! Quiapo! Sakay na kayo! Children were more imaginative during our time, I think.
We've had some differences, I'm certain, but I honestly can't remember any of them right now. We most probably agreed that they were insignificant and of no consequence, and therefore should be completely forgotten. This happens when you genuinely love someone. You suffer from an amnesia of sorts with regard to the loved one's faults. I believe I had a greater number of faults, and so Benjie had a more serious case of amnesia.
A well-meaning person told me that my brother is now home with God. I was tempted to reply that Benjie should be at home with his wife and kids instead! I was only tempted. Life has a lot of unanswered questions. I actually tried wangling a deal to extend Benjie's life by praying each day that I be taken immediately, with my remaining years given to Benjie. I'm in pretty good shape and the additional years could see his kids through their adolescent years. But it doesn't work that way, I suppose. At least I tried. It wasn't something whimsical; I genuinely wanted it for my brother's sake. He would have done the same thing for me.
Thank you for being a funny and strong pillar of our family, Benjie. We would not have wished for another son or brother in your place. You were always the perfect fit. You lived a good and full life, not in terms of material wealth, but in the wealth of love and happiness. You don't have a horde of shrieking, clawing, hysterical fans like the king, you only have a handful of very grateful people. Our gratefulness is till the very end. Our sole regret is your rather brief life. You could have kept us happy and laughing and in stitches for many more years. I pray that your children learn about you, how you waited for them sweet, little angels to arrive, and how much you loved them till your very last breath. I'm quite sure they have you in their hearts, and that they'll also be joys to the people around them.
I think we'll linger awhile, but you go on ahead. Don't even linger outside the building. Go as far away from it as possible. Go to where you deserve to be, to the wide blue yonder of timeless and infinite happiness, love, and peace. Uncover the secrets I also long to uncover someday. We'll be fine, or at least we'll try our best to be. We'll just stay here awhile, probably to compare notes on how you touched each of our lives, like brag about who you helped the most, who you spent the most time with, who you gave the most money and the best gift to, who you loved and who loved you the most. It can go on and on, and the common denominator after all the discussion is that you touched each and every one of us. An encore is not needed, Benjie. You've given the best performance of your life, and we're thankful to be part of the audience.
No comments:
Post a Comment