At the start of our relationship, Yeyette and I already agreed who should handle all of our family’s finances: her. She would handle all of my salary (my ATM card, in particular). This means that she would take care of all of our family’s expenses: food, apartment rent, electricity, water, our kids tuition, etc. I really didn’t mind that she handle all of my money because I’m not a materialistic person. All I really wanted was to read and write. That’s all. And she would take care of our five kids and everything else.
Yeyette sometimes even took care of carpentry. I just hate manual labor. When the need arose, she was the one who communicated with our neighbors, not me. There is also a belief that all great chefs are men, but not in my case. Yeyette did all the cooking, and what an excellent cook she was! The only food that I can cook are fried stuff, particularly scrambled eggs. And I only do that once in a blue moon.
With such an enormous responsibility upon her shoulders, she virtually became the paterfamilias of the Alas household. I was just a provider. Admittedly, I was not an ideal husband. Neither was I father material. When I became a father at age 21, my world stopped. I stopped growing up. Up to now, and in spite of my knowledge, I still have the mind of a 21-year-old kid. There were times when Yeyette joked that she had six children — I was her eldest! 😂
She was my pillar and strength instead of the other way around. I heavily depended on her about so many things. Knowing that I’m an introvert at heart, she did most of the dealings with other people concerning things that needed to be ironed out: documentation of official papers, groceries, bank loans, checking-in at resorts, and even hanging out with my famous associates. I only learned how to socialize because of her.
Many years ago, I asked her what really was her dream. If I had dreamed of becoming a famous writer, what about her? She had talent: cooking (her pasta was to die for). And she could act. She had movie-star looks. In the mid-90s, she won a beauty contest in Eat Bulaga! (“She’s Got The Look”). She worked part-time as a ramp model to pay for her tuition. In our Introduction to Drama and Basic Acting subject, she was on top of our class, There was one time when the two of us acted onstage back in college. Saint Theresa’s Auditorium (now Adamson University Theater) was filled to the last seat. The whole venue was roaring with laughter because of her theatrics.
So what was her answer? Despite her potential to become either as a chef or as a celebrity, she had one simple dream: to be a wife and a mother. And she achieved her simple dream with me. As mentioned earlier, she took many responsibilities in our household, but she never complained. In fact, she loved what she was doing. She was living her dream.
But I became a burden to her. I was never able to reciprocate her love equally. My frustrations as a struggling writer intervened through the years, and she (and even our kids) had a very, very hard time putting up with my erratic behavior and other eccentricities. But she persevered. For her, family was everything. Despite our weaknesses as a couple, she moved heaven and earth just to keep our family intact.
And then the pandemic came. It was during that time when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
* * * * * * *
Immediately after the Extreme Unction, Yeyette’s oxygen rate plummeted, and heart rate became erratic. I really thought that she was going to die the moment Fr. Jojo Zerrudo stepped out of the room. But she refused to go.
About an hour after Fr. Zerrudo had left, nurses came inside the room to connect her to an oxygen machine to assist her breathing. The hospital staff tried to fulfill their promise to make her final moments as comfortable as possible. But the moment they placed the oxygen mask on her face, she suddenly woke up and struggled. She put up a semi-conscious fight against the nurses and our children who tried to appease her.
“Mommy, it’s for your own good,” said Krystal. “Please allow them to put this mask on you. It will help you breathe properly.” My sons and the nurses tried to restrain her, but it seemed that there was still enough strength in her to fight back.
Finally, after more than a minute of struggling, I told the nurses to stop. Let her be, I told them. If she is comfortable with just a nasal cannula, so be it.
After the nurses had left, another odd incident had happened. Yeyette again woke up and motioned for us to assist her to sit up on the bed. We did so, but very gently because her back was in great pain (it was that part of her body which she had been complaining the most all throughout her stay in Bacoor, Cavite, leading me to believe that her cancer had also metastasized to her bones). After lifting her back, she just sat on the bed with both knees erect (pointing to the ceiling). She then embraced her skinny shinbones with both her bony arms, then gently rested her sad face on her knees.
The look on her face was the saddest expression I had ever seen in our entire twenty-four year relationship.
She sat like that for a few seconds, with our children supporting her. Then I told her: “Mommy, you cannot stay like that for long. You have to lie down”. I was seconded by her mother. My boys then laid her back on the bed, ever so gently so that she wouldn’t feel any pain. She didn’t protest. Once we have put her back in place, her eyes had closed. It was for the last time.
Moments later, Mómay and I saw Yeyette’s left hand gently clench into a fist. I frowned, puzzled at this new development. Both me and my son opened her hand gently. Afterwards, I saw my wife’s face wince in agony — she was already unconscious, but she could still feel pain!
After a long wait —it was like waiting for the uncertain—, we all decided that I and my children had to go home. Krystal, our eldest, would stay with her grandparents to keep watch. Yeyette’s sister Kathleen and her children had already left right after the ritual, but we were still too many inside the small hospital room. There was not enough space where we could all sit or lie down. The only bench there could fit about five sitting people. We would just return when daylight comes. With Yeyette’s recent movements, there seemed to be a flicker of hope that she might survive perhaps another day.
When the Grab car that Krystal booked had arrived, we hurriedly left the room and sprinted for the elevator (we were at the fifth floor). But once inside the elevator, the blasted door wouldn’t close. And when it finally did, it suddenly reopened. This went on for about a minute, prompting us to use the stairs instead.
Once we were outside the hospital, the Grab car wasn’t there. It had already left!
We were forced to go back to Yeyette’s room, explaining to the others what had just happened. Krystal suggested that I send a complaint to Grab. But I was already too sleepy to do so. I then took out the large brown envelopes containing Yeyette’s hospital records and X-ray films and laid them on the floor where our nine-year-old daughter Junífera Clarita and I could lay down. Not an ideal place to sleep, but all I was after was just forty winks. The rest sat had to doze off while seated on the bench. We all agreed to take turns in guarding Yeyette. Mómay and Jefe kept watch over their mother.
Clarita fell asleep at past 3 AM, but I couldn’t. It was hard to sleep on the floor. Just as I was about to fall asleep, the nurses returned with the oxygen machine. They wanted to try once more. When they attempted to place the oxygen mask on Yeyette’s face, she no longer woke up. There was no more struggling. The nurses succeeded. I went back to my bed of envelopes.
But I was restless inspite of my sleepiness. I kept on checking on my wife. She was already still, her agonal respiration becoming slower and slower with the oxygen mask. The last time I looked at her before I went back to the floor beside Clarita, I sensed a semblance of peace on her still body.
I laid my body on the floor again. Jefe was also trying to get some sleep beside Clarita’s feet. Yeyette’s parents, Krystal, and Juanito were all seated at the bench, their backs to the wall, trying their best to doze off. Only Mómay kept watch over his mother.
Just as my mind was about to travel to dreamland, I heard Mómay speak in an alarming tone.
“Mommy doesn’t seem to be moving anymore.”
I immediately got up from where I was lying down. From where I stood, I saw my wife’s face, covered in oxygen mask. I looked hard at her for several seconds.
She was no longer breathing.
“Yeyette is gone,” I declared to everyone. Her mother cried as soon as I finished my words. Almost immediately, everybody surrounded her bed. Only Yeyette’s father remained seated on the bench, seemingly shocked to what had just happened.
Clarita woke up to the tears. I turned to her in a tearful voice. “Mommy is gone.”
My boys checked on the oxymeter attached to her right index finger; it was no longer functioning. The nurses were then summoned. They immediately checked on my wife’s pulse. As already agreed, there were no more attempts to revive her.
After checking on her pulse and neck, one of them declared: “Time of death: 4:10 AM”.
It was April 25th. A full moon was shining outside. Yeyette was fond of full moons.
* * * * * * *
One night during her wake in Abra de Ílog, Mindoro Occidental, or just a few days after her death, I was at the balcony of her ancestral house, lying down on a mattress with the full moon shining down on me. I was trying to process Yeyette’s final moments at the hospital. Her oxygen level already lowered right after the Extreme Unction, but she didn’t die as everybody was hesitantly expecting. The protest against the oxygen mask, the sitting down on her bed, the clenched fist and wince of pain… what did that all mean?
Finally, it dawned on me: she was fighting death!
My dear wife didn’t want to die. She fought until the end.
But she didn’t want to die not because she was afraid of death, as most humans are. She didn’t want to die because she didn’t want to leave us.
My daughter Krystal recalled that during her mom’s follow-up check-ups in South City, she always cried to the doctors. She was pleading to them to heal her because she still has a family to take care of.
She didn’t want to leave our five children to me, on my lonesome. Because she knew that I couldn’t take care of them on my own. She had to assist me in taking care of our children. And she had to personally take care of me because she knew that I cannot live on my own without her.
Yeyette’s battle against death was a battle for love. Her love for us was so intense, it would have shamed the sun. But God had other plans. For some reason, He had to take her away from us.
And what about the faulty elevator door and “the Grab that got away”? Did God will it too that we all stay with Yeyette ’til the very end? I am sure that was the case.
* * * * * * *
These past few days, I’ve been sending out audio messages to Yeyette’s closest friends, relating to them her final moments. Because I believe that they had the right to know. Being her closest friends, I also poured out to them my heart and soul. I wanted to share my grief with them. Upon admitting to them that I am not father material, one of them replied: “…God is just giving you the chance to prove to Jennifer (my wife Yeyette’s real name) that you are now responsible and father material to take care and support your children this time.”
* * * * * * *
A few hours after Yeyette passed away, Fr. Zerrudo sent me a reassuring message.
“Be at peace. She is in heaven. Ask her for a sign.”
Up to now, I haven’t asked her. I still do not have the spirit in me to do so.
A mi amada Yeyette, ruega por mi y por nuestros niños. Amén.
EL FILIPINISMO 