Chapter XXXIV: Ballasiw ni Tanem (Bridge to Grave)
Dawn cracks open on April 9, 2015, the kind of dawn that feels heavier than usual. The air is cool, almost chilly, but the silence of Caluipat is suddenly ripped apart at exactly five in the morning.
A loud, sharp clash of cymbals bursts outside, followed by the slow, deep beat of a drum.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The funeral band has arrived, and they are practicing right there in front of the house. Their chosen song? "Naayat."
The sudden blast jolts Mark awake. He springs upright on the steel bed, his little heart pounding so hard it almost feels like the drumbeat has entered his chest. He lets out a terrified squeal, his tiny hands clutching the blanket like it's a lifeline.
"Ay! Holy Mary Mother of God!" Mark cries, trembling, eyes wide as saucers.
Raffy, the family's beloved shih tzu, is no braver. The dog leaps from the floor, ears twitching, tail stiff, barking frantically at the door as if the band itself is an intruder. Raffy yaps, growls, then hides under the table, shaking just like Mark.
Meric rushes to them immediately, her maternal instinct stronger than her own grief at this moment. She sits beside her son, placing her hand gently on his back.
"Mark, it's alright," she whispers soothingly, though her voice cracks from exhaustion. "It's only the band, Balong. They are practicing. Don't be scared."
Mark shakes his head, still quivering. "But Mommy, it's too loud... it's too loud..."
She strokes his hair, hugging him tightly. "I know, baby. I know. But this is for Mamang. The band is here to guide her... to heaven. We will be delivering Mamang to her final destination."
The words alone send a new wave of sorrow into Meric's chest. Her eyes sting, but she forces herself to stay calm for her son. Raffy whines, and she chuckles faintly despite herself, reaching down to pat the dog. "Even Raffy can't handle the music," she says, half-joking, half-weary.
Raffy barks once in protest, as though saying, Don't drag me into this!
Behind them, Elric emerges from the other room, his face stern, already tired despite the day just beginning. He keeps an eagle's eye on Aldric and Adrion, who look groggy but are forbidden to return to sleep.
"You two, no more lying down!" Elric commands. "This is the day your Mamang Mercy. If you sleep, you won't last the procession."
However, it's not logical since there is a 4.5km walk from Caluipat to Hermosa Cathedral, and sleep can recharge the human body. In doing so, what Elric's advice, is just the opposite of recharging. The boys, look horrible.
Adrion scratches his head, grumbling. "But Kuya, the walk is too long! We'll collapse before we even reach Calle Crisostomo!"
Aldric groans in agreement, "We're like zombies already. Like we're just created from Dr. Zombot. "
Elric glares, his voice firm. "Zombies or not, you walk today. No excuses."
Meric sighs, watching the small squabble unfold. She wants to laugh, but sorrow keeps her grounded. The morning is already heavy, yet strangely chaotic—exactly how her family tends to function during difficult times.
The smell of coffee drifts through the air, blending with the faint fragrance of fried rice and eggs. In the kitchen, Elric's wife prepares what little breakfast they can muster for everyone.
At the table, the adults sip strong, dark coffee, letting the bitterness awaken their tired bodies. The younger ones—Mark, Aldric, and Adrion—sip on hot chocolate instead, their little cups steaming. Mark dunks a biscuit into his mug, trying to act braver now that Raffy is sitting beside him like a furry guardian.
"Don't spill that," Meric warns gently.
Mark nods but nearly drops the biscuit anyway. Aldric snickers. "Told you, he's still shaking from the band!"
"Shut up," Adrion mutters, puffing his cheeks.
The banter, though light, momentarily eases the gloom in the room. But when the clock ticks closer to seven, the mood sobers once more.
One by one, they prepare for the day. Baths are quick, water splashing, the sound of slippers on the bathroom floor echoing. White clothes are laid out—immaculate, simple, respectful.
Everyone wears white except Rico.
As the widower, Rico stands apart, choosing instead a black shirt. His reason is quiet, personal, but his stance is firm. He doesn't want to wear white. His black attire becomes a visible contrast against the sea of white around him, a silent statement of his grief.
Before eight in the morning, the front yard of the house is already crowded. Parents of Meric's batchmates arrive, offering their presence as a final gesture of respect. The Ina Poonbato devotees gather as well, prayer books clutched in their hands, their eyes red from nights of vigil.
Mercy's brothers—Al, Rogie, and Junior—stand near the gate. They talk quietly among themselves, still in disbelief that their sister is about to be laid to rest. Only Lucio is absent from the wake, still abroad, and his absence weighs heavily on everyone.
At last, the pallbearers step forward. With solemn care, they lift Mercy's coffin, carrying it outside. The polished white wood gleams under the morning sun. The coffin is then placed inside the Golden Carruaje, a horse-drawn funeral carriage with glass walls, a mix of tradition and elegance.
People gasp softly at the sight—an old-world image reborn in the modern day.
The funeral band lines up at the very front, instruments ready. Behind them follows the Carruaje. After that comes Rico, his face grim, his steps heavy. Then Meric, Jonn, Elric, Mark, Adrion, Aldric, and Elric's wife. Behind them, the rest of the family, friends, neighbors, and devotees fall in line.
The air is thick with sorrow as the procession begins.
At the signal, the band starts to play Laglagipem Kadi. The haunting tune fills the streets of Caluipat, solemn and piercing, every note echoing like a farewell.
Meric feels tears welling up as she walks. Mark clings tightly to her hand, his small legs struggling to keep up with the slow rhythm of the procession.
Neighbors step out of their houses, bowing their heads, some joining in. The street becomes a river of people, grief flowing like water.
Back at the house, Raffy is left under the care of Dalen—Ben's mother—who has been helping tirelessly with household chores. Raffy whines by the gate, as though begging to join.
"Stay here, Raffy," Dalen tells him. "Guard the house. You'll see them again later."
The dog sits, tail drooping, watching the procession disappear down the road.
The procession moves slowly, weaving its way through Brgy. Damag, then turning left at Rivero Street, heading toward Calle Crisostomo. The band continues to play: Naayat, Di Kanton Malipatan, Pananagutan, Ballasiw ni Tanem.
Each song pierces the hearts of those listening. Strangers stop in their tracks, shocked to see who the funeral is for. "Ay Alla! Awan met a-biag ngayam ni Mercy'n? (Oh My! Mercy is already dead?)" they whisper to one another. Faces fill with disbelief.
Meric keeps her gaze down, her heart aching with every word she overhears.
Crossing into Calle Crisostomo, the old cobblestones and ancestral houses greet them. Mercy's former neighbors come out, their eyes misty. Some clasp their hands together, others cry openly.
"She was always kind," one elderly woman whispers. "Always giving, always smiling. Nagsapa lakedti nga natay sunan, (She died too early,) Why so soon?"
The procession continues past the Anacleto Mansion and Plaza Jose. When they reach the Belfry, the great bell tolls, its solemn clang ringing out across Hermosa.
Meric nearly breaks down at the sound, clutching Mark's hand tighter.
At last, they arrive at the Hermosa Cathedral. The pallbearers carefully carry Mercy's coffin inside, setting it before the altar just beyond the communion rails.
The family takes the first pew—Rico, Meric, Jonn, Elric, Mark, Adrion, Aldric, and Elric's wife. The cathedral is overflowing. Even though another funeral mass is scheduled alongside theirs, the crowd for Mercy is far larger, filling every corner.
The lectors assisting the Mass are the Ina Poonbato devotees, their voices steady despite the grief etched on their faces.
Fr. Sipin presides. His homily cuts deep into every heart present. He speaks about the love of a mother—the kind that sacrifices, nurtures, and protects until the very end.
"Kakabsat ko ken Kristo, (My brothers and sisters in Christ,) today I want us to reflect on a profound and sacred gift from God: the gift of motherhood. We see reflections of God's love in so many aspects of our lives, but perhaps nowhere is it more visible than in the selfless love and sacrifices of a mother.
Book of Proverbs, chapter 31, verses 25-31. This passage, my friends, is a testament to the enduring strength and unwavering dedication of a mother. A mother's life is often one of sacrifice. From the moment she learns of the new life within her, she begins to put the needs of another before her own. She endures physical discomfort, sleepless nights, and countless worries, all for the well-being of her child.
Think of Mary, the Mother of our Lord. She embraced God's will, even when it meant facing uncertainty and hardship. She nurtured Jesus, taught him, and watched him grow, knowing the immense sacrifice that awaited him. Her love was unwavering, even as she stood at the foot of the cross.
And so it is with mothers today. They are the bedrock of our families, the nurturers of our souls, and the teachers of our faith. They guide us, protect us, and love us unconditionally. They teach us right from wrong, encourage us to pursue our dreams, and are always there to offer a comforting embrace when we stumble.
Let us, therefore, take this opportunity to express our gratitude to our mothers, both living and deceased. Let us honor them not only with words but with actions, showing them the same love and respect they have so freely given us. And let us pray that God will continue to bless them with strength, wisdom, and unwavering faith. For our faithful departed, both of them are mothers whose love for their children is as great as ever."
Meric listens, tears falling silently. She remembers Mercy's words, her laughter, her scolding, her warmth. Beside her, Mark fidgets, sensing the heaviness but too young to fully understand.
When the time for offering flowers comes, the family approaches one by one. Meric's hands shake as she lays white roses upon her mother's coffin. Rico follows, silent and stoic. One by one, friends and relatives join, until the coffin is buried under a sea of blossoms.
The Mass ends with the devotees singing Laglagipem Kadi. The haunting chorus echoes inside the cathedral, sending shivers down everyone's spine.
The coffin is lifted once more onto the Carruaje. The procession resumes, this time towards the cemetery. Rico, in accordance with custom, heads home, leaving the rest of the family to continue.
They pass by Hermosa City Hall, where Mayora, the Vice Mayor, and Mercy's colleagues watch the procession at the veranda, standing respectfully. They bow their heads as the carriage passes, a final tribute to their friend.
The route continues down Quezon Avenue, passing by different establishments of the city, going straight to Santo Cristo Chapel. Then, they turn right, leading to Rizal Boulevard. The path grows steeper as they head towards Pampantok, the Hermosa Chinese Cemetery.
The hilly climb is grueling. The pallbearers sweat, straining under the coffin's weight. Still, they persevere.
Finally, they reach the resting place. Beside the grave of Mary Jane and Zedric, a slot has already been prepared for Mercy.
As the coffin is lowered, Junior steps forward, holding Mercy's rosary—the one she held during her wake. In a symbolic act, he breaks the cross off the rosary, just as his tradition demands.
But Meric is clever. Unknown to most, she had hidden the real rosary in a wallet, placing it among the items inside the coffin earlier. Her mother will rest with her true rosary intact.
"Silaw a narayray,
Ginudas ni patay,
Sasainnek man di agsarday,"
The family says their last goodbyes, hands trembling, voices breaking.
"Nadungngo nga ina,
Agpakada kan ita,
Dios ti kumuyog kenka."
Tears fall freely, soaking the earth beneath their feet.
When the family finally returns to Caluipat, drained from grief and exhaustion, they are greeted by something strange.
All of Mercy's plants—every flower, every pot, every vine—has bloomed beautifully, vibrant in colors as if celebrating her spirit. The garden is alive, radiant, defying the sorrow of the day.
Yet, the house itself is dark. Every single light has gone out.
Meric stands frozen at the doorway, staring at the contrast—life blooming outside, darkness consuming inside.
It is as though Mercy's presence has left the house completely, leaving behind only memories, flowers, and love.
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