A letter to Rodge

You have been smiling a lot lately, Rodge. You even laugh. The cadence and mirth in your voice is felt and heard. Your punch lines, even if you lie in bed many times, still leave us in stitches. You’ve regained your funny self; you’ve snatched back your sense of humor. Even in moments of discomfort, you manage to snap back with a joke.

Your appetite increases every day that on some nights, you even ask for midnight snacks. Your zest for life is coming back, albeit slowly, gingerly. Your eyes, devoid of expression for a short while, are now welling with emotions.

It’s been almost three months since you began your battle with the Big C. The weight you lost is the faith you gained. But lately, you’re gaining weight. If your spirit could only be weighed, it would break the scale. You have a stout, solid spirit, which you need for the total restoration of your health.

“I wish to live 41 more years,” you told me shortly after 12 midnight last Aug. 31, your 41st birthday, your hands placed atop your abdomen, as if commanding your colon to heal.  You are always excited to celebrate your birthday because the following day “is already Christmas season.” We all woke up in your hospital room after your birthday to the faint sound of Joy to the World that you played on your iPad. The Christmas song is definitive of your view of your life; it is your salutation to the divine, your wish for yourself, your plea to God — joy to the world.

Your family celebrated with you and feasted the whole day in your suite room at the Philippine General Hospital on your birthday. You’re undeniably blessed to have your family where every member says “I love you” to each other. Every day. Their love is your salve when you experience pain. Your Nanay Linda caresses your arms while your Tatay Dodong massages your feet. Soon, you’re in dreamland.

In your dreamland, you are lulled by the sound of a running brook. At least, that was how you described your experience when you suddenly fell asleep after Fr. Gerard Deveza, a healing priest, prayed over you after he said a noontime birthday Mass for you.

God visited you again in the form of another Mass in the evening of your birthday. You laughed at the jokes of Fr. Tirso Gil, a funny priest, during his homily. He prayed over you, too. And you were comforted.

Your laughter is the auxiliary ammunition in your family’s arsenal to carry on, to fight for you. Every morning, you announce those who have made it to the honor list in the snore fest in your room. (I got the shock of my life when one time you included me in the honor list.) You even mimic those who talk Chinese or Arabic in their sleep. Then ensues your laughter. You even joke to the nurses who check on you at 4 a.m.: “Look, it’s the patient who watches over the bantay.”

You amaze us when you get up from your hospital bed, and ask for your stainless-steel walker. Then slowly, your six-foot frame will lift your walker instead of it helping you walk to the dining table. It’s a miracle. And we have learned to celebrate with a grateful heart every big and little miracle that is manifested on you.

Your grateful heart truly helps in your healing. You verbalize your gratitude to your parents, to all your siblings and siblings-in-law, to your uncles and aunts, to your cousins and to your nieces and nephew. The love and care you receive from your family are also the pills that heal your body and soul. Your solid-as-a-rock, Ivatan-style family support system quiets your pain. You wake up every day surrounded with love. And they send you off to dreamland with the same intensity of love. Caregiving must be hard, too. But everyone in your support system does it with joy because of love. Love heals.

God’s love and mercy heals all the more. You know in your heart that this battle is also God’s battle. You delight in the thought that God also fights for you. So, how will you lose?

You are loved, Rodge. Your colleagues and students at the Department of Economics of UP Los Baños, where you have been teaching since 2002, rally behind you. Even your “brods” and “sisses” at the UPLB Economics Society and Lingkod Ng Panginoon faithfully ask God to heal you. Day and night, the UPLB community prays for you. Masses are being offered for you every day in many parts of the world.

“I miss teaching. I miss driving. I miss my dogs,” you told me a day before you were discharged from the Philippine General Hospital last Thursday. That was the fourth time of your confinement at PGH.

There was confidence in your voice when you said you would go back to teaching next year. You look forward to it. I am also excited because for the first time, in our seven years of friendship, you will allow me to sit in your class.

What will be your first words to your students when you return to teaching? “I’m back. I survived. I’m alive. Thanks to you. Thanks be to God.”

I also think Doraemon, your favorite Japanese cartoon character, also knocks at the gates of heaven for your continuous healing. Your hospital room is always bedecked with the images of Doraemon — stuffed toys, bed comforter, paperweight. You even have a Doraemon toy car and a Doraemon bus. At one point, while you were undergoing your first cycle of chemo, a playful Doraemon with its mouth covered with a tiny mask guarded you. Keep the child in you; it will aid in your total healing.

Your love for music — or for Lea Salonga’s music in particular — keeps you afloat. On My Own, Lea’s version, and her rendition of Too Much for One Heart, a song that was originally in Miss Saigon but was not included in the musical, are your topmost favorite songs. So, one day, on your wheelchair, as you sat by the window, we analyzed Lea’s songs. Our discussion sounded like an exchange of ideas in a Literature class. You do not only have extensive knowledge in Economics — the course you took up in UPLB where you graduated cum laude, then later on you pursued a Master in Development Economics at UP Diliman — your knowledge of Humanities is also sterling. Twice, I played Too Much for One Heart on my iPhone via YouTube. And twice you hummed with Lea Salonga. The joy I felt that moment hearing you sing with your eyes closed was bursting, and it was too much for one heart.

“There were times I wanted to give up,” you told me one early morning upon waking up. “But it’s unfair to God to give up because I believe God wants me alive. It’s unfair to my family and friends because they also carry this battle for me. So, I continue the fight. I will not give up. Think positive.”

“My greatest realization is I am not alone in this battle. There are many people praying for me, aside from my family and friends. Even people I do not know send their prayers my way. They send me moral and financial support.  What have I done to deserve their kindness? I am beyond thankful.”

For 41 years of your life, you have been a kind man and a steady support to many people whose lives you have touched. Good things happen to good people. Soon, you will be back right on track.

God is not giving up on you. We also won’t give up. How else can we show our love for you? Just let us know.

Meanwhile, heal well, Rodger Dennis Moral Valientes. Keep the faith. Smile a lot. And live up to your valiant name.

All the best,

Büm

(Please pray for Rodge and, if you wish, show him some support at https://gogetfunding.com/togetherforsirrodge. E-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. Have a blessed Sunday!)