Epitaphs
To call it a season of death is most jarring against the message of Easter, which is of rebirth and renewal. Then again, with death comes life, and life ends in death, a cycle that binds all on earth.
Text size
To call it a season of death is most jarring against the message of Easter, which is of rebirth and renewal. Then again, with death comes life, and life ends in death, a cycle that binds all on earth.
A Queen of Song, a National Artist and an OPM legend. In a few short weeks, the Philippines lost three great talents who had brought great pride and inspiration to the nation. Theirs — Pilita Corrales, Nora Aunor and Hajji Alejandro — were voices that gave life to our stories, just as their personal stories made them larger than life.
Yet nothing quite compared to the shock of losing Pope Francis, a day after he showed up for the people on Easter Sunday, for the very last time it turned out. His was a voice that carried across the world, however gently it nudged us out of our turmoil and endless travails.
What does it all mean? People die every day. Not too long ago, the earthquakes in Myanmar and Bangkok killed thousands. In our part of the world, vehicular accidents take space in the news. In other places, life has become cheap as wars continue to rage and families break apart.
To call it a season of death is most jarring against the message of Easter, which is of rebirth and renewal. Then again, with death comes life, and life ends in death, a cycle that binds all on earth.
There must be more to it than that.
The loss of these “superstars of song” leaves their families and fans longing for the voices that gave them solace. The passing of Franciscus, Pope of the people, leaves the faithful bereft, but hopeful.
Filipino Catholics regarded the Argentine pontiff as their own grandfatherly figure — Lolo Kiko they called him since his special visit to the country back in 2015. With the kindest eyes and the warmest smile, Pope Francis was, however, a most disruptive pope — in his way, shaking us out of our complacency and indifference.
His official Instagram account bears the quote: “I want to walk with you along the way of God’s mercy and tenderness.” And walk Pope Francis did — with the downtrodden, the hopeless, the victimized, the helpless. He stood for all the living, human or animal. He urged people to accept their differences. “Who am I to judge?” he once said, referring to the LGBTQ+ community.
In our world, where many have lost their way, Pope Francis brought out what was real, and spoke about things that were difficult to face — in this way reconnecting the people with their spirit and with one another.
Though his passing leaves us with a great feeling of loss — a hole in our hearts we did not know he filled just by showing all how to love in a world like ours — we know the cycle continues. So what do we do with the memories of these great people who are now gone?
Years ago, when we had to think of the words for our mother’s epitaph, the enormity of collapsing a lifetime into a few pithy words hit me. How does one honor the one who, in your eyes, was the best person who ever lived? It is the same if we were to create epitaphs for the Pope and the icons in our world. What should we say? Nora, most humble and kind; Pilita, most loving; Hajji, the devoted?
For in our lifetimes, no matter how high we get in the spheres of our influence, in the end we are only truly remembered for how we made others feel. And that is always by having lived as authentically, unabashedly unapologetic about pushing for the good and right, letting not the world shape you, but in your own way, shaping the world.
