Losing a Pearl of Great Price

Victoria's Haven (Dumaguete City, 2019)

I knew it was coming, but like everyone else in the office, I tried to be hopeful, the way you were, the way you wanted us to be. I tried to muster all the optimism I could to believe you would be back. Maybe not immediately after the 17th of the month as was announced to us, but some time only slightly later. When I saw the heading of the email last night, my heart sank. One of the things I looked forward to as I moved to the headquarters was having more face-to-face interactions with you. Tears rolled down my eyes as they do now.  Hours before, I felt an unexplainable sadness.  I couldn't point to anything that would make me that sad.  All I knew was that I was sad somewhat over a loss. When I read the announcement about your passing, I knew the sadness was about you.  (As many who know me well would say, I have this strange intuition and sense about things.  Not another one.)

But, why am I experiencing this deep sense of loss and grief over someone I have only known for  over a year? Is it just about losing that support from someone I could consult with - almost anytime - without being made to feel that I was being a burden? Or that someone I could talk to without worry that what I would say could be misinterpreted or used against me?

While it is true that the kind of support you provided to me is invaluable and will be sorely missed, what I would miss more is the WHO beneath the what. One of the reasons I was so impressed with this organization when I joined more than a year ago was you.  No, it was not the accolades of a figure in the world of Social Work in the Philippines, but the inspiring person that you were - something I had a glimpse of even during my job interview.  At your age, with your illness, and with your means, you dedicated yourself to continued service, up to the end. I remember asking you one time whether you were struggling with your sleep as a result of your treatments because you were sending me emails at midnight. No, you said, you just went to the loo and found my message on your phone. You took our work seriously and made sure that we did, too. You helped us to see beyond the limits of what our situation would allow and think about possibilities. It may sound cliche, but you were the wind beneath the organization's wings.

Many times during my time in Cotabato, I would feel frustrated over certain ways of working.  Those mental health calls with you held me together and kept my hope afloat.  Each time the inconveniences of life away from home would bring out my inner demons, I would go back to your own stories about leaving the comforts of your privileged life in the city to serve in what was then the Bataan Refugee Processing Center.

So, no, it's not just about the gift of your talents and skills that you willingly shared with us; it's about the gift of YOU - the sincerity and genuine concern that are hard to come by in this day and age, the infectious joy that you spread wherever you go, the tenacity that humbles those of us who tend to gripe over little inconveniences, the generosity and life of committed service to a cause bigger and higher than your life. These I will miss.  And these I will celebrate each time I think of you, Ms. Lulu. You were, and always will be, a pearl of great price.