EULOGY FOR EDMUNDO Y. MENDIGO

O June 12, 1947
+ August 26,2000
by Maria Andrea S. Mendigo
(delivered August 30,2000)

On behalf of Macie and myself, and the sisters and brother of Ed-Edna, Edgardo and Ednora want to thank everyone who has been with us in our bereavement. I thank especially my own sister and brother and their families who have given me support every step of the way. I also want to acknowledge in a special way the sisterly concern of a dear friend who supplied Ed with spiritual and gastronomic food through his hospitalizations since 1998, and continues to provide support until now - Marilou Cortes. I thank Cristy and Nante, who gave joy to Ed through their loyal and loving service, often beyond the call of duty and at great personal inconvenience. I tip my hat to Ed's PMA classmates of '69, indeed a brotherhood who quickly and efficiently rallied around Ma'am Zero, providing the essential things for me proper military burial of their Mistah. And to all the generous souls who helped me pray and stay focused on the essentials through Ed's valiant battle with the physical forces that sought to destroy his body, my heartfelt thanks. You know who you are.

When I think of Ed's passing, I imagine a fruit hanging from a branch, golden yellow and heavy with Juice. The Divine Harvester knew the precise moment in which to pluck the fruit, the moment of his perfect ripeness. A moment too soon, and some sourness might have lingered. A moment too late, and the juices might have fermented. Ed's spiritual ripening took all of his lifetime. Being a man of integrity, Ed was not used to compromises, not even with his God. Especially with his God. The faith required to accept unseen things as the Truth, was given to him in his final days on earth. It was the result of much prayers on the part of people who loved him. His peaceful, beautiful and holy death was a moment of triumph.

Ed was a rational man. He had to have reasons for everything. A few days before he died, I sat close to him and whispered, "I love you." His answer was, "Why?" I did not expect this, and had to scramble for an answer. "Because you are my husband." Two days later, when he was heavily sedated with morphine for his pain, I again told him, "I love you."

This time, he laboriously formed the words "I love you," but his voice had gone. This time, he was speaking from his heart. The heart needs no reasons, it simply loves.

Ed was a responsible head of family. When he proposed to me through a letter sent from me hinterlands of Lanao in 1972, he said that the only comforts he could promise me were those of the comfort room. He was a 1st lieutenant then, with a meager take-home pay. Somehow, fortune smiled on this dear, sincere man, and through the years, he has been able to provide his family with greater comforts than he could have imagined from his barracks in Lanao. When I affirmed this as I sat beside him on the hospital bed (he could no longer talk), when I whispered."Thank you for being a good provider," he broke into a smile. He probably had worried that his illness was taking its toll on the family finances, and he felt relieved that his family acknowledged his efforts to ensure their comfort.

Ed was a generous man. Generosity comes from a certain detachment from this world's goods. I have yet to meet a man who is less materialistic than Ed, Luxury was not his priority, and so he could give away anything that was not essential. When I was at the Arlington Mortuary, about to choose a casket for him, my brother and sister were trying to convince me to upgrade the casket from his memorial plan to a classier one. I looked at the shiny blue casket with the silver handles, and I looked at the quietly elegant mahogany casket of me memorial plan. I imagined Ed in the sleek blue casket, and then I made my decision. I told them, "My husband was a simple man who hated ostentation. If I put him in the blue casket, he would jump right out and castigate me for being too showy." I remembered the black evening dress I have had for four years, devoid of decoration except for a single row of beaded pearls along the edges of the blouse. Ed found it too glitzy, and to this date I have not worn it.

At the hospital, while we were waiting for Ed's body to be moved to the morgue, Macie asked me, "Mama, are you a widow now?"

I said, "Yes."

"Mama, will you marry again?" I looked at her and said, "If I do, it will only be to Jesus."

She smiled and nodded. She thought she understood what I meant.

But now I want to explain to Macie what I meant. Macie, my 24 years with your Papa were happy, peaceful years. We had our disagreements, but we resolved them. Papa was a gentle man, until the ravages of his illness put him in such pain that he had to have an outlet, and it was usually us who were closest to him who got it These were times when it was easy for me to forget the gentleness of the past because of the unpleasantness of the present. But remember, Macie, that marriage is not only for the good and easy times, but also for the difficult times.

When you are ready to start your own family, look for a man who can teach your children about decency and honesty and commitment, not so much with words but through the witness of his life. Look for a man who will treat you like the lady that you are, not so much by opening doors for you or sending you flowers on important days, but by honoring the God in you by the way he speaks to you, and the way he speaks of you to others. Look for a man who follows the counsel of his conscience, with little regard for human respect, who would rather lose all material benefits than cling to a job he can no longer do justice to, because of his incapacitation. Look for a man who would love you enough to rise above his pain and worry about your welfare and what would become of you when he was gone.

When you have found that man, Macie, then you would have found the pearl of great price. And that pearl you would not exchange for any other.

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