this is the second of two articles I wrote about my father, the late Executive Judge Voltaire Y. Rosales, he was assassinated on June 10, 2004 a few meters away from his court in Tanauan, Batangas. Taken from the Philippine Daily Inquirer and re-posted for my Dad's memory.
Love Can Be Silent
The sound of silence can be deafening. Love in silence, can be the most unbearable. To those who must feel love through articulation or verbal expression, silence is the cold air that chills the heart in times of loneliness. But this was not the case with my father. Everyone who has met my father has always said that he was a quiet man. He had the demeanor of a wise man, who listened to all, and said what is needed. With my father, his actions of love spoke much louder than the few I love yous that would ever leave his mouth. His love was always felt, even when he was not physically present. One way this was done was through his cell phone. He probably had the highest bill among all of us in the family, but it was worth every peso because we knew majority, if not all his calls were to each of his family. He rarely texted us, but he always called. The few texts he would send were very concise. “Where are you?”, “how are you doing?” and “please take care of yourself” were one of the most common messages I would receive. Love would be felt with every text.
I often wondered why he was so quiet. I guess he always felt good intentions are better seen than heard. Everyone says they want change, but it is the individual who works for it, who sees beyond the pessimism of the world and actually perseveres for what is right, not popular, will be the one who makes the real change- these thoughts he would express to me as I grew up.
One time we had a fight because he didn’t take his medicines for his diabetes. I ended saying an expletive at him and saying “ganyan na pala? Kanya kanyang buhay na? Bahala ka na diyan!” I left his room and not even five minutes later, I texted him “I’m sorry dad it’s just that we have some much to worry about you have to live long for me, I love you very much.” He replied with, “Its ok, I love you too.”
The week before his death, it happened again. Same fight, but this time I could sense him being very tired. He replied, but this time it was only an “its ok”. Troubled I walked to his room repeatedly saying sorry and asking if he was mad (which was rhetorical because he never got mad, it was more of leading him to say whatever was bothering him.) He said, “it’s nothing, I’m just very tired”. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be tired, I have been accustomed to his diabetic ways, but that Sunday was the most disturbing experience I’ve ever had with my father. For the first time in quite awhile, I felt something was tiring him more than usual. Maybe it was a premonition, or just a case he was thinking about, but I had never feared so much for my best friend.
The moments preceding his death was a testament to his beautiful love which he blessed our family with. My father had a gruesome death that not even an animal should be given. He was shot at close range 5 times in the head, shattering his brain. By all accounts he should have just dropped dead with his mortal wounds. But my father in order to avoid hitting people on the street, managed to swerve the car to a wall. He got out of the driver’s side of the car and fell on the street. My father lived for more than 2 hours with his wounds. I’ve heard stories of praise of how, with the injuries he had sustained, that it was unbelievable that he lived to be brought to a hospital. No cries of pain were heard, knowing my father, he kept it to himself and like other times when he was sick, he prayed for God’s mercy.
My mother on the other hand was determined to be with Dad right away. She was rushing with my sister, grandmother and aunt from our house to Tanauan, Batangas which is a good one hour and a half away. She was praying to God, “Please, Lord, Just one minute!” As the car speedily drove towards Tanauan City which my father dedicated his life to serving, my mother got a call telling her my father was still alive.
I was on the way home when I heard the news. My body felt so weak. My legs felt like jelly as I took every step, and I was close to breaking down as I entered the house. Every moment I could feel my dad’s pain and feared for the unknown as it was hard to contact my mom and sister. I fell into a delirium talking to my father asking him to give me strength to take what had happened to him.
It was about 1 o’clock when my mother reached him. It was a sight no wife or daughter should ever see- A husband, a father, drenched in a pool of his own blood hanging on to dear life through God’s favour. His silence was like a knife cutting through their hearts, something that even I could feel all the way in our house at Makati. When my mother arrived, my father had one eye shut and the other half open. My mother wishing for my father’s pain to end and for him to rest, closed his half open eye. Then the miracle was seen. My father opened his eye and then my mom knew that God had answered her prayers for that one minute with him. Tears falling from her face, she told my dad “I love you very much, and I know you love me” and with that my father smiled for the last time and died in my Mom’s embrace.
It is a tale that will forever echo in my mind. Even with my father’s silence he touched us with his love to the very end. In a way it was as if God taught him to prepare us for this tragic end. It’s not easy being just three now, but dad always said God does things for a reason. His silence has taught us to feel him even without his physical presence. It is a surreal experience to lose someone so violently. I always believed a man devoted to the Sacred Heart and always in the service as a Eucharistic minister would always be protected by our Lord.
God though has a bigger mission for him. That is probably why he had to go that way. Going quietly would have made him a statistic. Because of his brutal murder, people have become aware of the dangers of being a judge in this country. Judges are the front liners in the dispensation of justice as well as sitting ducks for hardened criminals who did not agree with the decision of the judge. They are a mighty tough crowd that silently serves their country, risking their own life and the future of their family.
Let this be the last atrocity to face our judges. It is no piece of cake losing a father, a best friend all in one. He is a hero without a doubt. To this misguided government he was a statistic. That should not be the case, judges are human beings with loved ones just like any other mayor or congressman or any other official. There must be reforms to protect and support judges and their families during their life and after their demise.
His physical presence may be gone, but his undying love for God, his family and his country will be eternally remembered. I will miss his caring voice, loving handshake and the tight hugs which made me feel secure and happy. When all is said and done, we will return to the silence of our home, but we will forever feel the silent presence of my father, my dad, my hero and as always, my best friend.
No comments:
Post a Comment