Angel among us
We fell silent for about an hour: murmurs were indistinguishable but our eyes glimmered in excitement, evincing unspoken words of huzzah.
The sweetness of romantic songs filled the air — the kind which sweeps first time lovers into deep gaze in their partner’s eyes, whispering I love yous in the comfortably cool breeze.
The ambience evoked the same warm and mushy feelings of one’s first dance. Only it isn’t that.
The honored guest arrives.
Eyes ogled; men, clad in their white ironed polos and black formal slacks, were in formation. One by one they approached the lone beloved, each handing out a rose — signifying love and respect — from their hands to hers, who at this point heaves a smile of surprise and appreciation.
Sway they go; the men take turns. Spectators gaze lovingly at the dance floor, with heads swinging from right to left then left to right, in unison with the melodious ballads.
It was a night to remember — from the fancy music to the elaborate designs, from the stifled giggles to the teary eyes — a well-planned celebration, all for one woman.
It was the 91st birthday of our dear Sister Isabel.
We were all residents of the university dormitory, fondly called Le Berceau.
In the place where we were forced to act independently and responsibly, making us aware that our actions merit consequences, and where strangers turn into family members, a home away from home, Sister Isabel was our mother.
Sister Isabel of the Angels Narciso, SPC, turned 91 four years ago, but with her vitality and beauty time seems to have stopped aging her.
We used to pray the rosary together on Thursdays, when we would eventually learn to echo her Spanish “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo” and sing along with Maria Tu Eres Mi Madre without having to know the English translation and understand the meaning of its words.
That night, we gave her 91 angel figurines, some carrying letters to spell out her full name and the words “Happy Birthday”. It was like a debut, the way 18-year-olds celebrate their transition from clingy dependence to childish maturity, but with Sister Isabel, the occasion was about turning our apathy toward dorm life into appreciation.
Even until she had gone to the vigil house, where senile members of the religious order stay, Sister Isabel kept the 91 angels we gave her, along with three other figurines — one hanging on the wall, another atop the closet, and the other in the wash room. She said the number of the angel figurines corresponds to her age.
But she had only 94 angel figurines. One seems to be missing.
We received news that the beloved sister died on the eve of the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, December 7, more than seven decades since she professed her admission into the religious life.
Fittingly, it appears, the cliche “to join the Creator” rings true for her. Not only is she with the Creator but also with Mary the Mother of God, exactly to whom our Thursday nights have always been devoted to as Le Berceau residents.
I was not able to drop by Sister Isabel’s funeral and wake, but I know her life can be profoundly summarized in just one word: love. Love that is not bounded by age. Love that transcends death.
... which brings us to two verses from the Bible.
Songs 8:6 reads, “Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”
How can love, the purest form of affection, be “as strong” as something as dark and treacherous as death?
St. Paul’s letter to the Romans 8:35 meanwhile says, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?”
Trouble, hardship, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, and sword — interestingly, all but death were mentioned among those believed to potentially separate us from the love of God.
This is where a piece of literature tells us the truth about life. Even in death, we are never separated from His love. Because His love — powerful and encompassing as it is — is so strong it could never yield to death.
Alas, we figure that the 95th angel was not missing at all! She was lying on her bed all along... peacefully so.
And she no longer was Sister Isabel of the Angels — but Sister Isabel, the Angel. •
The sweetness of romantic songs filled the air — the kind which sweeps first time lovers into deep gaze in their partner’s eyes, whispering I love yous in the comfortably cool breeze.
The ambience evoked the same warm and mushy feelings of one’s first dance. Only it isn’t that.
The honored guest arrives.
Eyes ogled; men, clad in their white ironed polos and black formal slacks, were in formation. One by one they approached the lone beloved, each handing out a rose — signifying love and respect — from their hands to hers, who at this point heaves a smile of surprise and appreciation.
Sway they go; the men take turns. Spectators gaze lovingly at the dance floor, with heads swinging from right to left then left to right, in unison with the melodious ballads.
It was a night to remember — from the fancy music to the elaborate designs, from the stifled giggles to the teary eyes — a well-planned celebration, all for one woman.
It was the 91st birthday of our dear Sister Isabel.
We were all residents of the university dormitory, fondly called Le Berceau.
In the place where we were forced to act independently and responsibly, making us aware that our actions merit consequences, and where strangers turn into family members, a home away from home, Sister Isabel was our mother.
Sister Isabel of the Angels Narciso, SPC, turned 91 four years ago, but with her vitality and beauty time seems to have stopped aging her.
We used to pray the rosary together on Thursdays, when we would eventually learn to echo her Spanish “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo” and sing along with Maria Tu Eres Mi Madre without having to know the English translation and understand the meaning of its words.
That night, we gave her 91 angel figurines, some carrying letters to spell out her full name and the words “Happy Birthday”. It was like a debut, the way 18-year-olds celebrate their transition from clingy dependence to childish maturity, but with Sister Isabel, the occasion was about turning our apathy toward dorm life into appreciation.
Even until she had gone to the vigil house, where senile members of the religious order stay, Sister Isabel kept the 91 angels we gave her, along with three other figurines — one hanging on the wall, another atop the closet, and the other in the wash room. She said the number of the angel figurines corresponds to her age.
But she had only 94 angel figurines. One seems to be missing.
We received news that the beloved sister died on the eve of the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, December 7, more than seven decades since she professed her admission into the religious life.
Fittingly, it appears, the cliche “to join the Creator” rings true for her. Not only is she with the Creator but also with Mary the Mother of God, exactly to whom our Thursday nights have always been devoted to as Le Berceau residents.
I was not able to drop by Sister Isabel’s funeral and wake, but I know her life can be profoundly summarized in just one word: love. Love that is not bounded by age. Love that transcends death.
... which brings us to two verses from the Bible.
Songs 8:6 reads, “Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”
How can love, the purest form of affection, be “as strong” as something as dark and treacherous as death?
St. Paul’s letter to the Romans 8:35 meanwhile says, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?”
Trouble, hardship, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, and sword — interestingly, all but death were mentioned among those believed to potentially separate us from the love of God.
This is where a piece of literature tells us the truth about life. Even in death, we are never separated from His love. Because His love — powerful and encompassing as it is — is so strong it could never yield to death.
Alas, we figure that the 95th angel was not missing at all! She was lying on her bed all along... peacefully so.
And she no longer was Sister Isabel of the Angels — but Sister Isabel, the Angel. •