That was about 4:00 in the afternoon of
January 9, 2009. A couple of hours later would be the opening dinner of the
Third International Conference of Muslim Leaders. Those words came from Dr.
Ansari Castillo, Taj’s attending physician and very dear friend. For me, those
words were difficult to comprehend at that moment as my children Tani, Talia
and Tajminah embraced me to give me comfort while they themselves felt sorry
for their dear father.
La ilaha illallah…Muhammadur
Rasulullah…” to his ears while I tightly held his hands and caressed his
back as I was silently reciting supplications for him. More than an hour of
seeming eternity ensued. Suddenly, he became semi-conscious and begged for
food. After finishing a whole strawberry and half a bowl of his favorite arroz
caldo, he turned to us and asked,
“Why is everyone crying? Let’s go home…I
want to rest.”
The next scene would be the sound of a
careening ambulance finding its way to our place in Maharlika Village in Taguig
late in the evening. Early the next day, he woke everyone up,
“Dress-up, we’ll be late for the formal
opening of the conference.”
Indeed, his will to live was very strong;
he wants to finish everything he started. He delivered the Opening Address of
the Conference in his weak voice, met with the guests and took care of
administrative matters (thru his assistants) for the next two days, despite his
frail condition. Whenever he feels the need to rest, he would go up to his
hotel room to lie down but not without making sure that everything in the
conference is going well. All of us in the family—Ina, his sisters, his
brother who came back immediately upon hearing the news of his condition, our
children, and myself—were always on our foot whenever somebody says he would go
down and check on the event.
At the conclusion of the conference, he,
once again, got hold of the microphone to bid goodbye:
“Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullahi
wabarakatuhu!
You know, my friends who are around…before,
in my good old days, I would not limit my statements to very short ones during
good conferences like this. But, you know, Allah (swt) has his way of deciding
on things. In fact, to tell you honestly, my presence here is against my
doctors’ advice, Dr. Castillo and Dr. Saud…both of them, and they’re my
attending physicians, (said),
“You’d be risking your life if you attend
the conference.” I told them, “I’ve started this, I will end it. Life is
short. If Allah wills that my life is only up to this point, so be it. But I
want to see through the conclusion of this Third International Islamic
Conference.”
I’m very happy that from time to time, I
would be able to come down from the hotel room to witness the proceedings and
I’m very happy with the results. I hope that this would not be the
last assembly we’ll have in life… on earth. But, you know, nobody can tell
when you will go back to the Creator. I’m just happy that we are
parting ways in good spirit and in good thoughts. I just pray that Allah (swt)
will always give us strength to work on the noble deeds we have in life. For
this, I would like to thank all of you. Of course, I would not know the
difficulties you always had in coming over, but, at least, you know the
difficulties I have. So, maraming salamat at sana magkita-kita uli tayo at ang
ating trabaho sa Islam ay sana tuluy-tuloy pa rin (thank you very much
and I hope that we see each other again and our work for Islam will continue).
Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa
barakatuh.”
Those were his exact words, delivered with
much gusto. We consider those moments as another lease in life for Taj. Plenty
of things have yet to be settled. Plenty more instructions to make, and more “lectures”
to deliver to his children and myself in preparation for the life ahead without
him. He also summoned his mother and siblings to temporarily stay with us
because he knew he has little time left. “Every minute counts…” he
said. And through the days, we relentlessly sheltered him with love and care,
providing him with every means possible to make him comfortable. We would take
turns in answering his needs, even devising a schedule that would ensure that
two people would be on duty each time to watch over him 24 hours a day.
In the morning of January 22, Uji (my
special child) begged that I go with him to school to celebrate his 15th
birthday with his teachers and classmates, as he normally does. I requested my
aunt to do the task for me since it would be difficult to manage Uji if his
birthday party in school would not push through. Besides, I know that my
husband needs me more.
The previous days were difficult for him
because of his persistent cough. But that day, Taj seemed to be well-rested
and sleeping all the time. I was scared that he was slipping into a coma. Despite
that, he still managed to perform his combined Dhuhr (noon) and Asr (afternoon)
prayers. With his deteriorating condition, Hadji Taher Jaafar (aleem from
Malaysia sent by Dato Ismael bin Mohammad) requested 40 qur’an readers to read
the Suratul Yassin. Amidst the seemingly ethereal melody of words from
the Qur’an…minutes later… he finally breathed his last...peacefully and
without struggle…with loved ones surrounding him.
Friends were shocked to learn of the
unfortunate event. Some even thought he died of an accident. As much as
possible, he would attend all meetings and functions (in wheel chair or in crutches)
that needed his presence. While in his sick bed, he was giving instructions on
office matters. While taking care of him, I would assist him in the computer
so he can continue his work.
But for me, his children, and immediate
family, we were not caught by surprise… He prepared us for this. Upon
learning that his high-grade soft-tissue sarcoma in the right thigh has
metastasized to his lungs, and after submitting to all medical procedures
available – two major surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, ct scans, pet
scan, x-ray, endoscopy, etc. – he finally declared that he would just leave
everything in Allah’s (swt) hands. He refused to stay in the hospital save for
blood transfusion and palliative treatment at home. He begged us to keep
silent on his true medical condition. He doesn’t want to become a burden to
people and for them not to pity him. He wants everything to become normal …
And so, we respected his decision as we obeyed his request.
Every night, he would gather the family so
he can make last-minute instructions on many things: financial security, future
of the children, religious issues, and many other things. He even told the children,
“If I go, two or three days is enough for grieving. After that, go back to
work…go back to school… continue on what you were doing before. Life has to go
on without me. Insha Allah, I believe that I have given you the best spiritual
and moral foundation a father can bequeath his children, it is up to you to
nurture that bequest…Have faith in Allah (swt) and surrender everything to
Him… His guidance is better than any father could ever give his children.”
Indeed, life was so short for him… he still
has many plans, many dreams… not only for the family he left behind, but also
for the community he served. For me, it was a life well-lived.
As a staunch supporter of interfaith dialogue, he was
always ready to impart the knowledge he has on Islam with the primary aim of bridging
the gap between Muslims and non-Muslims. His gentle ways always endear him to
his audience as they become clarified on the issues at hand, especially on the
misconceptions about Islam. Every lecture he delivered was well-studied and
well-researched. He had a way of engaging in dialogue that made the other
party comfortable in the discussions. He was never careless with his words.
Many must have heard of his familiar line, “My wife and I went beyond
Interfaith Dialogue, we even produced eight kids!” This, he was referring
to my being a convert to Islam.
He would not choose his crowd – high ranking officials
of government, student leaders, bishops from different church groups, military
top brass, diplomats, jail inmates, grade 4 students of Poveda, foreign
students of AIM, labor leaders, and what have you…as long as his crowd was
willing to listen. With this, he has no difficulty as he pinches humor on his
serious topics, he would not tire of delivering his lecture in the name of
interfaith understanding.
To his co-workers in government and civil
society, he was an avid fan of making each voice count. He was always very
considerate to the feelings of others, from the head of office to the lowly
janitor. An occasional dressing down on his staff would immediately be compensated
by words of encouragement and corny jokes.
To his mother, siblings and relatives - he
was somebody whom they can lean on in all occasions. A loving son and brother,
he stood as the decision-maker in all fronts, providing guidance to them,
solicited or otherwise. He was the peacemaker who mediates to settle
dissenting opinions.
For his children, he was a strict
disciplinarian who saw through their daily activities despite his busy schedule.
He was always interested in the progress of their studies and their activities.
Very much involved in their studies, he was PTA president for many years. Despite
that, he was a thoughtful father who has many surprises for everyone. Every
night, without fail, he would make sure that he brings “pasalubong” for all of
the children and me. Now, while rummaging through his personal belongings, I
always stumble on pieces of paper enumerating the list of “pasalubong” for each
child, which were handy in our trips here or abroad. He gets a different kind
of “high” whenever he sees the faces of his children light up when he hands
those gifts. A distressed call from a daughter would send him leaving an
important meeting only to make sure that he would be around to console her.
For those girls staying in the dorm, a phone call at night is always expected
on a daily basis just to make sure that everyone is comfortably tucked in bed
at the end of the day. He would check on all the kids’ bedrooms at three in
the morning to make sure that everybody is sound asleep or, if they are
studying, that everything is well. He would always ask for 20 kisses from Uji before
he leaves for school in the morning. His two children staying abroad, Mikhail
and Mitzchka, were always in his thoughts despite the distance.
As a husband, he was very caring and
thoughtful. He always makes sure that things will not be difficult for me in
many ways. Being eleven years his junior, I would always believe that he
considered me as one of his kids, giving me instructions every step of the way.
But this does not mean that he considered himself my superior – he respected
many of my decisions, especially concerning work and family. But, most of the
time, he was always there to give me moral support.
When he became very ill, I dreaded the
worse things to come. In our moments alone, out of desperation, I asked him
one time, “Why did God give us eight children, only to realize that I would
be raising them alone, eventually?”
He reminded me, “Never question the will
of Allah (swt), nobody knows His plan for all of us. Be thankful for He gave
us enough time. If I have yet many deeds to accomplish for everyone, and He
prolongs my life, Alhamdulillah; if not, let’s pray that He takes me
peacefully, with all my senses still sharp. Meantime, I would like to
spend my remaining time with all of you so you can ask me questions, while I
give my word on it, until I finally bid all of you good-bye.”
It has almost been a month since he left
us. Many friends, relatives, co-workers and people who simply were touched by
him, came to visit to pay their last respects and to give comforting words to
the family. On many occasions, loneliness would prevail at home. Painfully
missed were the roar of his infectious laughter, the never-ending instructions,
the many people who visited him and the bustle of activities that happened
mostly everyday.
I haven’t totally moved on, but I’m
trying. In the 23 years of our married life, we were practically together all
the time - we traveled together, revolved around the same circle of friends,
championed the same advocacies and got into the same activities. Moving on
will, perhaps, be easier thinking that many of the friends and relatives we have
are always there when we need them. Moving on should be sooner… simply because
I have a bigger responsibility now in raising my family alone, I wouldn’t want
to let him down.
Flying solo this time, I made a vow to take
care of the children very well and to continue, in my own humble way, what he
has started for his fellow Muslims and the Interfaith Community, Insha Allah!
