Three Dads, A Singer and Four Funerals

By: Maria Girlie Pascual

 

February was not a good month for parties and celebrations, including my birthday. Aside from a nephew, the mom of a close friend, the husband of a former colleague, there were four men who passed away recently that gave me pause as I pondered the hard, cold fact that I am at that age where death is not only a reality, it seemed to be making an appearance more frequently now in my circle of family and friends.

The first one that saddened our ViaTimes (VT) and Chicago Philippine Reports TV (CPRTV) group was the demise of the dad of our VT columnist and CPRTV segment host, Ricky Calma, who was Jovie Calma’s father. Ricky was in and out of the hospital fighting to survive cancer for a few months before he succumbed to the illness. At his wake in Chicago, the funeral home was packed with friends and family members including Jovie’s mom, Connie, and her siblings. It was Jovie who delivered an emotional eulogy, painful to hear since it brought back memories of my own father’s passing ten years ago. A father and a daughter’s bond is a special tie that somehow delineates future husbands and partners. After all, a father is a daughter’s first male relationship, and it was indeed a sad day for the Calma clan.

The second father to succumb to the call of heaven was a wellrespected physician and a close friend of my dad’s, Dr. Reynaldo Sulit, who in the 1970’s was the head of the Ophthalmology Department at the newly-built Ospital ng Maynila on Roxas Boulevard, capital city of the Philippines. My dad was a close friend and colleague because they would consult, help and assist each other with operations since my father, Dr. Arsenio Pascual, Jr. was the Department Head of Surgery at the same hospital. I remember Dr. Sulit, or “Tito Rey” as we referred to him, as the charming, always smiling dapper doctor who, after migrating to the United States, kept in touch with my dad. We saw him again when my mom and dad visited me after I moved to Chicago from Los Angeles, and Tito Rey, and Tita Dolly (short for Dalisay, his spouse) took us out to dine in some of the best restaurants in Chicago, including the iconic Charlie Trotter’s, best known for being a Michelin-star restaurant, and Rosebud Italian Restaurant, a place that Tito Rey said Al Capone frequented in the gangster days. He also knew that my dad was a carnivore and loved lobster, so Tito Rey made sure his foodie friend enjoyed Chicago.

Of course, Tita Dolly and my mom also bonded at that time, giggling like schoolgirls as they reminisced about their time in Manila, dining out and attending the endless parties hosted by the different doctors, as well as politicians like the late Manila Mayor Ramon Bagatsing, who had jurisdiction over Ospital ng Maynila. Mayor Bagatsing became close to Tito Rey, my dad, and the rest of the doctors at the city hospital after the infamous bombing of Plaza Miranda where Mayor Bagatsing almost lost his life, but lost a leg because of the blast. He was taken to the Ospital ng Maynila where the doctors worked on him, survived, and Martial Law was declared soon after. So many stories, so little space.

Dr. Reynaldo Sulit had a busy life when he moved to Chicago in the 1980’s, and, yes, he was not a fan of Martial Law. He quickly made a lot of friends, mostly doctors, and he became the 27th President of the Philippine Medical Association of Chicago (PMAC). He was a University of Santo Tomas medical school graduate and continued his practice in Chicago for 35 years, seeing patients in the south suburbs at the Cataract Glaucoma clinic in West Lawn, and downtown at the Illinois Masonic Medical Center where he was an intern. Tito Rey became the Chief Ophthalmologist at the Little Company of Mary Hospital and Holy Cross Hospital, and was also affiliated with the Mercy Hospital Medical Center and the Norwegian American Hospital.

His wife Dalisay, or Tita Dolly, who also has a degree in medicine as well from the Philippines, chose to be a full time mom to their six children—Rommel, Reggie, Robert, Rafael, and to their only daughter, Madonna. Eventually, they opened up Alliance Home Healthcare in 1994 in Lemont, where Dr. Sulit served as its Medical Director before he retired and let his sons run the business.

Indeed, he lived a full and fruitful life, eulogized by his children and his peers. Most stories about him had one recurring theme–that Dr. Reynaldo Sulit was not only a good doctor, he was also a loving father, a great uncle, a devoted husband, a respected professional, and a good friend to those who were lucky enough to be in his orbit. A kind and funny man is how I also remember Dr. Rey Sulit, along with countless others that showed up to pay one last tribute to a man who gave so much and lived a life of service, that it was only fitting to honor a giant that walked amongst us.

The third service for a Dad that I attended before the month ended was that for our CPRTV Health Matters host, Melody Dizon’s uncle, Thomas H. Nichols. Tom, as he was called, was the Chief Financial Officer of the Pace Suburban Bus Division before he retired from that position in Chicago, one of the many high management titles on his resume. He was a successful Certified Public Accountant who hoped to move to the Sunshine State of Florida eventually after he retired, having lived and worked in the Windy City all his life. Tom Nichols was a graduate of De Paul University in accounting, and earned his MBA at one of the top schools in the United States, the Kellogg School of Management, both located in Chicago.

Tom was a jovial and a positive force in the family. He was married to Guada Rabor, sister of Melody’s father, Nolit Rabor. Together, they raised three children, Sofronio or Jun, married to Sonia, Dennis, married to Jennifer, and the youngest Tom, his namesake, who is single. They have a total of 7 grandkids, and countless relatives that were saddened by his sudden demise from a car crash that ended his life too soon at age 64.

What struck me was the number of people that came to the memorial service on a Monday morning, practically occupying all the pews inside the huge St. Pascal Church in Chicago. I was awed by all the attendees, when in fact, according to Melody, these were relatives, all of them except me. They came to say goodbye to a man, who, by the eulogies from his sons, spoke of a father who was funny, kind, wise and giving, a man that commanded respect from his peers, and praise from both friends and family. He was a true Chicagoan, born and raised in the city, a true blue Cubs fan that witnessed their World Series win, and was able to celebrate this monumental event as only a real fan could, a blessing that he did just before he died.

Tom was also a wide reader, loved to engage in political discussions, and was into musicals, probably because he was married to a Filipina, a race that has music embedded in our genes. “Honesty is the best policy” was Uncle Tom’s favorite motto, according to Melody, a phrase extolled by his sons when they talked about their father more personally on the pulpit, just before his coffin was escorted by family members that were his pallbearers that cold, winter day last February.

A flurry of hankies, sad faces and, yes, a palpable feeling of loss and grief for a man that has touched so many lives in the short time that he walked the earth. Uncle Tom will surely be missed.

Indeed, there was a lot of sad news, all deaths being untimely and inconvenient, but paying my last respects to people that I knew personally, or just know of through friends of mine, relatives of in laws, are all important and so I make an effort to come to the services whenever I can. I listen closely to the eulogies to learn more about the person at their last memorial, catching the essence of who they were and how they lived, through the memories of loved ones that knew them intimately. Famous or not, everyone has made a contribution in their own way, including those that chose for some reason or another, not to have a family.

One such person that passed sans kin, and the fourth funeral that I attended, was for Armando Aguas, aka “Chubby” named after famed 50’s soul singer “Chubby Checkers.” Chubby was the lead male vocalist of the New Madisons Band from the Philippines that relocated to Chicago along with fellow members Aysa Delfin Zamora, lead female vocalist, Jessie Romasanta, drummer, the late Eddie Gonzaga, saxophonist, Moy Villverde, keyboardist, and band leader and bass guitar player, Arthur Zamora.

I knew Chubby from jamming with the band, sometimes joining them in their gigs at the Atrium Bar in Arlington Heights, back in the 1990’s. His death came as a shock to many, but the Chicago musicians all came together for one night at his memorial service to pay their respects, and an impromptu reunion of sorts came about, a gathering that would have garnered a low, belly laugh from Chubby himself, happy that for one night, everyone was all there for him. We will never forget this genuine talent and know that Chubby, Armando Aguas, is now reunited with his family in heaven.

A morbid month perhaps, but death is a fact of life, a natural event for all of us here in this world, where no one is exempted and no one gets out alive. I learned from my grandfather, the original Arsenio Sr., the father of my dad, when asked why he seemed to attend each and every funeral in the small town of Malabon where he was a successful entrepreneur, why he made an effort to go to these funerals whether he knew them personally or not. My Lolo (grandfather) replied, “ Because one day, I too shall pass, and I would want people that knew me or know of me, to come and say goodbye, to pay their last respects, as I did their kin.”

Another lesson I learned that most of us take for granted, including me, that life is short, time is fleeting, and before you know it, it’s too late…too late to say goodbye, too late to say thank you, too late to say “I love you”. ##