Chapter XXX: Domingo ti Kaasi (Sunday of Mercy)
The ICU of the provincial hospital remains tense even though Mercy's heartbeat has already flatlined. A cluster of nurses lingers around her bed, whispering instructions to each other, tidying tubes, shutting machines down. The beeping monitor, now in silence, becomes the heaviest sound in the room.
Jonn, still at Mercy's bedside, stands frozen. Throughout his career, he has seen patients die before. He has even handled resuscitations that ended in failure. But this one is different—this is his mother. He rubs his eyes with his palm, but the tears still manage to escape. His chest feels tight, like he swallowed a heavy stone.
He is about to turn away when, on the nearby counter, a stapler twitches. At first, he thinks it's his imagination. But then, the metal tool shifts again, sliding by itself, flipping over with a sudden snap. Jonn stiffens, his hands trembling. He looks back at Mercy's body—lifeless, peaceful, almost smiling.
"Mamang..." he whispers.
Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away, Ben is lying on his bed in his dormitory abroad. The night is unusually heavy, his chest pressed by something he can't explain. It is as though an invisible hand rests on his sternum. He presses his hand against it and breathes deeply.
"What is this? Why do I feel like... someone is gone?" he mutters in English, though his voice cracks in Ilocano when he adds, "Ma-Mamang...?"
He doesn't know why, but the unease gnaws at him. Sleep pulls him in, but his heart doesn't want to rest. He senses something is wrong, terribly wrong.
Back at the hospital, Elric and his wife rush through the sliding doors into the ICU. The sterile smell burns their noses, but their attention is locked on Jonn, who is wiping his tears.
"What happened?" Elric demands, his voice half-broken.
Jonn looks at them, unable to keep the words inside. "Nong,...Awanen ni Mamangen (Mamang is gone)... she's gone."
Elric grips the doorframe, his knees wobbling. His wife covers her mouth, stunned. For a moment, the two siblings stand there in a suffocating silence broken only by muffled sobs.
Jonn exhales sharply and forces himself to do the next duty. He pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing his sister Meric.
At Caluipat, the night is quiet. The old wooden house creaks softly under the touch of the wind. Meric lies in bed with Mark curled beside her, both of them drifting in uneasy sleep.
Suddenly, the ringtone slices through the silence. Meric jerks awake, fumbling for her phone. "Hello? Jonn? Anya madamag dita? (How's it going there?)"
Her younger brother's voice is raw, almost unrecognizable. "Manang... Awan ni Mamangen. (Sister... Mamang is gone.)"
Meric freezes. The world tilts. Tears stream instantly from her eyes as she grips the phone tighter. "No... no, no, no..." Her sobs wake Mark, who stirs in confusion.
"Please... break the news to Papang," Jonn whispers, his own voice cracking.
Meric nods, though he cannot see her. "O-okay..." She ends the call and sits motionless, clutching her phone like it's her lifeline.
In the sala, Rico snores lightly on the sofa. Meric wipes her tears and recalls—just hours earlier, she and Rico had visited Mercy at the hospital. She couldn't bear to look at her mother's frail body. Rico, too, could barely stand, his blood pressure spiking from the stress. That memory slices her heart deeper.
Shaking her head, she wipes her tears again and slowly approaches him. She sits down beside him and gently taps his hand.
"Pang... Papang..." she whispers.
Rico stirs, blinking sleepily. "Hmm? Ania ngay, Meri? (What is it, Meri?)"
Meric swallows, her voice trembling. "Pang... Mamang... she's gone."
Rico sits upright instantly, his eyes wide. "Haan... (No... )" His voice cracks, though he already knows the truth. His tears flow freely, his chest heaving as he remembers how Mercy gasped for breath just hours ago.
At the hospital, Mercy's body is carefully wheeled to the morgue. Jonn follows, numb, while Elric walks beside him, his wife holding onto his arm. The cold metallic doors open with a loud creak, welcoming Mercy's still form inside.
Elric turns to Jonn, his face pale. "Jonn, sika paylang makaamo ditoy, mapanko alaen ni Papang. (Jonn, take care of here, I'll get Papang.)"
Outside, Elric drives his white car straight to the house, only a hundred meters away. As the car stops in front, Rico already waits at the gate, sensing what awaits. Without a word, he climbs in.
When they arrive back at the hospital, Rico steps inside the morgue and collapses. He sobs uncontrollably, his body shaking as Elric and Jonn try to hold him upright. Elric's wife cries silently, clutching her rosary.
Elric takes a deep breath and pulls out his phone. He calls Baquiren Funeral Home and Services, his voice steady though his hands shake. Arrangements must be made, no matter how his heart breaks.
Meanwhile, Meric dials Ben overseas. Her voice cracks as she delivers the news.
"Ben... Mamang is gone."
On the other end, Ben grips the phone tightly, closing his eyes. "I knew it... Ma... earlier, I felt something. Diay barukong ko tattay... (My chest earlier...)" He stops, exhaustion flooding him. Before he can finish, sleep overtakes him, his grief pushed into dreams.
At Caluipat, Meric begins cleaning the sala, preparing it for the coffin. She sweeps, wipes, arranges chairs. Neighbors arrive, eager to help, but they find the house already spotless.
"It's tradition here," one neighbor whispers, "when someone dies, the community helps clean."
But Meric, coming from Hermosa, doesn't know this. She has already finished everything.
That night, Mark dreams. In the dream, Mercy is alive, her red blouse bright as ever. She smiles warmly, opening her arms. She hugs him tightly and kisses his forehead.
"My apo..." she whispers. Then, slowly, she waves goodbye.
Mark wakes with a gasp at six in the morning. His head feels light, his heart heavy. He sees Meric sitting on the chair, crying.
"Mommy... why are you crying?" he asks softly.
Meric wipes her tears but fails to hide them. "Balong... awan ni Mamangen."
Mark's lips tremble, and soon he is crying with her, his small hands clutching his mother's arm.
At noon, Mercy's coffin arrives. It is laid gently in the sala, the glass covering her peaceful face. Meric kneels before it, tears falling again.
That day happens to be Palm Sunday—Mercy's favorite.
Meric remembers how her mother loved making her grandchildren join Palm Sunday processions at Hermosa Cathedral. Mercy always said the waving of palms was a blessing for the whole year.
Now, the irony crushes Meric's heart. Mercy lies in her coffin on her beloved day.
Even so, Rico insists. "You must go to the procession. It's what she would want. We'll take it from here."
At six in the evening, the Estacion Heneral begins at Hermosa Cathedral. The carrozzas roll slowly, ornately decorated with flowers, saints, and candles. The air is thick with incense and chants.
Meric, dressed in white with a mourning band on her head, grips Mark's hand. Mark, too, wears white, with a small pin on his chest.
They both stare at the glowing procession. The contrast stings their hearts—celebration and faith outside, grief and death at home.
Meric whispers to her son, "Anya'tta detan, (How ironic)... Mamang died on her favorite day. You know Balong, if she haven't died, she would be here with us watching the procession."
Mark nods silently, his tears hidden in the flickering candlelight.
Meric tries her best, not to shed tears. As Mercy said to her back then,
"Never show your soft side to the public. Be brave, be courageous, and be righteous."
And the palms wave, rustling in the evening air, as if blessing Mercy one last time.