I’ve been remembering my grandfather fondly these past few days. I find myself wishing I had absorbed and applied more of the things he taught me about life and business. I think about his resilience, how he lived into his 90s and was still walking without a cane, still sharp-minded enough to teach my high school self math.
Maybe I absorbed more than I realize. I can’t really judge myself, or perhaps I should avoid judging myself altogether.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the little memories I have of him.
I fondly remember my grandfather bringing us along on his business trips and to Philippine Military Academy (PMA) reunions.
My grandfather belonged to PMA Class 40, the pioneer class. During the few years I remember joining him in Baguio for the homecoming, he was often one of the oldest attendees. The last time I joined him, I remember thinking that he was probably the oldest of them all.
I remember eating balut at one of his reunions in Camp Aguinaldo.
I remember the car rides to his office in Makati and the days I spent there.
I remember the scratch papers in his home office, the name labeler in his library, the bingo paraphernalia, and some of his golf equipment.
I remember bits and pieces of our trip to Boracay for one of his business trips.
These memories come in flashes. Some are hazy, and I can’t always recall the details, but they stir up so many emotions.
I haven’t written much about him since he passed away. But recently, I found myself going back to a eulogy I wrote in 2014, the year he died. I want to share it again here, partly because it captures how I saw him then, and partly because I want to remember him through the words of my younger self.
Reynaldo Ruivivar Bocalbos, whom we fondly refer to as “Daddy,” was a very great man.
Born on March 16, 1918, in Albay, he lived as a positive-thinking and hardworking person. He often told us how fortunate we are that water is easily accessible now because, in the past, he had to fetch water whenever they needed to take a bath, wash the dishes, or do the laundry. He would tell these stories humorously, but he always made sure we understood the important lessons behind them.
He was a man with a great smile, and he also knew how to make a girl smile. He would fondly refer to the females he encountered as “Ms. Philippines” or “Ms. Beautiful.”
Daddy experienced many events in his life, both good and bad, but he remained courageous, honest, and loyal.
He graduated from the Philippine Military Academy in 1940. He was a soldier who lived through World War II and bravely fought in Mindanao. Even during wartime, he took the time to appreciate how beautiful it was.
Daddy was very proud to be part of this military institution. In fact, every year, he would insist on going to Baguio for the homecoming. He was active and outgoing, and even his fellow PMA graduates could see it. During the alumni homecomings, he greeted many people and enjoyed mingling with others.
Despite holding the rank of Colonel, Daddy was very honest and never abused his power. He was often disturbed when he heard about controversies involving PMA. He knew what a great institution it was, and during the 2011 controversy, he proudly stated that we should not let one man destroy the whole institution.
In his words:
“You do not destroy the institution because of one man or two men. You must also remember that there are thousands of heroes here.”
In his personal stories, he would talk about how real the temptation to engage in corruption within the military could be. Sabi niya, “Kung nangurakot din ako nung araw, mayaman na sana tayo.”
But he kept his morals. He did not do anything wrong, even when the temptation was there. Even when he faced hardships, he was the kind of man who would rather work hard to earn the things he had. He was an ideal leader.
He was also very dedicated and kept the flame of Class 40 alive by organizing a reunion every year. He never forgot his comrades, and he made sure to get to know their families. He was a very kind man.
At home, he showed just how organized he was. He was never idle. If he wasn’t writing letters related to work, he would wash the dishes or clean around the house.
He was a family man and was very fond of children. Whether they were his own grandchildren or street children, he showed compassion. He always tried his best to find spare coins to give to children who asked for money. He was kind even to junk collectors, and they called him “Daddy” too. I remember being surprised when a junk collector asked if Dad was home.
My grandfather, Daddy, was a kind person. As someone who personally experienced his kindness, I can only say that if the world were filled with people like him, no one would probably go hungry, and the world would definitely be better than it is.
He shared whatever he had. He was very selfless.
He had been there for me for as long as I could remember. As a child, I remember how he encouraged me to develop business sense by letting us sell some candies. I ate the candies instead of selling them, of course.
He was a great teacher.
There were many instances when I struggled with math as a student. My classmates knew this, and they expected me to flunk the next test. I didn’t want to fail, so I asked Dad to teach me.
He explained the formulas very well, and when the test results came out, I got a perfect score. My classmates were very surprised and asked, “Jem, anu nangyari sa’yo?”
I said, “Tinuruan ako ng lolo ko eh.”
My math teacher also told me once how daring I was during a math test because I chose to use the long method to solve the problems. In my head, I was thinking that I understood the long method my grandfather taught me better than any shortcuts.
He was also very supportive of my choices. I said I wanted to become an artist, and he supported me. He didn’t question me.
Dad taught me many things, and his mere presence was comforting. He was always reliable whenever I needed help.
I wish he could have stayed longer, but I know he is in a happy place now. He had done everything he could to bring me up. Life would definitely be different now that Dad had moved on to another place, but I think he would want us to live great lives.
He had left his mark on our lives, and he will live forever in our hearts.
Dad, salamat. Maraming, maraming, maraming salamat.
Alam ko hindi mo ginustong iwan kami nang biglaan, pero mukhang kailangan ka na ni Lord bilang bagong anghel, kaya kinuha ka na Niya. Salamat sa lahat ng suporta at pagmamahal. I know babantayan mo pa rin kami mula diyan sa langit at lagi mo pa rin kaming susuportahan.
Sabi nga sa isang famous quote, “This is not goodbye, just see you later.”
So, Dad, see you later. When we meet again, I hope you’ll be proud of us.
We love you so much, and you will be dearly missed.
Twelve years after writing that eulogy, I still feel a tinge of sadness when I think about him. I do wish he were still alive, especially in this phase of my life. I find myself wondering how he would react to meeting my son.
They say the days are long, but the years are short. I still find that very hard to digest right now. But I do know that I was already lucky to have had my grandfather with me until I got my first job.
Now that I’m older, I sometimes regret that I wasn’t able to treat him to more things when I finally started earning my own money. I wish I could have bought him more things, taken him out, or simply given him a little something from my first salary.
I don’t even remember if I ever gave him 20 pesos to use for the lottery.
In my head, there’s a memory of it. I can almost picture it happening, but I can’t confirm if it really did or if I’ve made it up over the years because I want to believe I was at least able to give him something.
It’s such a small thing to remember, or perhaps to want to remember. But here I am, twelve years later, still wondering about it.
I wish I had more time with him. More time to grow up, to earn my own money, to understand more of the things he taught me, and to give something back to someone who gave me so much.
And now that I’m a mother, I wish he were here to meet my son. I wonder what he would say, what advice he would give me, and what he would be like as a great-grandfather. I wonder what little things my son might have remembered about him if they had been given the chance to know each other.
I can’t go back and make more memories with my grandfather. I can only hold on to the ones I have, even the hazy ones, even the ones I’m not entirely sure I remember correctly.
Maybe, as I raise my own child, I’ll come to understand more of the things my grandfather tried to teach me. Maybe I’ll realize that I absorbed more than I give myself credit for. Maybe some of the things he passed on to me will find their way into the way I raise my son, even if I don’t always recognize them.
For now, I just miss him.
And I wish I could tell him that I still remember.
