By J. Irving

“Will you make a short narrative of Bucky’s life as legacy for his son especially for his grandchildren? I saw Coco animation Mexican belief that if nobody in your family remembers you even in after death, there is a final death . . . “ From Peachy

NESTOR JOSE V. LOMEDA

24 July 1950 – 16 March 2019

BREAKING NEWS

On 18 March 2019 (Monday) at exactly 9:15am, I was inside the company boardroom for a Strategic Planning when my phone rang. Upon seeing whom the caller was, I immediately answered the phone without excusing myself or even going out of the room. I heard my sister saying loudly, “Rey, gadan na si Bucky magdigdi ka na tulos!” (Rey, Bucky is dead. Come here right away!) There was no time to digest the message. I immediately stood up and told the group that a brother died and I have to fly to Dumaguete on that day.

Bucky died in his sleep on March 16, 2019, Sunday, of massive heart attack according to his autopsy written on his death certificate. His body was discovered on his bed by the driver and househelp (husband and wife couple) by Monday morning when they arrive for work. They last saw Bucky on Friday evening…

Back inside the confine of my office, I have mixed feelings that I cannot understand. I wish to cry but there were no tears. I know the 5 stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance) but at that moment, I am fully aware of jumping to stage-5, which is accepting the news. I prayed the rosary offering that he be at peace and may find his way in the loving arms of our mother, who just died 3 months ago.

When my mother left us, we, the siblings, sort of lost our bearing. Mama was our moral compass. We are a fragmented family. Some siblings went their separate ways with ill feelings towards each other. My brother tried his best in reaching out to all siblings but he was feeling lost himself. He followed Mama to Dumaguete, coming from Chicago and decided to settle there for his retirement, not anywhere else, after almost 40 years in the States. He wished to be nearby Mama and to look after her, as his main purpose of his remaining life. He rented a single room apartment 10 minutes drive away from the place where my mother was staying. My mom was under the care of my eldest sister in another apartment.

 

ORIGIN

My brother was born in Manila on July 24, 1950.

He was six years older than me in a family of nine siblings. I am the child in the middle. He was 68 years old at the time of his death. He was the only sibling who studied elementary at Saint Raphael Academy, beside the Parish Church of Legazpi City. All other siblings, to include me, studied at different schools at different places. My father was a military man. He moved around and got assigned at different places. We were never all together under one roof during all those years. However, my mom followed our dad to wherever he was assigned or posted as law enforcer. She tried her best to have all her children close to her. In the early 60’s, our father was a captain in the Philippine Constabulary (PC), the precursor of the Philippine National Police (PNP). Captain Lomeda was the company commander in Albay stationed at Regan Barracks, which is now Camp Ola (named after the Bicolano last general to surrender to the Americans). My father left the disciplining of the children to our mother. Our father spoiled us, all of his children. I never had any memory that he got mad at us or spanking us, which was the norm during those days.

In high school, my brother entered the Holy Rosary Minor Seminary at Naga City;

That’s him, at the rightmost standing up in the front row, waving his right hand. He used to be the shortest in his class (below five feet but grew to 5’8″ in college), always the 1st guy when the seminarians were told to form a line according to height …

but in his junior years, he transferred to St. Gregory the Great Minor Seminary at Tabaco, Albay.

I do not know why he had to change seminaries of the same secular order? Then just before Christmas day of 1965, my brother arrived in Sipocot on a train. He was expelled from the seminary, nearing graduation day in his senior year. The rector of the seminary decided to boot him out after my brother admitted that he was the one who threw firecrackers inside his living quarters. The family at that time was in Sipocot, Camarines Sur. My father was serving as the company commander of a PC Detachment there.

(Bucky, me, Peachy and Doodee)

I, together with two younger siblings, were with our parents. The other 2 older siblings were in boarding schools away from the family; and 2 other younger siblings were not born yet. My mother used to tell me that my brother was an outstanding student. He even won 1st place in a declamation contest in the seminary. My brother recited in memory the poem with gusto and action, “The Owl and the Pussycat” that goes this way:

The Owl and the Pussycat (Bow)

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

‘Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

“Mr. owl and the pussycat” became his moniker during his high school years.

 

COLLEGE YEARS

So he completed his 4th year high school in Sipocot and got his diploma from Saint John Academy. In his college years, my father was back in Albay as the new assistant provincial commander. He’s better known now as Major Lomeda. The whole family moved from Sipocot to Daraga, an adjacent town to Legazpi City where the PC Provincial Headquarters is located. We rented a unit in a 5-door apartment at First Park Subdivision. We occupied the first door and the family of my dad’s co-worker, a Captain Sales, occupied the last door. His 4 children were my closest playmates. This was in the late 60’s. For less than a year in Sipocot, my brother and I continued our propinquity in Albay. He was the eldest sibling living in the house with us, together with my 2 younger sisters. I shared a room with my brother. I was 10 years old and he was 16. He studied 4 years at Divine World College, a Catholic School. He was an officer in ROTC but jointly held at Bicol Teachers’ College.

His passion was playing and watching basketball games. He played mostly the position of power forward. Instead of taking up Karate, he studied Aikido, a Japanese martial arts using the force of the enemy in defending. I remember one day, he was brought home by his gangmates, his face was all bloodied by broken glasses. His gang came from a rumble outside their school. My mother was hysterical treating his face wounds. He was telling Mama that she should see his opponent who was more bloodied than him. That’s not the only trouble I heard about him. Mama would tell me, when Buckie was learning how to bike, he accidentally went under a 6×6 truck and she had to rush him to the hospital. He was prone to accidents, head-lumps and blood . . .

As roommates, I would rummage up his things looking for something interesting but I would return them in the same location and position as I found them, without giving him any clue that I touched his stuffs. I enjoyed looking at his drawings and sketches. Sometimes it was in comics form, mostly soldiers in combat. Human sketching runs in the family. We were all good artists. My mother can draw well. Ransacking my brother’s personal belongings, I learned that the name of his gang was “Underworld”. I found out much later, he got the name “Underworld” from the Greek mythology. I can recall his drawing of 3-headed dog of King Hades. Likewise, he adopted the nickname “Kobe’. All his gang mates called him Kobe. It was from him I heard for the first time the word “Kobe”. There was no Kobe Bryant yet at that time. The only Kobe I know was the place in Japan. In Japanese, the word consists of two kanji, strokes in Japanese calligraphy, “Ko” means ‘god’ and “Be” means ‘door’ which exactly described the city of Kobe which was built around a shrine and only opening the doors to Japanese gods. In the Greek Mythology, Hades is the god of the underworld; and his 2 brothers: Zeus is the god of thunder and Poseidon is the god of the sea.

He was actively mischievous. He would put my dog, Buddy, in a leash and go to the end of the apartment where Berto, the neighbor’s house boy, was waiting with his master’s white bulldog, named Ringo. They would start a dogfight! He would defend and shoo away kids quarrelling with me. Arriving home from school, he would ask for his slippers from me until the time that I would bring his slippers automatically without asking anymore. For me then, I really did not know what was bordering in bullying or not. He was the one who demanded from me to call him “Manoy” (a term of endearment for elder brothers). My younger siblings followed suit and we also started addressing our other older siblings as such. For the reason that our father is known as “Manoy” to everyone in his hometown, Naga. My father was the eldest in a family of 5 children. They used to own the Lomeda Subdivision at Naga City.

[From L-R: Bucky, me, Mama, Doodee (on Mama’s lap), Lolo, Peachy (on Lolo’s lap) and Papa, brandishing a cal.38 pistol in a cross-draw holster tucked at his left hip]

When my father died of cancer in 1972, my brother was the one who emerged as a father figure to me. I respected and was afraid of him . . . obeying all the things he said to me!

 

PROFESSIONAL LIFE

My brother is a classmate of the president of the Philippines, President Rodrigo Roa Duterte. They belong to the same Law School, San Beda. I was already in Naga seminary when the rest of the family rented an apartment unit in Kamias, Quezon City. After passing the bar, my brother was immediately taken in by San Beda lawyers at Bausa Law Office dealing on corporate and civil matters; then later, with the renowned lawyer in criminal justice, Atty. Jimenez (I cannot remember the first name). My brother often bragged that one of his clients was the famous comedian, Dolphy. Then my mom, together with my 3 younger siblings, migrated to Canada in 1977. It was the time that I hurdled plebehood already. So I decided to stay behind. My brother was also left behind in Kamias, sharing an apartment with the Cootauco’s, our first cousins. Every time I got a pass in going to Manila, I did not fail to see my brother. We went on club hopping; and he would just sign chits without paying cash at bars and nightclubs, which are all his clients. Wow! He gave me money and I always went back to Baguio rich.

My father (who passed away on June of 1972, just 3 months away before the declaration of martial law) was by then long gone, when my brother took the bar exam in 1974. The family was surviving from the meager pension that my father left us as a deceased Brigadier General. My father was promoted 2 ranks higher before he died for the reason that he had a Certificate of Disability for Discharge (CDD), acquiring cancer of the lungs while in line of duty. Before the bar exam, my brother required my mom to rent a private room near San Beda and to deposit a certain amount of cash in his bankbook. He did not want to stay in our apartment to review for the exam because there would be so much distraction. So my mother sold our father’s unfinished dream house on top of a hill in Sipocot to support my brother’s wishes. In this way, my brother said, he could focus on studying well, not being bothered how to commute to and fro the review center and be troubled about money. He passed the bar exam at his first try! He is even listed ahead of my eldest brother in the membership roll of the Integrated Bar of the Philippines (IBP). My brother is Roll No. 26090 (passing the bar exam on 10 June 1975); while my other brother is Roll No. 27058 (passing the bar exam on 30 April 1977).

 

CHICAGO, USA

He left Philippines without telling anyone but he visited me at PMA before leaving. From New York,

he made his mind settling in Chicago permanently. This was in the 80’s. He would send me stateside stuffs that I ordered, a bulletproof vest for instance, when I was a narc agent in Bicol. He fell in love there at the Windy City and married his girlfriend Jeanette,

who said that my brother looked very much alike Erik Estrada or “Ponch” of the popular TV series CHiPs (California Highway Patrol). They had a son, Mark. He was able to bring his teenage son to the Philippines in 1997 and let him meet his relatives and cousins.

He was very proud and happy in doing so because he intimated to me that in a few more years, he will be 18 and be losing custody over him.

Sad, Jeanette and my brother divorced. His ex-wife became a lawyer and she was the one who became known as Atty. Lomeda in America; but she departed early from this world. My brother was classified then as widower. He never remarried. He was longing for the love of his only son who had pent up feelings towards him.

He lived alone like a hermit sending me emails from time to time. He was fighting depression in his later years in Chicago, at the period he lost his job. I would send him anti-depressant pills through snail mail. Luckily, all mails reached him in an enveloped with markings, “Rosary Inside”, as the pills would shake audibly in a plastic SD container. He had 2 distant cousins in Chicago, the Grecias, townmates from Daet, who pepped him up whenever he felt low. When he started earning his pension, he then decided to come to the Philippines and live in Dumaguete nearby my mother . . .

 

THE MISSING LINK

Readers might be wondering why there is a 6-year gap between my brother and me, while my mom’s and her sister’s birth pattern was an interval of giving birth every after two years. Funny as it may though, the two sisters gave birth alternately every year. They borrowed maternity cloths from each other and handed down baby cloths for the next child to be born. My mom married ahead and had 9 children. Her sister had 8. The pattern was not broken. A child died between my brother and me. He is Emmanuel Dwight, nicknamed “Ike”. He was my father’s favorite according to my mother. Ike reflexes were stunning. He could jump rope without being faulted (natatalang in Bikol). He could do the monkey-bar with 2 hands on the bar at the same time; and one hand alternately, making onlookers admire fascinatedly upon his graceful movements. My dad frequently tagged him along in going to his office and mobile patrols, as I have seen many black and white photos of them in our old family albums. He was the most good looking among us, brothers and cousins. I can imagine how my dad reacted when he died in the grim tragedy that I would narrate to you . . .

 

FAMILY TRAGEDY

Until now, I do not know the entire true story. The family never discussed it openly. Mama, my mother, never said or mentioned the incident in detail during her lifetime. I learned the story from other sources. I was afraid to ask from her or even my brother, when they were still alive. Now, the two are gone! I can never get and give you the first hand story but only share with you hearsays.

“On 16^thSeptember 1956, it was the culmination day of the 9 days celebration of the Peñafrancia Fiesta, a Sunday. I was the baby in the family, a 3-month old infant. There were 2 little boys whose ages were 6 and 4 years old who went to the riverbanks. The place where the barge of the image of “Our Lady of Peñafrancia” landed after the fluvial procession, in going to its final destination, Her home, the shrine church across the street of their paternal grandfather’s ancestral home, where they stayed. They, together with their cousins and some visitors, always had good view of the procession at the 2^ndfloor windows of the house; as their father regularly joined the human chain pulling the carriage of the holy image; the locals call the participants “voyadores”. The procession happened on a Saturday afternoon, almost evening where candles along the river could visibly be seen. On the day after, the day the 2 boys explored, it was already Sunday, the barge or “pagoda” was still at the landing site. The 2 boys were curious and they went near the pagoda early on that day while the household was still asleep and quiet. However, there were already many people going to church and vendors saturated the sidewalks selling their wares infront of their ancestral house. At the landing site, the 6-year old boy fell from the cemented steps of the pier into the deep river water. The 4-year old boy dove instantly into the water trying to save his older brother; but news said they went swimming. There were people who saw them. Shouting! Men nearby jumped into the murky water. The 6-year old surfaced but the 4-year old was found much later – dead!”

I cannot imagine what happened next. Of course, my mother was all to blame. The accidental drowning turned the ancestral house into a site of tragedy and grief. Torn apart, none of them spoke of what happened that fiesta, relationship between my father and mother was uneasy and hurtful. For the 6 year old boy, people blamed him because he should know better as he is the older one.

In early 80’s, I saw the film “Ordinary People”, a film about two brothers in a boating expedition beleaguered by storm. The elder brother drowned and the younger one failed to save his brother. The plot of the story was very similar to what happened to my 2 brothers. I was able to relate very well in the film to the characters of the father, mother and the surviving brother. I cannot control my tears watching! Weird, as it may sound, the name of the brother in the film who drowned was “Bucky” . . .

The little boy who drowned was buried in Daet, at our family burial grounds. His epitaph simply says:

There is no date of his birth and death, which is against the usual practice in making gravestones. I ask myself, why? and I started to feel the different feelings of all the actors at the heat of the moment . . . they wanted to forget the incident but never the person!

(Lolo Bucky with his son Mark, daughter-in-law Heather and grandchildren Michael and Lucy)

My eldest sister, Manay Jing, who was 8 years old during the tragedy, has this thing to say, “Bucky loved his son without any doubt and was very proud of what he became, an engineer with a beautiful family. He tried his best to be a good father but he was emotionally ill equipped due to his childhood trauma, which we never dealt with or spoke of in his presence. He was just a little boy when Ike drowned while playing with him in the river. He blamed himself for the accident and maybe felt blamed by papa or mama. I was just beginning to understand the root of his trauma after talking with a psychologist priest after mama’s death. Bucky admitted his lack of self confidence during conversations especially when I want him to meet my friends or be involve in some volunteer work. He wanted me to go with him inside his doctor’s office during consultations, which I did just 2 or 3 weeks before he died. He did not seem to carry grudges as proven during mama’s wake. What makes me cry now is his decision not to move after mama was gone because I am still in Dumaguete. He always meant well although he was misunderstood some times.”

 

DUMAGUETE

Everytime I visited my mother in Dumaguete, my brother always fetched me at the airport. I could see how exited he was to see me. I think I am the only person in the world whom he can talk openly, as I am a good listener. Holding his Red Horse beer bottle and me with my regular San Mig Lights, he would discuss with me military and religious topics, such as this:

Spending the weekends in his apartment, he would let me lie down on his Lazy Boy. He then showed me in YouTube from his laptop attached to a wide TV screen: Russian Commandoes and US airplanes. He would switch the cable TV when bored to EWTN, a Catholic TV station, listening to recorded talks of Sister Angelica for inspiration. My frequent stay at his flat in Dumaguete, on my part, made me glad that I was able to tell him all the things I wanted to say to him (except asking him about the accidental drowning). I can see how he enjoyed to have somebody listening to anything what he said. He even told me the reason why I am still alive up to now inspite of the “Pata Massacre” and heavy fighting in Mindanao where I serve my combat tours. He said firmly, “It is because of Mama’s prayers!”

I also asked my brother in our private conversation, “Pan-o kung magadan ka na digdi? Sain mo gusto ilubong?” (In case you die here, where do you want me to bury you?) His usual answer to me was, “Sa Daet!”

Hence, I’m very glad I was able to tell him also that he was the reason why I finished PMA! During my plebehood, when classmates were deciding to escape the portals of harsh military training, I was afraid to quit. I was telling myself that I have no face to show him and it would be very difficult for me to go home to Kamias as a failure.

He always let me feel that he is very proud of me! Thank you for being a big brother and a father-figure to me! Perhaps, he sees Ike in me! Happy birthday Manoy Bucky!

 

EPILOGUE

“We can honor him by never giving up on each other, try heal our wounds and not bear grudges”… From Peachy

 

On 30 October 2019: my sisters Manay Jingjing and Peachy brought him home from Dumaguete to his final resting place…

As you wished, you are now home in Daet with Papa and Mama …