TIGblogs - Rhona Lopez

Remembering my Father, Rodney C. Lopez
(Draft of Eulogy to be rendered either by Video or to be read by my sister-in-law, Amethyst Hazel Lopez, on the occasion of my father's Funeral on June 26, Thursday, in Manila)

Live from Las Vegas (sadly)
Hello, for those of you who don’t know me or probably do not recognize me anymore, my name is Rhona Cristy Gelle Lopez, and I am the only daughter and youngest child to Rodney Casimero Lopez.

I really wanted to travel back there to join the rest of you in saying goodbye to my father, but lots of circumstances are in the way, and I know that at least my mother and brother need their own closure soon on this.

So I have painfully decided to not come for the wake and funeral there in Manila itself, and this Video and Online Eulogy, which is made with the help of my fiance, Mario Santamaria, here in our Las Vegas home & office, is my own contribution to this event.

If this sounds rather scripted in English, which just happens to be the language of my work here in America as a TV Producer & Marketing Professional for the past 7 years, it’s only because I am also very overwhelmed with emotion right now, and having a script is the only way I can communicate without just losing it right in front of all of you.

Beyond The Wheelchair & My Dad’s Behind-The-Scenes Approach
I am speaking now because I have to say that for the last quarter century, the last 25 years, my father has been relatively invisible because of his wheelchair-bound state.

I want people to know who my father was. I want people to know that he has always been an important part of my life, and he had achieved so much personally & professionally, making a great difference in a lot of other people’s lives & businesses too.

I want people to know that I am proud of him, and I will desperately miss him.

My First Teacher
Let me first start by saying that I have always been a Daddy’s Girl. My first memories of my father are of him being very doting. He would sing me lullabies he’d make up & practice from work. He would let me play with his wavy black thick hair, that I apparently have also inherited.

He was also very much a natural teacher, teaching me how to read, using these huge horizontal flash cards he probably imported from England, because while one card says “Daddy”, the other card said “Mummy”, w/c is British for mother, but my own mother did not want to be associated with something in bandages, so my Dad literally changed the letter U to an O, so I grew up calling my parents Daddy and Mommy.

To train me further in reading, when he would go on seminars on behalf of the University of the Philippines’ School of Urban & Regional Planning like those in the old Sulo Hotel, he made me look for his nameplate, saying if I didn’t read his name and title right, he’d get lost. Thankfully I’d get it right every time, he was an excellent, patient, & detailed teacher.

My Dad was also a very hands-on father, with very clear ideas about the kind of Values and Ethics my brother and I should have. He would personally drive us to and from school and co-curricular activities.

Lopez, Rodney Lopez (aka My Charming & Dashing Father)
He was always a charismatic guy, even at a young age I can tell some of my lady teachers were vainly attempting to flirt w/ him, and my little fellow students liked hanging around him.

In speaking of a bit of vanity, my father always had a huge collection of handkerchiefs that I started using too as a kid to mimic him, and for some reason he always used Pulbos or Talcum Powder on himself – maybe he thought he was too tan.

With my early childhood being in the late 70s & early 80s, my Dad always favored the Bukas Kuwelyo look, or open collar, one button undone – a classic style that I also inherited too.

My father was also an awesome Ballroom Dancer. My mother recalls how all her spinster high school friends would ask to dance with Daddy during their high school reunion. My Dad was ok w/ that, and so was my Mom – theirs was a very mature and secure relationship.

The Consummate & Versatile Professional
Yet, for all his GQishness, my Dad has always been the macho rugged architect. My father recalls literally growing up in caves during WW2, and he actually studied not only Architecture from German priests in Cebu’s University of San Carlos, but I believe he was also working on a Civil Engineering degree too.

He liked to joke that he was on the Top 20 Architecture Board Examinees of his licensing year by luckily landing as Number 19. He had wanted to be a Commissioned Military Officer, but at the time his chronic hypertension was still considered a major disqualifier, so he instead traveled the Philippines working with the government on many infrastructure projects, including I believe the Mactan International Airport.

I believe my Dad when he said that once some provincial judge tried to get him into a shotgun wedding with his daughter, my father was a catch!

Later on in his career he made buildings funded by major international aid agencies such as JICA, or the Japan International Cooperation Agency. He was also working on the continuing development of the town of Bacoor, Cavite. He had the full credentials & experience of someone who could have easily become an Undersecretary for Public Works.

He always used to tell me especially while I was in college at Ateneo that it is one thing to set up physical structures, it’s another thing to make human communities really work.

My father encouraged me to pursue the Development Studies degree that combines Sociology & Economics, because he sincerely believed that I had what it took to balance the human and the technical or financial to get things done. He also believed that there were better ways to develop communities beyond just government or private funding. He really wanted me to Innovate, not just Duplicate.

Man of Great Vision, Man of Down-to-Earth Practicality
My father also always wanted to expand his own horizons too. This explains why in our family basement library I found books of his from the Rosicrucians, the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Dale Carnegie courses, Norman Vincent Peale, and more. My father was always a life-long learner and critical thinker.

When something did not obviously fit with him or work out - such as that Jehovah’s Witness requirement of 15 minutes of daily ministering no matter how un-compelling & annoying one can get – he learns & moves on, he’s never into obsessive dwelling. This probably also explains why teaching & nurturing comes naturally to him too.

From him I learned for example to just brush or blow off dirt from dropped food, using the 5 second rule. He was also very much a do-it-yourself guy, making his own candles during blackouts for example.

I also distinctly remember once when I fell off a tree and my left leg got pierced by a nail, he drove all the way from University of the Philippines in Diliman to pick me up from my Paranaque nursery school, and he held my hand as that wound was treated.

I still have the scar, but I remember more from that my father being there for me, rather than me getting stupidly injured in the first place.

As a child I guess I was already such a thoroughly English-speaking character at a young age that somehow I landed in the Foreigners’ Class of Colegio San Agustin Makati Pre-School, and my father encouraged me to make friends w/ anyone regardless of what they look like, what their parents look like, what all these families did for a living or what countries they’re from, and so forth.

He thought me very early in life to not be shallow about relationships or goals. He thought me to be pleasantly surprised, as well as wisely discerning.

He also made sure that I wasn’t just going to turn into a hermit or snob by getting me to use school buses, and thanks to that many of my life-long friends came out of there.

He also got me into Sunday School, and he even led a Junior Worship with me.

Amidst all this, my father was still a hard worker, not just in the office but even at home. He had a great big drafting board in our home basement, along with all these neat-looking instruments, and he was a bit of an insomniac, which is another trait my Dad and I share.

I recall many nights staying up late with my father watching Martial Arts TV series, eating Purefoods Hotdogs with rice, and when we tired of the TV, we just looked at the bright night stars.

From Bachelor to Family Man with the Right Woman (my Mother)
My father is also an inveterate romantic when it comes to my mother. They actually met while they were working on developing subdivisions – she was part of Accounting, he was with the Drafting. What started as some mutual friends claiming that one liked the other actually came true and stuck.

Now two passionately excellent & intelligent workaholics finally found each other and settled down in their mid-30s to have their own family together, and the romance, for all its kitschness or kabaduyan, never really ended.

In fact, one midnight as a 6 year old I woke up looking for my parents, and I found them in our living room, drinking bubbly champagne. I asked what was going on, and they said it was their 12th Wedding Anniversary, June 27, 1982, and they explained to me what love was, what marriage is, and their hope for me that if it is meant for me, I would also be blessed with a great marriage & family of my own as an adult . . . .

25 Years Prior – How My Dad Fought Back Against Coma & Death to Keep Our Family Together
Roughly six months after that, after enjoying a wonderful office Christmas party the night before, I was sleeping in the kiddie bed of the master bedroom when at around 4 am on a Sunday morning, December 12, I was awaken by a loud thud.

My father was in a seizure, and my tall strong mother managed to drag him down to the car. I did not understand at all what was going on. I thought they were playing a game.

It was only when relatives from both sides of my family started coming to the house, and when I started hearing the words Stroke, and Hypertension and Blood Pressure and ICU did I gradually understand. My macho, intelligent, charismatic, doting professional father was very ill, and initially I was not even allowed to see him because I was only 6 years old at the time – you had to be at least 7 years old to be in the ICU or Intensive Care Unit.

But somewhere down the line I was admitted in there, and somewhere down the line my mother was up front with me and my then 11 year old brother. Our father might die. Our father has all these tubes sticking out of him, and he might never wake up. We might need to turn the machines off.

My Kuya Nonoy cried. He was old enough to fully understand. He was already around when my Dad had his 1st stroke some years before my birth. People say my Dad at least quit smoking after that, and I got conceived & born.

My early childhood was spent seeing him drink that Aspirin-based anti-hypertension medicine. At the time there were no Lipitors, Benicars, Vytorin, Cholesterol-Lowering Honey Nut Cheerios, or other daily preventive remedies – it was just plain Aspirin whatever or nothing, which we now all know in hindsight were no where near enough to avoid certain medical mishaps . . . .

All that said, in my innocence, I only asked that we pray. And we did, and just when the plug was about to be pulled, my father raises his finger.

He manages to wake up, and he is still my father, but physically he was never going to be the same. His Architecture practice would have to end. His drawing arm has been paralyzed, as well as another leg. At least he can still think and clearly talk.

And it was from this clearly thinking & talking father who just
happened to be in a wheelchair that I learned even more. He informally but consistently tutored me on anything from World History to Math to Science and even Entrepreneurship.

We also would watch the same telenovelas, TV movies, news programs, boxing matches and more on the TV together, and what was interesting about that was instead of just being wordless zombies in front of the screen, we also tended to talk out loud about what could happen next in the plot, or he starts being the sensible Architect all over again, saying things like “How could that Ark support all those animals? Did they have any toilets? What degree angle was that”, and so forth . . . Think sharply or don’t think at all might as well be our shared motto.

My father also taught me to love animals, especially dogs, which is why even here in America I have my own dog, Lexi. This is also when our long-time spotted dog Tweety finally died in 1999, both he and I cried a lot.

Dogs to him were more than just pets, they were his loyal, unconditional, reliable friends, his security.

Not Just Any Excuse-Seeker or Malingerer; A Great Man wiho just happens to be Infirm, Not just an Infirm Man
He also taught me dignity in treating other people fairly too. For example, without fail he would have some cash tip money for the mailman that delivers his pension checks.

Technically my father could just say he’s disabled on limited income himself, but my Dad always believed in compensating even if only modestly professionally rendered services. He was just never into the slave-driving haciendero mentality.

My Dad also got me to sell Ice & Ice Candies to nearby construction workers, talking about the value of the cottage industry, and also a little bit about Marketing, my core vocation. Ice sells faster when a clean cute little neighborhood kid sells it.

He also taught me to save & invest money, to not spoil or go into debt myself on quick treats when I could be gaining more wealth. Living here in the ever-indulgent USA, I realize that not every parent can effectively teach or model this. My father did.

My father was also always the Court of First Instance or Appeals too. Dads mean fun, mothers mean business, but sometimes the roles get reversed. Having an older brother of course there were sibling fights my Dad broke up.

My father was also always a gracious audience to whatever I was doing, may it be piano playing, monologue acting, and even Writing, another core vocation of mine.

My father several times had cried for me and kept on telling me not to give up on myself or think that I was worth nothing when my young adult years endured significant physical pain from carpal tunnel surgery, as well as the psychological stresses & abuses that started accumulating from some unhealthy personal & professional relationships during my first tough years in the workplace.

Sometimes, my father would express that his wheelchair-bound condition may have limited some options & opportunities for me & my brother. Sometimes as I got older he’d tell me that he wishes he was well enough to fully work so my Graduate Schooling may be paid for.

For me, I care more about the fact that my father was always behind the scenes influencing my decisions & actions throughout my growing years.

One would think that after losing use of half of one’s body that bitterness & rage would dominate the rest of one’s remaining life.

In my Dad’s case, to be fair he always had a bit of a passionate temper about work, values, and the like even way before his 1st stroke, and this passion for excellence & accountability still stayed with him through the very end that around a year ago, one of our newer housekeepers had to ask me if my father had always been Strict.

Funny, here in America I’m also known for being a passionate hard-ass too, it must proudly run in our veins and family. My Dad never taught me or my brother to just be corrupt or mediocre.

My Dad was only human to at times feel pain & regret, but then he brushes it off and was still there for me and the next generation of Lopezes, my brother’s 3 daughters and one son.

My Mom and my Dad were also always a team, always complementary to each other, always equals, and always consulting each other about business, family, health, and more.

Other lesser men who have had strokes or tragedies tend to dwell on these too much, tend to blame others, sue others, feel entitlement, or start getting lazy or become malingering con artists thriving on pity.

Still My Father Even Long-Distance, Even As I Made Mistakes
I unfortunately realized a little too late that my first husband was of that overly self-serving pity machine mold, and that marriage had to end – and my father, before a lingering aneurysm started to blot his memory, took my two-hour long distance phone call from me in California years ago about my impending divorce, and he supported my decision to move on, and to find myself & free myself in my new home country, away from stereotypes & negativity.

And for good measure, Dad used humor to cheer me up, and at the risk of possibly offending some people, I do have to say one of the ways he cheered me up as I was getting used to not having my 1st spouse in my life anymore byt parodying the his country of origin's accent rather too well.

Dad said I should never lose so much respect for myself to the point of having to listen to my former husband or his family & friends keep on lecturing me about how things are/should be done, or how women are treated “In My Country”, “Do They Think You Owe Them Dowry?”, etc. He reminded me that I am in 21st Century America, not in their old country or mores . . .

My father I think also managed to live so long after that massive 1982 stroke because of his amazing sense of humor.

He love cracking one-liners out of nowhere, and sometimes he ends up laughing so much about a joke he has in mind we never really get to hear the whole joke, he’s just laughing a lot. I got that habit too.

My late grandmother, Honoria Gelle, my mother’s mother, apparently also always appreciated my father’s sense of humor and can-do spirit, which is why she actually liked staying at our modest Better Living bungalow.

There’s something to be said about sons-in-law and mothers-in-law who actually get along that way.

My father was always a diplomatic and gracious person. Like many husbands he may not have always liked the rather irritating to toxic attitudes or behaviors of some of his in-laws or other people, but he at least had the grace to never be petty, or never demand special treatment or consideration.

He still taught me to respect my elders no matter how “trying” they can be, he taught me the value of agreeing to disagree and move on, for even based on his own example, life as a whole is really just too short to spend on pettiness . . .

All this being said, I am extremely broken-hearted about his passing. In the more recent years, my father’s memory with regards to me practically erases the part about me ever being married or even moving to the USA.

The last time I spoke w/ him, it was during my 32nd birthday, and he thought I was just working in Manila. Still, he remembered enough to know it was my birthday, and that Mother’s Day was also around the corner, and he promised that he’s going to make sure he and my Mom would have a great dinner together for that . . .

I was planning to come to Manila on business possibly this December with the Ayala Foundation & Community Share, but I guess my Dad’s time to finally walk in heaven has come.

I wish my fiance Mario would have met him. I wish my next wedding and marriage, he would have led me down the aisle. I wish I could have given him grandchildren. There is so much more positive going on with me over time that I wanted to share with him.

Dad was the only person who ever called me Inday. What I would give to have him call me that just once more.

But for now, he is at peace, joining his own beloved parents.

The Rodney Lopezes and their Last Hurrah for Daddy
My brother and I are grown, respected, resilient, and accomplished adult professionals in two continents because in great part my father showed us both that life, dignity, or values does not have to end or be ever compromised with physical infirmity.

Rodney Casimero Lopez was my father.

Daddy, I love him very much. I miss you very much. I miss eating merienda like Taho, fried bananas, and champorado with you. I miss how you crumple all the newspapers before I get to read them each morning because you never liked wearing reading glasses anyway. I miss how you keep on trying to guess the winning Lotto numbers. I miss the thought-provoking discussions we would have about anything & everything like religion, politics, or even just movies.

You’re the only other family member like me who remembers every single movie actor & line. I think I got my monster memory for both visuals & auditory stuff from you.

I will definitely also miss you asking yet again for another Polo shirt for your birthday.

I hope you are walking again now, and I thank God and you forever for staying alive for 25 more years being my father and being my mother’s husband.

It makes all the difference that you held on so long. I am so sorry that I nor this man who will be my new husband and father to your next batch of grandchildren could not come home sooner.

Thank you all for listening and for coming.***