Chapter XXXVI: Passing of the Light
Still, on the same day, the afternoon sun hangs lazily in the sky, pouring golden streaks through the jalousie glass windows of Mercy's house. The family has just come back from the funeral hours earlier, and everything feels unnaturally still. For the first time since her mother's death, Meric forces herself to get up from the sofa. The silence is heavy, but she moves anyway, reminding herself that her mother wouldn't want the house to stay in darkness forever.
Elric decides to return home to Pantay Este to check on his own family. Jonn quietly heads upstairs, retreating into his room, the door shutting with a soft but final thud. The air feels hollow. Meric takes a slow breath, looks around at the shadowed corners of the sala, and notices again how the light bulbs in the ceiling remain dead. It hits her like a sudden realization.
Maybe—just maybe—her mother wanted to pass the baton to her. Maybe this was Mercy's silent way of telling her, "Now, Sika met Mayyang, ti sumaruno nga mangpasilaw daytoy balay. (Mayyang, it's your turn to give light to this home.)"
With that thought, Meric fetches a stool and a small box of fresh light bulbs. One by one, she unscrews the dead ones and replaces them. The first flickers uncertainly, then glows steadily. She exhales in relief. She changes another, and the kitchen fills with light. By the time she finishes the last one, the house is no longer wrapped in gloom.
Meric steps back, wipes the sweat off her forehead, and whispers to herself with a faint smile, "There, Mamang... light again. Let there be light."
She walks to the kitchen and starts preparing dinner. The chopping of onions, the sizzle of garlic, and the aroma of fried fish echo through the air—ordinary sounds of family life slowly creeping back. She feels her mother's presence in every sound, every scent, as though Mercy herself is watching from the corner, nodding approvingly.
Meanwhile, Jonn busies himself with his duties at the Provincial Hospital. The corridors there are still hectic with patients and families, and his medical obligations keep him from drowning in grief. At least there, his mind is occupied.
After days of routine and subdued evenings, the siblings agree that maybe they all need a little break, something to shake off the heaviness of mourning. And so, one week later, they plan a family trip to Robinsons Mall in Pagbangaan.
That morning, they all squeeze into a minibus—Elric, Meric, Jonn, Rico, little Mark, Adrion, Aldric, and Elric's wife. The ride is filled with the smell of dust, gasoline, and snacks brought along for the road. Mark, full of energy, keeps bouncing on his seat, asking every ten minutes, "Are we there yet?"
Halfway through the trip, Elric's wife leans over to the group and cheerfully announces, "It's been a while I haven't gone to Robinsons Lawag."
Elric turns his head slowly, eyebrows raised. "Honey, it's Pagbangaan," he corrects dryly.
"What?" she blinks.
"It's in Pagbangaan, not Lawag," Elric says firmly, as though defending a sacred truth.
Jonn chuckles from the back. "Let it go, Nong At least she knows it's somewhere in Ilocos."
Elric mutters something about accuracy, while Mark is silent on the whole trip, and Adrion and Aldric are just playing games on their PS4 and phones.
When they finally arrive, the mall hums with life—children running toward arcades, vendors calling out at the food court, and shoppers trailing long bags of groceries. The family heads first to Tom's World, where Elric drags Adrion and Aldric into the sea of flashing lights and noisy machines. The children squeal as they play basketball arcade, car races, and whack-a-mole.
Meric and Jonn watch from a bench. For the first time in weeks, Meric feels lighter watching Mark's laughter. But the feeling of loss still sits quietly in her chest, reminding her that one laugh doesn't erase everything.
They wander into the food court next, filling trays with halo-halo, pancit, and fried chicken. As they eat, Meric glances around the bustling crowd and wonders aloud, "I wonder how Aunt Dita is doing in Lawag... Uncle Totong's wife (Uncle Totong is Restituto). Maybe she's still busy at the Riverside."
Elric nods between bites. "Most likely. But with no private vehicle, visiting would be too hard. We'll have to plan that another time."
The siblings exchange thoughtful looks, silently promising that one day, they will.
Before leaving, Meric and Mark make one last stop at KFC. They buy KFC Fun-shots for take-out, and as they wait at the counter, Meric sighs, "How I wish Hermosa had a KFC. Life would be easier."
Mark grins up at her. "Then we wouldn't have to go all the way here just for chicken!"
"Exactly," she laughs, carrying the red-and-white mini-bucket proudly as though it's treasure.
The return trip is quieter, but still laced with jokes about Elric's wife calling the mall "Robinsons Lawag." The family clings to small moments of joy, reminding themselves that life must go on, no matter how hard.
In the following weeks, ordinary afternoons return. Sometimes, Meric, Mark, and Rico ride the old tricycle to Hermosa town proper. They stroll around Plaza Jose, the heart of the city, or sit at the Empanadaan where hot Ilocano empanadas are served fresh from bubbling oil. Mark munches noisily, oil dripping down his chin, and Meric scolds him, "Slow down or you'll choke!" Rico just laughs, saying, "He inherited that appetite from you, you know."
Elric's one-month leave eventually comes to an end. On the day of his departure, he hugs everyone tightly, promising to send frequent calls and messages. It stings to see him leave, but they all know he must return abroad to continue providing for his family.
Time presses forward. By May 3, Hermosa bursts alive for Tres de Mayo, the festival honoring Apo Lakay—Sto. Cristo Milagroso. A grand concelebrated Mass takes place in front of Santo Cristo Chapel, the historic church that anchors faith in the town. Oh how Mercy could come to this, but she is already gone.
Meric and Mark join the waves of people, their voices blending with the hymns echoing through the air. After Mass, the trade fair at Plaza Jose is buzzing with vendors. Colorful displays of Abel Iloco fabrics, hand-carved wooden furniture, and trays of Ilocano delicacies fill the stalls. Mark marvels at the bright woven cloths, tugging at Meric's hand.
"Can we buy this, Mommy? It's so pretty!"
"Maybe next time," she answers, smiling at his wide eyes.
The festival continues with street dancing, performers clashing two sticks together rhythmically, mimicking the separation of cotton buds used to make Abel Iloco. The music, the stomping feet, the colorful costumes—all remind Meric that life, culture, and tradition carry on.
Time passes until May 19, Mercy's 40th day. The family prepares a simple and solemn prayer gathering. There are no grand feasts, no elaborate decorations, just quiet remembrance inside the home. Rico sits silently with folded hands, Jonn leads the rosary, and Meric arranges the candles.
As the family gathers, Candy unexpectedly arrives. No one asked her to come, but it feels right. She steps forward, gently takes the lead of the prayer, her voice calm yet firm. Everyone listens intently, their hearts heavy but united.
When the prayer ends, Candy clears her throat softly, then begins to sing Laglagipem Kadi. Her voice rises, echoing through the sala, carrying grief and devotion all at once. The melody trembles with sincerity, striking straight into Meric's heart. She wipes silent tears from her eyes.
The family joins in softly at the chorus, a final gesture of love to Mercy, as if their voices could reach her in heaven.
That night, as candles flicker and prayers linger in the air, Meric feels her mother's presence stronger than ever. She knows Mercy hasn't left them. She is in the light, in the blooming of plants, in every laugh of her grandson Mark, and in every prayer spoken in her honor.