Jesus Isidro M. Consunji

Jesse Consunji

Juancho Consunji Being one of his younger grandchildren, I don’t have as many memories with my Lolo as I would like to have, but there are two really special instances which I hold dear to my heart. The first one was when I was about three years old. I had just learned how to use the landline to call my relatives, and there was this one afternoon when I called my Lolo bored out of my mind. He came over to pick me up and we rode around EDSA as he filled my head with trivia about the various buildings and monuments we would see. That may have bored some other three year olds but I absolutely loved it. To top off that memorable afternoon, he bought me a tub of ice cream and brought me to his house so I could go swimming. What kid wouldn’t love that? I don’t remember much from before I turned five, but that memory jumps out among the few that I do recall because of his kindness and generosity. My other treasured memory with my Lolo came when I was about twelve. He had been diagnosed with dementia a few years prior, so he wasn’t always as sharp as he once was. One day we were seated at the dining table when he asked me if I wanted to play chess. I said that I didn’t know how to play but I was willing to learn how. So he taught me, and the first few games we played all ended in his resounding victory. But as we kept playing, he would give me more and more pointers, but he kept reiterating that I should always think several moves ahead. In spite of his sickness, his brilliance still shined very brightly. While we played, he would engage me in conversation about my interests, what I wanted to be, and he would tell me stories from when he was a kid and when he was raising his own kids. That day left me in shock because of how sharp his mind still was, and it really gave me a whole new respect for my Lolo for how intelligent and eloquent he truly was. In a world where many who have passed on are lost and forgotten, I tell his story. Rest easy Lolo, you will be missed.

Jesse Consunji

Jesse Consunji

Andrew Perez i'm glad you're in heaven now lolo. i know you're up there because of the life you lived and even more so, because of how you left us. after being diagnosed with alzheimer's disease 10 years ago, i knew our relationship would be difficult to maintain, especially since we lived across the world. honestly, i don't remember much of when you visited america & took care of me when i was a baby. when i was a little older, i got to visit the philippines for the first time. you were already sick then, so it was really hard to talk to you. sometimes you didn't remember me. sometimes you'd ask who i was and who my parents were. i would always answer, "im andrew, lolo, vivian's eldest." and you'd always say "oh vivian! how could i forget her! my eldest! i miss her so much! is she here?" and i'd always have to say "no lolo, she's still in america, but everyday we're working hard to find a way for her visit home and see you again." i remember you being so crushed that my mom couldn't see you at the time. not because you were sad or mad that she wasn't there. i could just feel that all you wanted to do was love her again like you used to. hug her when she was sad, smile and laugh with her when she was happy, and i could tell you just wanted to be a dad to her again. everyday, we prayed and worked and figured out a way to fix our papers and as soon as i turned 21, i petitioned my mom and dad for their green cards. a few months later, we got our documents and we were able to travel out of the country. my mom left right away. she wanted to see you and lola so bad, she couldn't wait for me to finish graduating in a few weeks. it had been too long for her to come home. so she went ahead, while the rest of our family was still in work and school. seeing my mom go home, hugging lola and you, that was one of the best days of my life. i am only writing to you now because i finally understand how i'm feeling about you being gone. you were always an inspiration. even without me knowing it. you always said i'd make a good lawyer, because i had a reason for everything and was a convincing debater. you also preached about seeing and understanding your country, seeing new things, opening your mind to new surroundings, and seeing how other people lived and what it was like to be in their shoes. you were always an intellect, something i admired greatly. it's the reason i took up asian american studies as a minor in school, especially because i wanted to learn everything i could to help my mom get back to you and lola. yesterday, i went to protest racial injustice in america. i believe you would be very proud of me. standing up for what i believed in & being intelligent enough to know that it was my duty to do so. i heard about you and lola giving away food and helping martial law protesters in the philippines. i'm sure you'd be marching with me if you lived here too. i know of the woman who raised you, maria paz mendoza guazon. a legendary woman in her own right. the first woman to graduate from the first medical school in the philippines, the first filipina to receive the high school diploma from a public school, the first filipina appointed to fill a professor's chair and the first filipina appointed by the philippine legislature to an educational mission to the united states. i'm grateful for your inspiration, your guiding light from afar, and your sacrifice for our family. most importantly though, i'm grateful that you raised the woman i am extremely proud to call my mother. the best woman i know, and i have you and lola to thank for her. my mom loved you and lola so much, and i know how much it meant to her to finally be able to see you and lola again. i know you and lola raised mom and all her siblings the right way, always preaching to do the right thing. i know you're proud of my mom, my dad and proud of their kids too. me and ryan, we're pretty solid kids. when i finally got to visit you for the last time, you could barely talk. when you did talk, i wasn't sure what you were saying. i wasn't sure if you even knew what you were saying. your face changed. when i saw you, i could barely even recognize you. i just saw you suffering and i knew you would leave us soon. at the end of our trip, i made my way down to see you one last time. i told you "lolo, i love you, i'll see you again soon. next time you'll remember me and we can talk again." i wasn't sure if you understood me, or if you would answer, but i swear, right before i was about to say bye and walk away, i heard a groan that sounded like "love you". it was a great lasting memory of you. when you left us, you didn't fail to inspire me one last time. the rosary is a sacred and holy prayer, but it takes a while, can sometimes be tedious to pray and even puts me to sleep sometimes. but you, through all your suffering and pain decided that you would wait until the very end of the rosary until you left us. you were in a state of grace when you left and i know that you're up there, remembering again, proud to see the family you've built. you're a great grandpa now! and your grandkids are doing great things in this world too. thank you so much lolo! we're all missing you but we're all very happy that you're united with God. i love you.