Brandon received a call from Elizabeth, his cousin, he was still sleepy. It was Christmas Day. Liz told him that their Uncle Ron had a massive heart attack and died at 3:00 a.m. at the hospital. Brandon was somber. His Uncle died at the ripe age of 92 years old. He thought it was his time.
Memories flooded his mind... I remember the years that he would tell me stories. When I could understand him. He was eloquent. He made us smile, more so, he made us laugh. He was the one who took care of me.
The only book he had written became a bestseller. It was translated into 6,500 known languages. It was his promise. It was his conviction. And it was for me.
He lived the rest of his life in Europe away from the maddening crowd.
I asked him once during the many myriad conversations we had, why didn't he get married and had children of his own. He was a great Uncle I told him and he would have been a great Father.
And he said...
Well, Brandon, you and your cousins are like my own. There is this beautiful language in the Pearl of the Orient with a capital once called 'The Paris of Asia.' It was the language spoken by your grandmother. The word for nephews and nieces is pamangkin. It is a shortened word of the words parang sa akin which translates into English as like my own.
That was enough he said. I lived a full and charmed life. Traveled. Fell in love. I have no regrets or complaints. And I didn't want my future children, if ever I did have kiddos, to suffer.
Brandon never read the book his Uncle wrote because he was afraid he could not bear the poignant and bittersweet underlying tones interwoven in that well-crafted book. He could only get as far to the dedication page which he would read every so often. He would even run his fingers through the printed words like Braille which read as so:
Dear Brandon,
When the time you could not utter a single word, I wrote for you.
Love,
Uncle Ronald
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