In My Father’s House

This is a sequel of family reunion parts 1 and 2 done in Florida, USA and the United Kingdom. This time the reunion is in the Philippines, in my father’s house, the very place made as a base by each member of the family to spread their wings and conquer the unknown. 

There are two rooms in my father’s house. One is for the caretaker and his family  and the other for any sibling  who would like to visit the farm for memory sake. Varied feelings ensued as one stepped on the ground. Those who grew up with both parents present and in adversity faced the challenge together, had quenched a nostalgic longing for home. For those who lost a mother in this home and had nursed a bruised feeling carried through the years had ambivalent emotions. For those who experienced both but with a resilient personality felt that “home is where the heart is “.

Since my parents death, our two storey building has been home to different male siblings and their families making do with every space they could utilize. Soon they abandoned the dilapidated house and pergolas of bougainvillea flowers, signature design of my mother, were no longer in good shape. Trees grew in every direction and thick vines covered the branches. Some relatives tried to sleep in the old building, others clandestinely took female partners with them for the night but all told tales of faint sounds, heavy steps and hair raising experiences. The scene was alien to the original inhabitants, my family, when every morning and evening songs and prayers wafted in the air.

A bold step was taken by our former farm hand who worked for us in his teenage years. He chose to stay with his family in the old house so he could work in the farm. He did the cutting of trees and put everything in the house in place but couldn’t do anything  with the old structure. There were threats of fire and collapsed wall in the kitchen that another strong wind would have been fatal to the safety of his family.

Then I entered the scene because there was a need for one to look after the farm as my able bodied siblings migrated abroad. I was the original organizer in the family, my parents and other siblings could attest to the fact. I brought up the idea of repair to my sister next to me and she supported it using almost all of her share in the farm produce to finance the expenses. Other siblings were hesitant  to accept the idea at first but later, they obliged.

Little did I knew that a reunion was  brewing when the repair started. I have been supervising it for almost a year based on my availability. Then the house took shape early in the year 2018. It was face lifted, painted and furnished yet it looked so eerie and forlorn. What an empty space with the absence of noise, laughter, disagreements, sulking, blaming, regrets unexpressed love and  every challenge that characterized a family.

One fine day in September, my father’s house was filled with peals of laughter as his living children came with the four generations that followed them. The highlight of the reunion is the coming of the only living sister of my mother, that at 90 years old traveled with her daughter and granddaughter to our farmhouse. Nieces and nephews added to the fun. 

They came all the way from Italy, London, Northern Ireland, Florida, Ohio, Kentucky, Saudi Arabia, Iloilo, Bukidnon and Davao del sur.

Where once we were recipients of gifts from our relatives, we were now donors of gifts to wives and children of farmhands. 

The field where we once worked seriously with my siblings in order to have money for school and food had now become a fantasy land for our grandchildren. 

The table which lacked food for 13 mouths was now brimming with eatables for 4 generations in a boodle fight.

Our family is perfect with all its flaws and imperfections. We cannot compare it with others because we made  a different journey. If we exchange place with other good families, the memories we created would not be the same thus making us strangers to each other. We cannot hear the same laughter and shed the same tears. We cannot feel the love which is not often times expressed but when the going  gets tough for any of us, all plunged into action of care and support.

We have revived the fun we used to have together as a family but it was short lived. Each generation has its own focus of memories. My aunt was teary eyed as she remembered her favorite sister, my mother. My siblings and I saw clearly our leaps and bounds in the farm, the weddings, the birth and death of some members of the family, our children mimic their uncle who made everyone pose for a black and white picture only to find out in the end that his camera has no film, our grandchildren in the cell phone age posed here and there to capture the moment which will never return. Reunions unite families despite diversity.

The get together was over. The fun died out in a short time. Some relatives would like to repeat the same celebration on ones 80 or 90 years of age. Nostalgia of the farm house set in to those who have good memories to keep.  Moments like this was for each one to keep. There was a promise of going back  again to the old country home, here in my Father’s house.

See you in the Morning, Grandpa!

The three year old girl hugged him goodnight saying "see you in the morning grandpa". The  old man hugged her back tightly and kissed her. How he wished he could carry her in his arms like he did when she was still a newborn baby but this time he was afraid the weight of that bubbly girl would be too much for his ailing heart to bear. The clock ticked on and on until minutes before midnight her grandpa was gone. She was puzzled with the word "gone". "Why is he gone when he is just there lying?". Her question was answered but she couldn’t figure out its meaning. I also asked, why did he die? Friends and relatives uttered so many comforting words but the meaning has been obscured by the suddenness of events.

In the eye of a child, the old man in the morgue was just sleeping and he would wake up at breakfast time. In the eye of a 70 year old woman lies the cleanest, most peaceful and calm countenance of an octogenarian free from pain and cares of this world. His handsome face, attributed to genetics does not show his age, maybe to a long intake of  vegetable and fruit juices. 

The following days seemed like ordinary events to the little girl as she played with cousins and enjoyed  giving out candies to those who condoled, talked with them in her Irish accent, giggled with childish laughter as she moved about from one acquaintance to another. To me, the hours stood still as I concealed the grief with smiles to those who came and sympathised with the family. So many things to be accomplished in just a short  time.  An adrenaline rush  gave me the impetus to make things in its right perspective but the time was ticking by and the inevitable day came.

The child saw and maybe realized for the first time that one who was gone would be under the ground as she witnessed the hearse made its way slowly down, down the open ground. It was soon covered by the earth and could be seen no more. To me, the word "gone" signalled the cessation of a long time partnership, the end to loving disagreements which could easily be patched up. No more travels together nor view sunsets in different places here and abroad, no one to enjoy retirement years with, no one to tell tales which had been repeated for a hundred times, no one to share my simple stories of joys and woes. It would be the beginning of a "deafening silence" every time I arrived home from  the outside world.

One by one visitors left and torrents of tears flowed out to wash my eyes and cleanse my soul. Past experiences and readings  jumped from the pages and came alive as reality  that haunted me on the face. I knew then that "life is a vapor and a mist that appear for a short time and then are heard no more". But I still wished the mist hovered above the horizon a little bit more  and the vapor rested where it was. 

Just now my sister shared to me this post, "WOMEN ARE STRONG, not because they never break but because they know how to pick up the pieces and put themselves back together again". He left ahead  of me knowing that I could lead my life alone. I could put back the broken pieces  and make them whole again despite the scars. He believed in my strength. He has built that confidence in me for so long by allowing me to pursue my own creativity and talent. Now I am armed with his love.

Let God and not men be the judge, we can see grandpa in that morning, dear granddaughter!

A Family Reunion for Keeps - Part 1

Look How Far We’ve Come

Not much planning was involved in my maternal family reunion. Who could ever think we would meet in Florida, USA with the last of the Mohicans, my 87 year old aunt, my mom’s only living sibling! Thanks to smart phones which invaded the lives of senior citizens. Our grandchildren were amused to see us press the keys so hard and long only to be released until kingdom come to get through the messages. We doubted that a soft touch is enough to communicate. Nevertheless, what my aunt and I planned to be a secret visit to the US became viral within the family. There was euphoria on a family reunion  that my third cousin with the support of my aunt organized a get together of families in a vertical and horizontal relationships. So from Ireland, Italy, London, Philippines, Ohio, San Diego, Arkansas, Kentucky, Bradenton, Fort Myers and Fort Lauderdale  came by ones or twos just like the creatures in Noah’s ark  to take refuge in Davenport , Orlando  accessible to Disneyworld for the kids and old alike! I finally met my  four female siblings, some  after  many long years.

We didn’t plan any activity as most family reunions do. Our purpose was only to meet on possible dates for all of us even if it’s two months short of my aunt’s 88^th birthday. What made the reunion near authentic were the printed t-shirts I brought with me from the Philippines; albeit not enough for attendees but  everyone has his/her share of wearing it for pictorials with the theme, “Look  how far we’ve come!"

Our days were spent in shuttling from one place to another with my nephew and smart niece on the wheels. We dipped down the blue sea of Clearwater, beat the scorching sun at the Miami beach, shop at Walmart, and explored designer outlets nearby. We then punctuated our journey at my aunt’s home in Bradenton, the most photographed place sent to my mother in the  early 70’s. We just swoon over the pictures then without a hint that my siblings and I could pose at this place in our old age.

The evenings were for kids’ pool time, cooking, eating, drinking for those who loved wine and reminiscing the good old days of our roots with informations  all contained in an 87-year old brain. According to one blogger, all these  informations would be lost  if each of us will only be too absorbed in the context of our own lives. So here, we all felt a sense of belongingness and connectivity  realizing where we came from and what values were handed down to us.

Our Heritage

In my mother side, I learned that our great great grandfather married a Chinese lady who was a very good teacher loved by her students. This information ended my quest on who became a teacher in the family since I knew I was the only one who chose the profession. Our great grandfather did not speak of his roots not until in his deathbed when he confessed that he was a soldier during Spanish time who chose to stay in the Philippines after the war. He was of a Seminole Indian stock. History recorded that this tribe was  determined, strong and courageous for they defended their  group  from being dominated by the whites.  

                

In the  audience  almost all could relate to these traits. To stay in a foreign land  and blend into a different culture, one must possess guts, tact and courage and my siblings and cousins had proven it. But my niece who looked like a pretty Indian surpassed them all. A single mother of six she told of how she was able to transform her trauma to triumph. Many were impressed of her ability to hold on.

Our Values

           

Close family ties:

Chinese are very family oriented. Their siblings’ children are their children too. My aunt said, they didn’t have sibling rivalry. They never fought except the elder siblings would reprimand the younger for some wrongdoings Theirs was a family where a member is loved the best but grumbled the most. No wonder my aunt considered her siblings children as her own. She was free to reprimand, advise and support. We soon identified which family had healthy bond, like our parents’ family. This trait could be seen only in few of our families.

      

Courage and tact:

She told of how she was spared from death when Japanese soldiers ran after the  five of them who were teenagers then. They ran so fast but  she bravely departed from her friends. When everything quieted down,  my mother’s family cried a bucket when they saw my aunt’s companions dead with their heads a meter away from their bodies. Where could my aunt be when the five were inseparables, they asked. To the relief of the family my aunt came out  from hiding in one direction, unscathed. In the family we realized that even if we lose everything, we never did let go of courage. This has ushered us to where we are at present.

Determined and Hopeful:

My aunt  was very determined to have a good life. She  believed that how God designed you in your mother’s womb He will supply what you need and guide you in your ways to reach your destiny. So there’s no need of comparing one’s life to another. She and her siblings have different life’s path but they were still supportive of each other. No place for envy, just bloom where you are planted!

She was instructed by her boyfriend a Colonel in the US Army to go to the states for their wedding. She did not pass the interview in the embassy and she dismissed the plan of going abroad and marriage. But then Col. Doriot requested Mr. Walter to introduce a bill in the House of Congress  for a fiancée visa. It was approved on August 4, 1959 and  my aunt  went to the states under the first fiancee visa. If I am right that was House bill no. 8533. All fiancée visas given thereafter were results of the 1959 bill. She lived a comfortable and very satisfied life.That was her design.

Was it also a coincidence that three of my siblings married foreigners? How they were able to hold on to their marriage until old age spoke of the same trace of blood  that runs through their veins.

The tie that binds:

This family reunion has brought the best result ever, the healing of broken relationship. Those who had misunderstandings in the past met for the first time. There was no formal asking of forgiveness. Just a hug and a kiss, and  the broken pieces  were restored.

I believe that in this present age, family members  could keep in touch  through phones, skype, facetime, viber but "nothing beats a face to face gathering  where we could reconnect". Even if we have come so far, this gathering could "calm those yearnings of knowing who we are by reconnecting to our roots".  Lastly I can say that  family reunions are for keeps!    

The Mask

A mask or masque is an artistic covering of the face to hide ones true identity. In Shakespeare’s time, when Romeo was banned to attend Juliet’s party because of family feud, the former wore a mask  in disguise of a reveller so he could enter the masquerade ballroom just to be with his lovely Juliet.

Today the use of a mask is artistically carried out in nearly all places  where one’s relationship with others has reached. The maskers are not strangers.They maybe your friends  in your work place ,subordinates or superiors who appear to be amiable  ,sweet and respectable that one wouldn’t expect  a sudden betrayal. They are so cunningly cruel  , working with others in synchronized motion and nobody would suspect that  despite their honourable position they could  be duped to doing the basest  maneuver of putting others down.

One of my defining moments was  a day with the life of maskers. As a would be  septuagenarian . I have met these maskers  in my journey to old age and was able to respond to their plot successfully. But now this story is so different from the ones I met. The lesson gleaned from the experience is a must share  to all who read my blog.

After 65  I  worked  as a volunteer in a business organization in our locality. It has nearly been  four years of leading  the board  in initiating reforms  so we could translate policies into meaningful service .I must have stirred the hornet’s nest  because the bees removed from their comfort zones  have stung me mercilessly.

The day of the reckoning came on  election time where I have to run for re election. This was where they could vent their anger for the initiatives we made that  they did not welcome. I received a text message not to vote for my name! So funny, they must have sent the message to many. Code numbers  on whom to vote were sent through text and my number was not included. Some managers and staff  under their control joined the revelry. When I entered the venue where six thousand members attended, I was met with printed materials disqualifying me. Of all the candidates, why Me?. Oral campaigns  to oust me were whispered inside the hall. Intelligent members asked why but the explanations were nil. During the business meeting which I presided, questions were raised to distract my focus so I would leave the meeting in disarray. But thanks God I made it until  the meeting was adjourned. The result of the election was overwhelming. There was a miraculous intervention since their campaign  against me turned positive in my favor. I still got the highest vote to the dismay of the bees who could no longer produce honey! Indeed what man proposes  God disposes.

The lesson—truth is always silent. It never uses tinkling cymbals to announce its presence. It is never sugar coated or masked. It does not employ high sounding rhetorics to cover  lies. Truth is God, lie is the enemy. The former has never been defeated by the latter. The enemy is so cunning  by using intelligent, religious, rich and honourable men to join the deceiver. Just be on the look out, many things are happening now ! Just be true ,be honest  in all our dealings with our fellow men and they will protect you against professed friends who wear the  MASK!

WHEN DESIRE CEASED TO BE A DREAM

The year when Australian government offered to assist basic education in Mindanao I was privileged to work with them as a trainer for school administrators. I was so impressed with the organized and result-oriented  conduct of the training which lasted for a year and sessions were divided into cycles. I have to abide with the set standard and it was a memorable learning experience for me.

I loved to listen to the melody  and lyrics of Australia’s patriotic song which was regularly sang after the Philippine national anthem as a signal to start the day’s activity. I even learned it by heart. I wished I were a painter so I could paint fair Australia based on the song.

When the Aussies started "folding up their tents" I was informed that trainers would be invited to Australia for an immersion in their educational system. The decision would be up to our division leaders. I was ecstatic because of an ardent desire to see that country “girt by the sea” as their song says. Unluckily, I did not get the slot. It was given to someone who was not  a trainer even for just one cycle. I felt betrayed and need an explanation but I got only silence, silence and more silence – like how I  kept my desire within me and remained a longing forever. The trainings I underwent propelled me to a higher plane in my career. That was great comfort anyway!

God closed the door but opened a window to Australia for me which was exactly fifteen years after that betrayal. I joined the board of a credit union after my retirement and the 2014 conference for World Council of Credit Unions in Gold Coast, Australia was my passport. When my visa was approved it was not euphoria that I felt but a calm and dignified feeling of another travel as I have travelled to some Asian countries and Europe years before this. So the journey began!

After nine hours flight from Singapore the plane hovered above the land down under and the pilot announced “cabin crew, prepare for landing!” Is this for real  or a nightmare? I answered my own query with the spirit of doubting Thomas.

Half believing, I joined the queue at the Gold Coast Exhibition and Convention  Center, brushing elbows with Aussies, Americans, Africans, Asians and other delegates from 49 countries worldwide to claim my  passport to the convention.

The Australian hosts who to me looked more Irish were so friendly, charming and pretty  ladies, smart and gentle  men.

I was jolted from my stupor when at the opening night, the song "Australia  let us rejoice" was sung. When the note struck the highest on “Advance Australia Fair” I was convinced, I realized my dream. The appearance of an Aussie cowboy who sang “Waltzing Matilda” with concise presentation of the history of the song nailed me to my realization. I went out to see  what was described in their beautiful song.

Home girt  by the sea!

The group assembled the following day at Kurraw park just as the sun was peeping above the horizon by the sea for a “fun run” as one activity of the conference. The long stretch of white beach which looked like part of a girl’s full balloon skirt with the blue sea as its wide girt or belt was so impressive. The  wide hem of the skirt which was actually the land were tall buildings which stood proudly in Gold Coast  dubbed as the surfers paradise.  

We have much land to share...

A friend of mine who worked in Brisbane offered to tour us to that city where business was in flourish. We experienced the ride in the tram to the bus station and took the bus to the train station. The train brought us to Brisbane and a friend’s car drove us to Mitchelton and Stafford heights. Before we reached those places we drove uphill to Mt. Coot Tha at sundown. I viewed the  inhabited place as signalled by the glow of  lights and perceived a long stretch of land which was dark as a wide unoccupied territory! We stayed overnight in a calm and peaceful nook in Stafford. I learned that Brisbane was the most populous city. But during the day, people didn’t pour out of the city  streets as  what I saw in other Asian cities. More room in Australia for hard workers.

Advance Australia fair

At four thirty after the day’s session we went out for some last minute shopping. To our dismay most shops closed at five in the afternoon and would open at nine the next day on time for the opening of our day’s session too. We have to content ourselves with just walking around the place in the evening   passing by bars and cafes, and we observed that these people have enough time to entertain themselves. The bars and coffee shops looked like a conference venue because of the presence of people in their formal suit as  they talked, laughed and enjoy each others company! The systematic approach to their work during the day enabled them to wind up freely in the evenings.

Unemployed citizens were given monthly benefits by the government as what I learned from my friend who have long stayed in Australia as patterned from the practice of the United Kingdom. It has advanced greatly from the time the toilers developed the land out of nothing. Now a beautiful place where there is enough food and opportunity for everyone.

I did not regret I visited Australia late in my life. Instead  the experience hit a spiritual note for me to ponder. If one has a strong faith in God’s proper timing, our desire would cease to be a dream!

Memories That Linger

Jim Reeves, the gospel singer, described memories as precious in his song:

                              Precious Memories, how they linger 

                              How they ever flood my soul,

                              In the stillness of the midnight

                              Precious memories come home!

Vignettes of the life of my brother kept on unfolding before me especially when I read his lovely daughter Joan’s fond remembrances of him.

L - College days at the University of Mindano / R - On our trip to MVC

My brother and I grew up together. He was two years my senior. I was the eldest girl with three elder brothers in a row where Ed was the third. I was next to him. My brother never hurt me physically but we always argued, maybe because of our different roles in the family. He was fun loving and playful while I was house bound and work oriented. What with five younger siblings to look after. Later I was made to believe that work was also play while for him play was play and fun was no formality. There was the rub!

Finally we agreed on one thing. I was ten, he was twelve when we migrated to Mindanao. My father organized a church and he needed new set of singers. The lot fell on us. We both have alto voices but we agreed that I sang the soprano while he sang the alto. Our voices blended perfectly well if our minds met.  

We became classmates in high school. He was one of the male trios who sang in our convocations, “Once there were Greenfields“, as their favorite song. Teenage girls swoon over them but their crush was our young English teacher whom they often visited. Until we reached college, he was still a member of a quartet.

My brother was an artist, I was into other arts. No wonder our temperaments always clashed. We have common friends in our younger days and the same experiences of difficult times kept on coming back until we each have our families. He said it would never happen to his family.

We always had misunderstandings but it was easy for us to make amends. When he met the girl of his dream, I was the first to know it, since he came to the house and informed me of his plans. Our children became very close friends. They were like brothers and sisters too.

Months before they left for America I stayed with him and the girls. He talked of his fears and insecurities and his most happy moments when he was young. Then we cooked the favorite recipe of my mother which was nothing but simple vegetable. He was fanning himself because it was so hot and exclaimed, “oh, If I could go to the states to follow my wife, I would never return to this place!” He made good his promise. He never did return home since then! He met his fate in a foreign land. 

His lovely daughter Joan Corneta wrote on memories of him.

My dad Ed Corneta was not only my protector, my provider, and my guide but also my friend. One of the memories that forever linger in my heart was the sacrifices he made to take care of his family. His devotion to us when he retired is so valuable to me. He showed me how to love my own family unconditionally and to take care of them to the fullest.

My fondest memory of him was our conversations about everything under the sun; from school, religion, politics, and current events to my crushes. During my college years, our subjects of conversations grew deeper. It was more about life, death and changes as we anticipate our big move to Chicago. There were nights that we shared a drink or two and sang the karaoke without the microphone since we didn't want to disturb our neighbors. One of the songs he always sang was the, "Impossible Dream," from the musical play "Man of La Mancha". As I played that song in my head over and over again like dad used to sing it, I know in my heart that nothing is impossible in this world to achieve. Dad taught me to believe in myself and to always be strong. I may be a cry baby but deep inside I am as strong as steel because of his love and guidance. The entire song tells the life of my dad.

He always told me, "We only pass this world but once. And time is fast running out." I carry these words in my heart every day. It's a reminder that keeps me moving on and living life to the fullest.

Joan and her Dad in Chicago

A Poignant Story of a Lost Love

I lost my sister-in-law just two weeks ago. She was a part of our life since she married our eldest sibling in the family. I felt how my brother and the children  went through after the loss. I planned to publish my eulogy on this blog but  prudence dictated it’s too late praising a dead person. So I put aside my literary skill for sometime.

When I opened my Facebook page, I saw selected pictures from the just concluded event, but I was attracted to a post by my nephew who seldom use this technology as he was busy with his ever growing business. The picture was  so dramatic and meaningful as the shades of color were in contrast yet unified in effect. Who did the shot? I asked. “I did Auntie”, was the bashful reply. Of all the many pictures posted, this has caught my attention. I started to write about the scene but I suspected there was a story behind these all. I texted the youngest child, the one  cradling a phone close to her ears in the picture and she told me that even if she was attending the graduation ceremony of her daughter, she was going through pictures of her mother in her iPad and how she was in a hurry to go home to visit her grave. My eyes were blurred with tears and I lost all words to describe her  feelings so I stopped writing and did something else.

Three days after, the eldest child, the one lighting the candles in the picture  told me the story behind the shot. She was telling it over the phone miles away and I just imagined the physical distance but the emotional closeness was evident between us. She was leaving for Canada the day after the picture was taken. My brother told her that he was going to visit th e grave of their mom. She and her sister won’t allow him to go since it was getting dark and he was prone to danger because of his unsteady steps due to a stroke. He was insistent, so the children accompanied him to the Divine Heritage cemetery.

There he bared the story of a beautiful dream  and told the children that their mother was  now in heaven.

He narrated that while he was fast asleep alone in his room he saw a bright light  and his wife  appeared in a white flowing dress as though floating on a  white foamy cloud. He saw my father who died fifteen years ago now dressed in white and heard him excitedly say, “Rachel (my  sister-in-law’s name) so, you are here!” She replied, “yes Papa”. Just then, the minister who officiated their wedding forty nine years and two months ago, the old time friend of my father  also came out in white apparel and greeted my sister-in-law. “Rachel, You are   also here!”, “Yes. Pastor!”. The three of them just walked in and out of the room without even acknowledging the presence of my brother. My brother felt dejected and out of  place as not one of those whom he loved and respected ever knew his presence and how he wanted to be a part of  that  meeting.

The pinkish light of the sunset was invaded by darkness arrogantly displaying a monochromatic effect, then there would be one color – black. The candles were lighted and the place grew bright. Darkness, ”where is your sting?”, but that was only temporary. Soon the sun would completely disappear and the candles‘ light would no longer glow. My brother was aware of the changing colors of his surroundings, surely he has not reached the realm where his wife now belonged. How could they have met? He was still with his children and siblings  who supported him in his grief.

He must have been reflecting on their love together. My brother was not so demonstrative of his love nor of his grief that  he could laugh and make funny remarks during the wake. Many said he welcomed the loss of his wife. But why did one of his children saw him cry before the coffin of their mother in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep? Was that not love? Did he not grieve over the loss of that love? Did everyone see what was in his heart, knew his feelings, fathomed his emotions?

When the Shah of Jehan built  a white marble mausoleum, Taj Mahal for the tomb of his most beloved Persian wife Mumtaz Mahal, writers described it as a monument of an eternal love. It took twelve years for thousands of artisans and craftsmen to build it. It has become one of the wonders of the world. Would love be demonstrated in a display of wealth? How about those artisans and craftsmen who sacrificed in their labor? Did they not love because they cannot offer such grandeur? Love may not always be demonstrated in our own terms.

Love is in the heart. It is not shown in material things, not interpreted by beholders. My brother has loved and others may not see it. But he longed to be in that meeting of people whom he loved.

Would I meet  them there too, when I reached  that realm?