"Heaven is the ultimate end and fulfilment of the deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness (Catechism of the Catholic Church)."
There are certain songs in the recesses of our memories that have been tugging at our heartstrings from time to time. We know them. We always hear them play in our heads. In fits of nostalgia, they suddenly play in the background. They are the songs that we often hear from childhood. But strangely enough, we don't know much about them: their lyrics, their titles, even the artists who recorded them. It is odd because while we grew up having favorites, those strange songs from the recesses of our memories seem to evade us from even remembering them. One such artist, at least to me, is Christopher Cross. I hear his name from time to time, but I really do not know much about him, much less the songs under his belt. But I realize eventually that I am actually familiar with all the songs that he had popularized, their mysteriously beautiful melodies that help us take a long hard look at those bleak recesses that we have not paid much attention to. The lyrics, I really never got to focuse on. But due to rote playing, they have also become familiar, yet grayishly distant because of, perhaps, their somewhat empyreal appeal.
My late wife Jennifer Perey de Alas (1976–2024) was a mad lover of music and a certified karaoke aficionada. Yeyette, as we lovingly called her, loved singing. It was an important part of her life. And how she could sing! She may not have been a biritera (a singer who is really good in hitting high notes), but she had an absolute pitch or what we Filipinos call an oído, a Spanish word which also has the same meaning. While many karaoke lovers are tone-deaf, this cannot be said of my wife. However, she knew her pitch limit. That is why she already has a list of songs to cover during gatherings where party-goers are "required" to belt out at least one melody.
Having been married to her for close to a quarter of a century, I am very familiar with her set list which, by the way, is an array of various genres: Phyllis Hyman's "Old Friend" (which I believe was her all-time favorite), Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn", Kim Carnes' "Bette Davis Eyes", Chris de Burgh's "Lady in Red", and a host of classics from The Carpenters (I only found out after her death that she was fond of this singing duo since her childhood days in Abra de Ílog). She would even belt out "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses when she's in a really playful mood.
She loved discussing with me her favorite musical artists. And like me, she also had interestingly varied tastes, from pop singer Rex Smith to heavy metal band Disturbed. But not once did she ever mention to me Christopher Cross and his mystifying songs. In the countless times that I witnessed her lively performances in front of a karaoke machine, I never heard her sing any Cross songs (at least none that I know of). When she died last April 25, I took possession of her mobile phone. There I saw all of the songs that she had recorded of herself in WeSing (a karaoke singing app). Many were from her usual set list. But I was astonished to see her having recorded that one singular tune from the recesses of my childhood memory: I Will (Take You Forever), a love song Cross recorded with forgotten singer Frances Ruffelle. Meant to be sung as a duet between two faithful lovers, this song has one of the most profound and poignant lyrics I've ever encountered.
♪ But now I've found the one
And heaven will only know
What only my eyes can say
They say
That I will take you forever
And there will never be anyone else in my heart but you ♫
During karaoke sessions, Yeyette usually enticed me to sing along with her. In those rare times that I acceded, our usual duet piece was "Endless Love" by Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross. It was actually the first song that we sang together back in college during one drinking session with our barcada. Eventually, we elected it to be our theme song.
But in many of those karaoke sessions, not once did she invite me to sing with her Cross and Ruffelle's I Will (Take You Forever).
* * * * * * *
Since Yeyette's passing, I have been obsessed with Heaven. Very much. In fact, I've been scouring the Internet almost every day for anything it has available about this holiest and happiest place in existence. Ever since Fr. Jojo Zerrudo reassured me and my family that Yeyette is already up there, I couldn't stop thinking about it anymore for the simple reason that I want to join her there and rekindle our love affair which was cut short by her cancer.
Reading articles even those from other faiths (my family is Catholic —Traditional— in case you don't know yet) goes to show that they pretty much agree with many beliefs about what Heaven is. But what mystified me the most was the beatific vision. It is a term from Catholic theology that I encounter from time to time but never paid much thought nor attention until today.
Simply put, the beatific vision reveals what exactly will happen to all souls who go to Heaven: a complete, perfect union with Jesus Christ, particularly on Judgement Day. This means eternal happiness, a kind of happiness that can never be fathomed by even the most intelligent but mortal mind. There will be no more pain nor grief (Apocalypse 21:4) and no more hunger (Apocalypse 7:16-17).
Beyond earthly wealth, power, and fame, this notion of eternal happiness which religious leaders have been preaching from the very beginning seems to be unattainable by human imagination. And I think even the most seasoned and honest yoga practitioners will tell you that Heaven is really something else that cannot be reached by even the most polished types of meditation. Herein lies the problem: most people are blinded by earthly wealth, power, and fame to even think of life beyond death. It is perhaps only during times of tragedy, i.e., the untimely demise of a loved one, when one would start to stare at Death's abysmal countenance
Behind each human face is a grinning skull, after all.
However, this beatific vision gives us hope. Those who will make it within the "pearly gates" (Apocalypse 21:21) will surely be reunited with their beloved dead who were also favored to enjoy the beatific vision promised by God to the saintly.
But there's a caveat: the earthly relationships which we once had on earth will never be the same in Heaven. Yeyette will no longer be my wife. If I make it to Heaven as well, she will still recognize me, including the good and bad times that we shared together on earth. But she will no longer call me husband. And she will no longer be my wife.
What would become of us, then?
The beatific vision teaches us that our spouses will no longer be our spouses in Heaven (Mark 12:18-25). This, therefore, also means that our children will no longer be our children. The parents we once had will no longer be our parents. All the earthly relationships we had on earth will no longer be the same.
In the beatific vision, all of us favored ones will be "married" to Jesus Christ, a kind of union that will fulfill our deepest human longings.
But right now, I long only for one thing — my wife.
* * * * * * *
It is no question that my children and I miss her terribly. I couldn't even put into words how much I long for her. But since her demise, I have often wondered: does she even miss us up there? After reading everything that I could about Heaven, most especially the beatific vision of Catholic Theology, I have come to this painful realization that she doesn't. She doesn't miss me nor our children at all, not even her "Koala Baby", her nickname for our youngest child Junífera Clarita. Because missing someone is a negative feeling — you yearn, you ache, for that someone that you no longer have with you, much more if that someone is already dead. Remember that in Heaven, there exists not a single speck of negativity, only eternal joy (Psalm 16:11, Matthew 5:3–10).
But not missing us doesn't mean that she doesn't love us anymore. She still does, but it's no longer the kind of love that she had during her time with us on earth. So here's another caveat: the love that she feels for us now is a general kind of love that God feels for everyone else. This means that Yeyette loves me now the way she also loves those who had hurt her (friends, family members, neighbors) when she was still alive.
* * * * * * *
Two months after Yeyette's death, my children and I found ourselves in faraway Imus. It was my decision to move out, far from San Pedro Tunasán where I had shared a life with Yeyette for close to two decades (a compadre of mine who is also a widower told me later on that it's one of the best decisions that I did). One day, while rummaging through a stack of boxes and plastic bags, I came across a small piece of paper with Yeyette's handwriting. It was a list of songs that she scribbled many years ago. She had wanted to burn them on a CD (apparently, she never did). On the list was a Christopher Cross song entitled Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do). I am not familiar with the title. But when I searched for it on YouTube, I was surprised to realize that it's a familiar song after all. Yes, unearthed from the farthest caverns of forgotten memory.
* * * * * * *
Our first photo together (top) was taken in November of 1999 in Bacoor, Cavite. Our last photo together (bottom) was just this March 16 when she was discharged from Asian Hospital and Medical Center after an emergency heart surgery.
I am, of course, not the only one who has ever experienced grief. I am not special from anyone else who has lost a loved one, let alone a spouse. But the way this grief stabs me in the heart makes me feel like I'm the only suffering flesh in the entire universe right now. It hurts me so much to realize that she doesn't miss me and our children. That she still loves us is, for me, a consolation.
In fits of silent rage and melancholy over Yeyette's death, I tend to question God's authority — those who are now in Heaven are free from every imaginable sin, even the most venial ones... does this mean that there is no more free will there? If so, isn't this mind control? Sometimes, I imagine myself reuniting with Yeyette in Heaven. I would hug her tightly upon seeing her at last, and our embrace would rekindle a kind of burning that will free her from the "bondage" of whatever mind control is going on up there. She will recognize me once again as her earthly husband. It will be a Divine Rebellion. A rebellion against God for the sake of love.
Of course this is just my miserable mortal mind at work. No matter how I desire for our relationship to continue, that will not be the case anymore. The beatific vision promises us a different kind of happiness, one that will surpass all the earthly joys of man. I will remain faithful to it in spite of my grief for Yeyette. I will just have to learn to hold on to it no matter how painful the journey...
...because I really still want the love that we had here to continue up there. I want to make it up to her for all the terrible things I have committed in our relationship. I want to give her that bouquet of flowers that she had been insisting that I give to her. I want us to go to Amanpulo today, our 25th anniversary, as we had both planned to do. I really feel that the final moments that I had with her were not enough. And I still wanted to tell her so many things. I still have so many questions to ask (including why God gives us a spouse to share our innermost intimacies, only for Him to take away that spouse from us). I still want to talk to her about many things. One of them is Christopher Cross and his poetic songs. Why hasn't she thought of singing I Will (Take You Forever) with me while she was still alive? Will God even allow me to sing that song with her when we reunite in Heaven?
But while waiting for the beatific vision to unfold before my eyes, I have made up my mind that while I'm here on earth, there will never be anyone else in my heart but her.
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