A blog created by Aris Amor in memory of Patrick Zaldarriaga

A BLOG CREATED BY ARIS AMOR IN MEMORY OF PATRICK ZALDARRIAGA
Tuesday, June 22, 2010 at 12:56am |

Today I attended the burial of a good friend of mine. His name was Patrick Zaldarriaga. Wherever he is now, that’s changed; names don’t matter there. He was a great person who had to fight some unbearable monsters.

December 26 1993. He was one of the oldest in our batch, and everyone respected and admired him, cancer aside. He’s just that type of person… caring, respectful, happy, appreciative… loving.

Bone cancer is rare enough as it is, but for it to metastasize to his lungs and back and everywhere… that’s torture. Morphine for the edge, but that didn’t help him stay awake long enough through the day.

But this wasn’t round one for him… his family first found out when Patrick and his best friend, Kevin Yang, were going for a walk. Patrick complained to Kevin of a pain in his leg, and Kevin cautioned him to his parents.

Without chemo, the doctors estimated six months. They got him into the hospital for treatment right away, and after some months of grueling treatment, course after course, Patrick prevailed.

But the cancer resurfaced recently, and Patrick didn’t want to cause any stir. He told the people who knew not to tell anyone so that he could fight on his own. He fought the monsters again for months on end.

Somehow, though, word got out that Patrick had lung cysts. Everyone worried for him. ‘Has the cancer come back? Metastasized?’ It triggered a wave of support from the community, and the prayers started flowing in again.

The operation on the cysts were successful, but whether or not the cysts were cancerous in nature is still unknown to us. All we focused on was what happened a few weeks later… reportedly near his spine were carcinomas.

But let’s not talk about the disease. Patrick was more than a patient and sufferer. He was one of the best people anyone could ever get to know. All the people in his life feel indebted to him in one way or another.

He was the only child and son of two very righteous and loving parents. He was also one of two who upheld his father’s name, with the other being his cousin and childhood playmate.

Patrick loved writing. He loved sharing. He loved reading. He loved his friends. He loved his family. He was someone anybody could look up to… not just for what he did but for who he was.

It was suitable for him to pass on June 12, 2010, our Independence Day. He’s a hero for us, and he gained his freedom from all the hindrances of the physical world. He’s somewhere nothing can hurt anymore.

He’s always been a step ahead of everyone and helped out those he could. He always won. He won the first battle, and won every single bout after that. Even with this final one, he won.

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When everyone found out, there was a shockwave. The Facebook was flooded with condolences… status messages changed and new writings on Patrick’s wall. A group was set up to inform everyone, and even more posted on it.

The wake was set for the very next day. Every night, we attended his wake, and every night we tried to gather our words into a proper goodbye. But not even his friends and fellow writers could say anything at the moment.

The eulogies started on Thursday, June 17, 2010. From the sorrowful to the informative, the entertaining-reminiscent to the hopeful. Everyone was still in tears, but the tears shifted from sorrow to peace.

And today, June 18, 2010, was recited a few more eulogies, from his close friends and classmates, his best friend and protector— both of whom had to come back from Macau just for him—, playmate, family, and parents. Everyone had something to say this morning, and all of them touched hearts.

Patrick’s body was then brought to the memorial park for the final burial. Not underground, but above ground, and beside a small creek behind a small grassy, tree-filled, knoll. The perfect setting for peaceful rest.

The final rights given by the school chaplain, and final words from the mother. Patrick’s coffin was sealed into a tomb, candles were lit, and final prayers said. Everyone assembled outside the tent for the final gesture.

We were all given balloons. White balloons, that seemed like they floated effortlessly despite being held down. We were told to hold the balloons until Patrick’s mother released hers.

Patrick’s mum held the biggest balloon, and she said that we had to let go of Patrick so he could be set free into a better place. She let go. And we all let go. And we all watched the balloons float away into the bluish, cloud-filled sky.

Patrick’s cousin— just a little girl, around six— was wondering what it all meant.

“Mama, what are those balloons?”
“Those balloons are going to kuya [brother] Patrick,”
“Is kuya Patrick leaving?”
“He’s already asleep. Do you want to say goodbye?”
“Goodbye kuya Patrick! Goodbye balloon!”

And that’s when it hit me. Tears came back into my eyes. Not sorrow… not anymore. Tears of peace, just knowing that Patrick was free.

Patrick, we’ll never forget you. We will see you again sometime, and we hope that by then you haven’t forgotten us either.

[From a eulogy:] Congratulations Patrick, once again, you are one step ahead of us, and happier than any of us could ever be in this life.

In memory of KRISTOFFER PATRICK R. ZALDARRIAGA