nanay coroy
Unbeknown to me, I was being summoned to a death bed last Thursday, the 5th of November, not to officiate the viaticum to the dying but to be named an “heir,” (that is, if what was given to me can be considered an “inheritance”). It never crossed my mind, even while we were talking, that it was to be our last. And so I took my time, asked Fr. Philip and Fr. Peter and the office staff to go with me to cheer her up. When we prayed over her, we prayed for healing, a quick one, knowing that if she could not recover by the 8th of November I would have a problem looking for somebody to lead the novena to St. Elizabeth of Hungary. The communion I brought was not even intended as a viaticum. She would surely recover, I thought, and knowing her, she would be up and about in no time, leading the five o’clock in the morning novena, waking me up with her cracking, breath-catching song. (She runs out of breath, that is.) It was not to be.
I was summoned instead for the traditional pamilinbilin without knowing it. I sat beside her bed and she told me (“instructed me” would be a more appropriate term) to take care of the following novenas: the novena to St. Elizabeth of Hungary, to the Immaculate Conception (carefully telling me that the image of the Immaculate Conception of Jaro was by far the most beautiful she has ever seen), the novena to Our Lady of Lourdes, the prayers to the souls in Purgatory every first Monday, the weekly novena to Martin de Porres every Tuesday, to St. Anthony of Padua every Thursday, to the Sto. Nino and to the Sacred Heart every Friday, and not to forget, to light 14 candles on the altar of the Sacred Heart every First Friday. She even instructed her helper where the fourteen glasses for the votive candles were (as of this writing, I just received the glasses). Every now and then I would crack a joke, cutting her in the middle of her instructions telling her that with all these, including novenas to be held in February, “Nay Coroy, daw waay ka plano maguwa sa ospital haw?!” We all laughed. She didn’t. It was only on the 7th of November did I realize that her silence was a yes. She did not have plans to get out of the hospital alive.
Socorro ___, Nanay Coroy to most of us here in the cathedral, died at the age of 84, having been found worthy by our Lady of Mount Carmel to gain the Sabbatine Privilege – to die on a First Saturday. It was not her only privilege. She was hospitalized on the feast of St. Martin de Porres on November 3, a day after she led the prayers for the dead one last time (it seems to me now that the souls in purgatory took one last advantage of her), she died on a First Saturday, and she will be buried on the eve of the Feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. Just before she died, I was told that she asked her helper to wipe her body with a wet face towel, oil her skin, and comb her hair and had it arranged the way she liked it. Then, after a while, she died, silently. What a way to go!
I have never been consistently gentle with anyone except with Nanay Coroy. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know. Probably she exudes an aura that quietly disarms me every time she makes a request, and as far as I can remember now, I have never denied Nanay Coroy anything she asked that a priest can give. I very, very seldom say masses outside my line of duty as an assistant here in Jaro (so don’t ask me to!) but Nay Coroy made me do so seven times during the year to be exact. That was an extraordinary fete when you are dealing with me (considering that my mother even gave up on me and never bothered me again for masses for dead relatives).
Nanay Coroy loves the externals of her Catholic religion. She had several dresses that match her novenas – a brown dress for Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, a green dress for St. Joseph, a white and blue dress for Our Lady of Lourdes, a red one for the Sacred Heart (though it was later changed to dark blue, which she also readily acquired), and a black dress for the Dolorosa. She even had a yellow dress topped with a yellow over-coat and I saw her using it twice: during the burial and during the memorial mass held at the cathedral for Cory Aquino. All these (except the last one) have their matching manto or veils and cinctures (rope belts). For her death, I was told, she specifically instructed that she would wear the brown habit of the Third Order of Carmel of which she had been a faithful member.
She had a bagful of novenas - a library of novenas to be exact. When Msgr. Gamboa would need a novena, all he had to do was asked for it from Nanay Coroy. You cannot distract her while she is praying her novenas, though. Thus, this bag, dutifully carried everyday, was stolen thrice – the first one was promptly returned (and fearfully, I guess).
Nanay Coroy, in life and in death, reminds me of things I take for granted in my life.
She reminds me that I believe in God. God was her everyday God, not someone relegated on a Sunday or during those times of crisis when we needed him most. God was the air she breathed. God was a God who determine her routine for the day, the one in whom her whole life, day in day out, week after week, year after year, revolves.
She reminds me of the power of prayer. She attributes everything to divine providence. Divine providence was so real for her, everyday was filled with miracles - all these because she said, she prayed, she called on him and the saints.
She reminds me of our traditions. She was, I would dare say, the last of the beatas of Jaro – the devout. She received no income from the church. She would only take advantage of a free coffee in the convent after being cajoled and forced to do so. And yet, as the beata of the parish, she supports the it by her prayers to God and her novenas to the saints. After her, and sadly so, there are no more.
I have so many fond memories with Tiya Coroy and I could not write them all in one issue. All I can say for now is, I will miss her – her assuring presence that reminds me of my belief in God, the power of prayer and the age-old traditions which she hands down to our generation today. Thank you Tiya Coroy. Hasta la vista . . . in heaven.
I was summoned instead for the traditional pamilinbilin without knowing it. I sat beside her bed and she told me (“instructed me” would be a more appropriate term) to take care of the following novenas: the novena to St. Elizabeth of Hungary, to the Immaculate Conception (carefully telling me that the image of the Immaculate Conception of Jaro was by far the most beautiful she has ever seen), the novena to Our Lady of Lourdes, the prayers to the souls in Purgatory every first Monday, the weekly novena to Martin de Porres every Tuesday, to St. Anthony of Padua every Thursday, to the Sto. Nino and to the Sacred Heart every Friday, and not to forget, to light 14 candles on the altar of the Sacred Heart every First Friday. She even instructed her helper where the fourteen glasses for the votive candles were (as of this writing, I just received the glasses). Every now and then I would crack a joke, cutting her in the middle of her instructions telling her that with all these, including novenas to be held in February, “Nay Coroy, daw waay ka plano maguwa sa ospital haw?!” We all laughed. She didn’t. It was only on the 7th of November did I realize that her silence was a yes. She did not have plans to get out of the hospital alive.
Socorro ___, Nanay Coroy to most of us here in the cathedral, died at the age of 84, having been found worthy by our Lady of Mount Carmel to gain the Sabbatine Privilege – to die on a First Saturday. It was not her only privilege. She was hospitalized on the feast of St. Martin de Porres on November 3, a day after she led the prayers for the dead one last time (it seems to me now that the souls in purgatory took one last advantage of her), she died on a First Saturday, and she will be buried on the eve of the Feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. Just before she died, I was told that she asked her helper to wipe her body with a wet face towel, oil her skin, and comb her hair and had it arranged the way she liked it. Then, after a while, she died, silently. What a way to go!
I have never been consistently gentle with anyone except with Nanay Coroy. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know. Probably she exudes an aura that quietly disarms me every time she makes a request, and as far as I can remember now, I have never denied Nanay Coroy anything she asked that a priest can give. I very, very seldom say masses outside my line of duty as an assistant here in Jaro (so don’t ask me to!) but Nay Coroy made me do so seven times during the year to be exact. That was an extraordinary fete when you are dealing with me (considering that my mother even gave up on me and never bothered me again for masses for dead relatives).
Nanay Coroy loves the externals of her Catholic religion. She had several dresses that match her novenas – a brown dress for Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, a green dress for St. Joseph, a white and blue dress for Our Lady of Lourdes, a red one for the Sacred Heart (though it was later changed to dark blue, which she also readily acquired), and a black dress for the Dolorosa. She even had a yellow dress topped with a yellow over-coat and I saw her using it twice: during the burial and during the memorial mass held at the cathedral for Cory Aquino. All these (except the last one) have their matching manto or veils and cinctures (rope belts). For her death, I was told, she specifically instructed that she would wear the brown habit of the Third Order of Carmel of which she had been a faithful member.
She had a bagful of novenas - a library of novenas to be exact. When Msgr. Gamboa would need a novena, all he had to do was asked for it from Nanay Coroy. You cannot distract her while she is praying her novenas, though. Thus, this bag, dutifully carried everyday, was stolen thrice – the first one was promptly returned (and fearfully, I guess).
Nanay Coroy, in life and in death, reminds me of things I take for granted in my life.
She reminds me that I believe in God. God was her everyday God, not someone relegated on a Sunday or during those times of crisis when we needed him most. God was the air she breathed. God was a God who determine her routine for the day, the one in whom her whole life, day in day out, week after week, year after year, revolves.
She reminds me of the power of prayer. She attributes everything to divine providence. Divine providence was so real for her, everyday was filled with miracles - all these because she said, she prayed, she called on him and the saints.
She reminds me of our traditions. She was, I would dare say, the last of the beatas of Jaro – the devout. She received no income from the church. She would only take advantage of a free coffee in the convent after being cajoled and forced to do so. And yet, as the beata of the parish, she supports the it by her prayers to God and her novenas to the saints. After her, and sadly so, there are no more.
I have so many fond memories with Tiya Coroy and I could not write them all in one issue. All I can say for now is, I will miss her – her assuring presence that reminds me of my belief in God, the power of prayer and the age-old traditions which she hands down to our generation today. Thank you Tiya Coroy. Hasta la vista . . . in heaven.
Comments