A Legacy of Grace

When I arrived in Leyte to begin training for Peace Corps service, I sat down in a cold little room with all of my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers.  It was blazing hot outside, but the office in which we sat was almost foggy with the furious coolant from window unit air conditioners.  We were in the Municipality of Tanauan, set to meet our host families, those people who would usher us into the Filipino way of life, the culture, and the language.  I remember choosing a shape, cut from construction paper, that would fit with one held by one of the host parents.  This was one of the hokey ice breakers we'd come to expect at Peace Corps functions.
Weeding through the uncomfortable, compact little group, I slipped past person after person, laughing as my shape fell short of the intended fit, until finally, I walked up to a jovial, laughing woman, rotund and gorgeous, who, when our shapes fit, gave me a hug immediately, and told me to call her Grace.  I think she told me to call her Mana Grace, (Mother Grace), but I called her Tita Grace (Aunt Grace.)  I stuttered my name, "Ako hi Pet-Ako hi Peter (I am Peter)" and from that day forward, I was PetPet.

Tito Terry (Grace's husband and my host dad) was equally jovial, smiling and laughing as he interacted, and we quickly became close.  The two had a daughter, Grace Ann, a beautiful young woman  going through early adolescence with new clothes and friends and the weening that comes with being a teenager.  On most days of those first three months, I would come home for lunch and Tita Grace would have a spread waiting, dried fish, lots of rice, the best of her bananas, sweet rolls, pineapple, and coke.  I once mentioned that I liked peanut butter, so she always made sure to have a healthy heap of peanut butter waiting on my plate too.  She went to town daily to get me fresh food, making sure that her volunteer was the healthiest and brightest.  She'd quiz Selena and I on Waray, the local language, vowing that we would perform the best on our examination, always proud of our improvement, willing to laugh at any moment.

Tita Grace was a strong woman, always preparing the books and accounting for Tito Terry, quietly working at her concrete porch, pouring over the numbers and latest construction projects that were going on.  She was District 7 Cabuynan Village (a little circle of houses for about 75 people) President, and she loved her title.  When I would ask her about it she would blush and nod proudly.  When Peace Corps Volunteers planted a small group of mangroves in her section of town, Grace proudly would tell everyone that her volunteers had put them there, that it was the 'Barlow forest.'  She always laughed and smiled knowingly when she would joke like that, understanding the absurdity of it.

Grace was proud of appearances, and took ironing seriously, always trying to teach me a better way, wanting me to look my best.  During the afternoons, she would tend to beautiful orchids she trained up bamboo poles, or she would just sit in the breeze of a fan on the porch, watching the sun move across the hot sky.  She was a voracious reader, always happy with whatever magazine or book she got, reading every page, cover to cover.

Life wasn't easy for Tita Grace though.  She wanted a big family, and provided housing for distant family.  She always carried an air of humility and profound intelligence, an intelligence that caused one to wonder what this mind, given more wealth and opportunity could achieve.  She provided a good home for her family though, with all of the trappings that she could give.  Often, she would joke that she was too big, or didn't measure up to the stereotypical beauty, but I can't imagine a more beautiful person than her.  Her presence filled the air whenever she was in the room, and her laugh was contagious.  She would always plead for everyone to sing karaokye, always wanting to suck the fun out of life.  In 2012, she went through chemotherapy for breast cancer, and it nearly consumed her, but when I called, her sense of humor was as good as always as she laughed through the fatigue.

When I moved to Babatngon, Tita Grace made sure to keep in touch, always calling, sometimes visiting, always proud of 'her' volunteers.  When I went to the hospital with amoebic dysentery one time, I made sure not to tell Tita Grace, save her the trip to town.  Somehow, though, she found out from family, and in a driving rain from another typhoon, Tito Terry and Tita Grace rode 20 miles on a motorcycle with nothing but a flapping umbrella to make sure I was alright.  Oh her lap, she carried a tin of fresh rolls and peanut butter.

Tita Grace, her smile and wonderful presence, were lost in the typhoon that claimed so many other lives this past week.  Tita Grace's mother also died, and her husband Terry was injured, but was being treated last I heard.  I can't begin to write all of the great stories that I have from being with her.  That contagious laugh, and the bright, knowing twinkle in her tired eyes will stick with me.  Words don't do Tita Grace justice, but they're all the tribute I can give to such a wonderful soul.

'Tita' Grace Alicer and husband, 'Tito' Terry