Last Thursday, I stayed indoors the whole day. Dad wasn’t around. I didn’t mind because going out meant spending money and I hardly had any left this month because of the usual monster expenses our family has every June. The day would have been uneventful if not for two things. The first was the epic fight Chris and I had over the band, Journey (He likes Steve Perry and I prefer Arnel Pineda).
The second was an unexpected visit from my uncle Cris (different from my fiance Chris). My bedroom door was ajar the whole day and it had not moved. Suddenly, between 7 to 8pm that evening, it started closing and opening by itself. It was not a soft back and forth swing; it would hit the frame hard, the dead latch locking into the strike plate before being released again and again. I thought it was my father because I saw a shadow outside so I called out “DAD?”. I thought it was odd that I didn’t hear him enter the house. When the bedroom door wouldn’t stop moving and nobody answered, I knew that it wasn’t my father. I immediately called Chris and asked him to stay on Skype the whole night to keep me company while I cried for the first time since I was told about my uncle’s death a week ago.
My mother called the next day and I shared my experience the night before. Strangely, the exact same thing happened to her the same night nearly 5,000 miles away from me. A fact that was confirmed by my unassuming 5-year old sister.
It’s my uncle’s funeral today. He shared in taking care of me when I was small but we were no longer close from the time I left the Philippines for KSA when I was 8. He was a good man and he will be missed.