The Way to Cory

"Five hours, man!"

So I overheard an apparently very tired female twenty-something obviously referring to the long wait at Cory's wake in La Salle Greenhills which was exactly where we were headed. But my husband Nubs and I were not intimidated.

From the first time we learned of the former President's passing, we knew we were going to pay our last respects, no matter what. The first night we offered a bouquet of yellow flowers and lit candles at Times Street. It was pouring and all the candles were put out by the rain. Yet there was not a shadow of gloom in the darkness. Amid heaps of yellow blooms was a huge Hello Kitty stuffed toy that must have been precious once to the person who brought it but was left there as a final homage to a beloved figure. Amid the downpour that got heavier every minute we stood there, an elderly couple got out of the comfort of their car to hand in a Mass Card. Amid the stillness, the halting of several more vehicles could be heard as we drove away in mournful silence.
At 10 o'clock pm of last night we walked from Virra Mall parking to La Salle in a frenzied pace, not knowing what to expect. Both sides of Ortigas were lined with a hundred cars. There were OB vans from the big networks. There was a big group of nuns outside of Gate 5. And there were throngs of uniformed police that instantly reminded me of rallies past except that, that night, they stood without truncheons in their hands nor scowls on their faces.
The queue snaked from EDSA to Gate 4 to Edsa and back to Gate 4, forming 3 long parallel lines that were at once discouraging to the faint-of-heart. But it was clear everybody was resolved to get a glimpse of Tita Cory one last time and there was simply no room for wimps in this gathering of people determined to do a little something heroic for the hero who passed away. There was a singular energy moving through this diverse crowd of senior citizens and children, chauffeur-driven ladies and women on foot, English- and sward-speaking members of the third sex, executives in barongs and blue collar workers in tattered shirts, families and barkadas, sosyals and simple folk, students and professionals.
The waiting game had an unforced camaraderie developing among us patiently queuing for our turn. We chatted with the married couple in front of us who we learned were employees at PLDT and Smart. The women behind us were OFW's who braved it out at Ninoy's historic funeral in 1983. By midnight, three of Cory's grandsons went out, apologizing for the delay, saying thank you and shaking hands with everybody.
Before 1 am, we were inside the campus. In 20 minutes or so, we were inside the gym. In another 10 minutes, we were standing right in front of the casket. And as I prayed for Cory's deliverance, I did something I haven’t done for many years—I prayed once again… for my country and her salvation.