My Blog

ON MAY 9 at 4:32am, I received the following text message:

“Good morning, Ms. Tara. This is Daisy, Bassinette’s cousin. Please visit her
anytime today because she’s always calling your name in the middle of the night
and early in the morning. That’s why I’m texting you. She can’t text you
anymore. She’s very tired. She’s already hallucinating and disoriented. Sorry
for disturbing you, Tara.”

I visited her at St. Paul’s Hospital that day after work. She was sleeping
soundly when I arrived. It must have been the side effect of morphine, which was
supposed to obliterate her pain. It took about another 15 minutes for her to
wake up. Knowing she regained consciousness, I stood by her bedside. Daisy then
asked her if she still recognized me. She nodded and uttered my name, although
it was more of a whisper. I held her hand and she kissed it. And for a brief
moment, she flashed a wide smile and her eyes glowed.

For the next few minutes, she rambled on and on. I
had a hard time understanding what she was trying to say. The only thing I
understood was when she asked me to bring her high-heeled shoes and her flashy
gown. “We are going to a party. You’re going to push my wheelchair,” she said. I
suppose she meant she was coming with me to the opening of the photo exhibit of
Dr. Malbar Ferrer, who, incidentally, was one of her doctors.

Jeehan Fernandez, Albert Mamora, and I visited her the following day. She was
more delusional. At one point, she even asked Jeehan to open the door because
she thought somebody was standing outside and knocking.

By May 13, Daisy informed that Bassinette is hooked up to an oxygen tank as
she has trouble breathing. I immediately rushed to the hospital after lunch and
our publisher Lemuel Fernandez also came an hour later. Her breathing was indeed
shallow and she looked very frail.

I came back that night after Daisy told me that Bassinette was injected with
a drug that could calm her down and put her at ease. During the next few hours,
her blood pressure kept on dropping. When I left past midnight of May 14, she
was semi-conscious and even reminded me to follow up on her SSS papers.

Sometime past 3am of May 14, I received the dreaded message from Daisy:
“she’s now with the Lord.” Right at that moment, which was a few hours before
the crack of dawn, my heart sank. She’s gone. It’s real. I wished, or more
fittingly, hoped that she did not have to surrender on life itself. Then again,
I should be happy for her. After all, she wanted to be at peace – to be
liberated from the excruciating pain. More so, she was ready for the afterlife,
where she could join her mother and the Almighty.

I cannot say I have known Bassinette for a long time. I only knew her when
she moved back to her native Iloilo and began writing a column for The Daily
Guardian in 2003. If not at the paper’s old office in La Paz, I would usually
bump into her at the countless press conferences, festivals, art exhibits, or
concerts. Notwithstanding her rather eccentric persona, she was very
compassionate who always went out of her way to help others.

In the span of a year when Bassinette had her bout with cervical cancer, she
unbelievably maintained a strong fighting spirit. Most of the time, it seemed
like she was not stricken with a terminal illness as she was in her usual jovial
mood – always quick in sharing her past adventures or intellectual prowess. More
significantly, albeit ironically, she was the one who consoled friends and
relatives. Suffice to say, not only did she know her fate, she accepted it and
relied on faith more than reason.

What made Mary Bassinette Duran Noderama quintessential was her unequivocal
zest for life. That will be her legacy, I suppose.