Rachel Hajar's Blog: My Life in Doha - Posts Tagged "col-ramon-querubin"
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away"
My father died on April 28, 2011. He was a soldier and was buried with full military honors last Saturday, May 7, 2011 at the Everest Hills Memorial Park in Susana Heights, Ayala Alabang, Philippines. Below is the eulogy I delivered for my father.
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away."
I am Rachel, the third child of Colonel Ramon Llanes Querubin, who now lies in peace before you. I speak this morning on behalf of my brtohers and sisters to pay tribute to our father.
Our father was a soldier, a quiet and brave soldier. He was awarded the Silver Star Medal for his valiant efforts to prevent the Japanese from advancing during WWII. He said, “I fired . . . and fired . . . and fired . . . I did not retreat.” We admire our father’s courage.
We, his children, never knew of this medal until we found his military medals in a drawer after he died because he was humble and did not like to talk about himself. We learned that a military Silver Medal is the third highest military Medal of Honor given to a soldier for his valor in the face of an enemy. Worldwide, there are only 54,000 soldiers with a silver star and our father, Tatang as we call him, was one of them.
Our father was a veteran of WWII. He was captured by the Japanese during the war and became a prisoner of war. He was one of the 100,000 soldiers in the notorious Death March of Bataan, the 97 kilometer march from Mariveles, the southern end of Bataan Peninsula to Capas in Tarlac. The Japanese starved and mistreated those prisoners, kicked and beat them, and many who fell were bayoneted. There were many civilians lining the streets, ready to help the prisoners but the Japanese had prevented them from giving food and water to the prisoners. Those who tried were beaten and kicked. According to our mother, father was near death and was lagging behind the march because of thirst. Fortunately, a Good Samaritan helped our father by giving him water. Father survived the Death March by a miracle.
Father contracted malaria after his confinement as a war prisoner. He was to suffer relapses from this disease many years afterwards. The drug Quinine cured the malaria. I still remember the chills and rigors he suffered during his relapse.
Father was born on August 31, 1916, in Cauayan, Ilocos Sur. He was an only child and was orphaned at an early age. He was brought up by relatives. We don’t know much about his boyhood. But I do remember my mother narrating how father was sent from his hometown in Ilocos to his relatives in Cagayan after his parents died. He must have been about five or six years old. Someone - probably a friend or distant relative - had written down father’s name on a card and hung it around his his chest, put him in a ship to go to his relatives in Cagayan, and waved goodbye as the ship sailed away.
After graduating from the military academy, father joined the Philippine army. He retired with a rank of full Colonel but people who meet him after his retirement always call him “the General”, like his gastroenterologist. He had good rapport with that doctor. My sister Connie was always amazed that whenever Tatang went for his clinic appointment, “the general” and the doctor chatted, laughed, and gossiped. I remember that when I was in the USA, I used to always address my letters to him as “General.” He was uncomfortable with my habit and he would gently remind me to call him father only. But I never listened – as always – and continued my habit. I think of him always as “the General.”
There is one story narrated by our mother about father that I always remember. One time, there was a bunch of promotions in the Philippine army. Father had not been on the list. Father felt his being bypassed was because he was not a graduate of the elite Philippine Military Academy, and therefore, unjust. He wrote a letter to President Marcos who was the president at that time, enumerating his accomplishments and his service to his country, and that he should be promoted. Marcos had granted his promotion after he read my father’s letter. Every time I remember the story, I think, you never give up asking for your right.
Growing up, we remember our father as a strict disciplinarian. He was always concerned for our safety. He was very organized; all his personal documents are neatly filed. His motto was “You’ll never know when you need it” and true enough, when he was applying for his entitlement as WWII veteran, he did not have difficulty. I wish I had inherited this trait for I have a tendency to throw things away!
Most of all, Father valued education. He constantly reminded us that our education is the best inheritance he can give us.
Our father was a true soldier and he lived his life accordingly. When he retired from military service, he was still active. He would go for walks around the block daily, at our place in Alabang, with his baseball cap on and a walking stick in his right hand, which he occasionally waved about. That is the image that my children have of their grandfather – “the General.” His active lifestyle ended when he lost strength over his lower legs and he had to be confined in a wheelchair. From then on, his health slowly deteriorated, which was painful to witness. We, his children, did our very best to make his life comfortable in his old age.
Our father was 94 years old when he died but old soldiers never die; they just fade away . . . Father, we salute you.
Good bye Tang. In our hearts you live forever.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away."
I am Rachel, the third child of Colonel Ramon Llanes Querubin, who now lies in peace before you. I speak this morning on behalf of my brtohers and sisters to pay tribute to our father.
Our father was a soldier, a quiet and brave soldier. He was awarded the Silver Star Medal for his valiant efforts to prevent the Japanese from advancing during WWII. He said, “I fired . . . and fired . . . and fired . . . I did not retreat.” We admire our father’s courage.
We, his children, never knew of this medal until we found his military medals in a drawer after he died because he was humble and did not like to talk about himself. We learned that a military Silver Medal is the third highest military Medal of Honor given to a soldier for his valor in the face of an enemy. Worldwide, there are only 54,000 soldiers with a silver star and our father, Tatang as we call him, was one of them.
Our father was a veteran of WWII. He was captured by the Japanese during the war and became a prisoner of war. He was one of the 100,000 soldiers in the notorious Death March of Bataan, the 97 kilometer march from Mariveles, the southern end of Bataan Peninsula to Capas in Tarlac. The Japanese starved and mistreated those prisoners, kicked and beat them, and many who fell were bayoneted. There were many civilians lining the streets, ready to help the prisoners but the Japanese had prevented them from giving food and water to the prisoners. Those who tried were beaten and kicked. According to our mother, father was near death and was lagging behind the march because of thirst. Fortunately, a Good Samaritan helped our father by giving him water. Father survived the Death March by a miracle.
Father contracted malaria after his confinement as a war prisoner. He was to suffer relapses from this disease many years afterwards. The drug Quinine cured the malaria. I still remember the chills and rigors he suffered during his relapse.
Father was born on August 31, 1916, in Cauayan, Ilocos Sur. He was an only child and was orphaned at an early age. He was brought up by relatives. We don’t know much about his boyhood. But I do remember my mother narrating how father was sent from his hometown in Ilocos to his relatives in Cagayan after his parents died. He must have been about five or six years old. Someone - probably a friend or distant relative - had written down father’s name on a card and hung it around his his chest, put him in a ship to go to his relatives in Cagayan, and waved goodbye as the ship sailed away.
After graduating from the military academy, father joined the Philippine army. He retired with a rank of full Colonel but people who meet him after his retirement always call him “the General”, like his gastroenterologist. He had good rapport with that doctor. My sister Connie was always amazed that whenever Tatang went for his clinic appointment, “the general” and the doctor chatted, laughed, and gossiped. I remember that when I was in the USA, I used to always address my letters to him as “General.” He was uncomfortable with my habit and he would gently remind me to call him father only. But I never listened – as always – and continued my habit. I think of him always as “the General.”
There is one story narrated by our mother about father that I always remember. One time, there was a bunch of promotions in the Philippine army. Father had not been on the list. Father felt his being bypassed was because he was not a graduate of the elite Philippine Military Academy, and therefore, unjust. He wrote a letter to President Marcos who was the president at that time, enumerating his accomplishments and his service to his country, and that he should be promoted. Marcos had granted his promotion after he read my father’s letter. Every time I remember the story, I think, you never give up asking for your right.
Growing up, we remember our father as a strict disciplinarian. He was always concerned for our safety. He was very organized; all his personal documents are neatly filed. His motto was “You’ll never know when you need it” and true enough, when he was applying for his entitlement as WWII veteran, he did not have difficulty. I wish I had inherited this trait for I have a tendency to throw things away!
Most of all, Father valued education. He constantly reminded us that our education is the best inheritance he can give us.
Our father was a true soldier and he lived his life accordingly. When he retired from military service, he was still active. He would go for walks around the block daily, at our place in Alabang, with his baseball cap on and a walking stick in his right hand, which he occasionally waved about. That is the image that my children have of their grandfather – “the General.” His active lifestyle ended when he lost strength over his lower legs and he had to be confined in a wheelchair. From then on, his health slowly deteriorated, which was painful to witness. We, his children, did our very best to make his life comfortable in his old age.
Our father was 94 years old when he died but old soldiers never die; they just fade away . . . Father, we salute you.
Good bye Tang. In our hearts you live forever.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
