My first memory of Uncle Mert was very clear; he brought home a walking doll for me as a ‘pasalubong’. I did not understand it during that time why I did not see him very often. He was in the U.S. Navy and could only go home to Cavinti when his ship was on port in the now defunct Subic Naval Base.

He was originally from Antique and a Cavintinian by marriage, meeting Lilly Conde in Manila after World War II. She was a student at Centro Escolar University while he was already a sailor, having enlisted during World War II. They would be blessed with four children – Sonny, Heide, Helen and Hilda.

Like his children, I was also still very young when he decided to settle in California when he retired from the U.S. Navy, bringing his whole family with him. I would not see Uncle Mert again until I was an adult.

Visiting California as often as I could, I ‘met my Uncle’ again, this time, seeing him through the eyes of a grown up. He was the same kind man I knew when I was child, generous and always willing to help those in need. To him, I was always his ‘little niece’, and given a ‘going-away present’ when it was time for me to leave.

Yet, through all my visits in Los Angeles, there was only one time that I spent time with Uncle Mert. Long ago, during happier days, we took a trip to San Diego to see relatives and also visit the San Diego Zoo. Though gas prices were cheap those days compared to today, he insisted that he share with the gas. I refused of course but he “won” in the end by paying for our meal while we were at the zoo.

Another quality that made Uncle Mert stand out is his refusal ‘to grow old’. Even after officially retiring at age 65, he continued to lead a very active life. He even “worked part time” because he did not want to get bored!

“I need to keep active,” he told me when I asked him why he would not truly retire. “If I stay home, I would be bored. I can only watch so much TV. I like the company of young people. Having a fixed schedule for even just part of the day keeps me going.” I believe that is the secret of his long life.

Very few people reach 82 years old; but, to me, Uncle Mert was 82 years “young” when he died. Quite frankly, I have not accepted yet that he is gone. In my mind’s eye, I still see him the last time I was in California, asking me when I will move to Los Angeles so that I could be near family.

“Being in Dallas, you live so far away. If something happens to you, we could not be there immediately. Move here in California so that you can be in the bosom of your family,” he said.

And now, I have to accept the fact that whether I move to California or just visit, I will not see Uncle Mert again.

[MARI OBLENA DAVIS]