Eulogy for Melita V. Oliva August 1, 1929 – August 31, 2025 BEYOND WORDS To be remembered and loved, what else matters? This is our profound hope------ the joy of living and at the end, the promise of eternal life. There is an impulse in each of us somehow to make our own personal and individual mark on the world around us. My mom hoped that all her choices , actions and influences in some manner made this life a little sweeter for having been there. In a way that was her small gesture toward immortality , a little message in the universe, that said: “I was here” to the ages. For my mom, all moments shared with family, relatives, neighbors, friends and acquaintances were privileged moments, moments that she treasured and remembered by the recipients, as well. Thus, every bit of her time given to one, ten, or a hundred people sang with joy because she approached it in the spirit of compassion and intimacy whether it was to provide a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, to feed those in need and donate money to the poor. Even with a big family to take care of, Mom with dad’s approval never forgot to share resources with others. Long before caregiving was a household word, she was already a nurse aid to her mother, a midwife and an herbalist in caring for women before and after birth. Eventually, as the years went by, her care-giving skills would include extended family members and relatives, especially nieces and nephews left in her care. Much later it was her parents and finally, her husband. She did this with integrity ---- integrity in the sense of being involved, authentic and true. It was this inward principle that allowed her to live, think and feel. And I think this is the expression behind her happiness, beauty and kindness. Manners and customs come and go. A sense of beauty, a consideration toward others, faith in God—these are eternal. They are the basis upon which she built her individuality. Being a wife and a mother had been her ultimate triumph. It meant that she had transformed what was sad, painful and horrific in her own teen years into something that worked. In the invasion of Corregidor, she suffered the devastation, the loss of their home and the lives of many loved ones. Although she was a prisoner of World War 2, she survived the brutality, horror, and harassment of the Japanese soldiers by the grace of God and activated by a clever trick by grandma who put mud all over her face and body to make her look ugly. And because she learned to survive, she found the need to share herself---greater than ever. After the war, she won the title of “ Miss Liberty” and rode on General McArthur’s jeepney in a motorcade. She learned Japanese and became an interpreter for the US soldiers. My mom passed away at 96. For most of her life, she was in perfect health, able, poised and articulate. This year a weakness existed in her body and , she fought an internal battle to hold on to her life. Then the explosion came, a short coma silently shattered our lives. The family and I gathered around her bed and watched her, hoping to get a spark of that inner light. It was impossible to accept that she was unreachable. We kept waiting, waiting for her spirit to spring back to life. Together and separately, we surrounded her bed , spoke to her, sang to her, whispered old family stories or news from relatives and friends ; did facetime and received phone calls. The blow had been mysterious and swift. An invisible grip had taken consciousness and speech from her. The illness consumed our energy as fully as it overwhelmed her body. There was nothing to do but to pray, counting on the Invisible Healer, the secret hidden healing that might be at work. At a time that we wanted to hear a guiding word, God was silent, the heavens were mute. During those moments, my mother too was silent. Completely robbed of her speech, she lost specific information. She could not offer particular and exact messages. She could not call someone’s name, place, or describe her pain. She needed words. But from her eloquent face, her facial expressions, her looks and glances, she conveyed her love, sorrow, pride, hope, and gratitude. In the language of her pleading eyes there was much eloquence, and finally, we understood. For us it was more precious than words could decipher. Sometimes our own yearnings could not find full expression. Many times, our joy, and our pain remain buried so deep that no articulation could unearth them. if there was something that we learned from this experience, it is this: Know that it is possible to let out a great scream in a voice that no sound emerges and no one will hear. The scream takes place in silence. Each of us is capable of such a cry. In the end, while messages in silence cannot be spoken, know that even in the absence of words, there is a certain connection to God. It is when God is most silent , that inside us is the opportunity to listen to the Voice that we cannot hear. The assurance of that moment was found in the story of Elijah. In the Bible, the prophet Elijah walked 40 days and nights to encounter God on a mountain. He wanted to hear Him speak. There he met a great mighty wind, an earthquake and a fire . He was anticipating a word from God, but he did not hear anything . Then Elijah heard a tiny whisper. He began to understand. God’s disclosure to him was not with a word but with the voice of silence. In the end of Mom’s life, there were messages in silence that could not be spoken. Though God was silent, in the absence of words, we understood the connection. For our family, it became a time of togetherness with the Creator. We felt loved. Inside each of us was a grace-filled moment as we listened to the Voice that we could not hear. One day will come when we will be able to express eternity in a glance. No need for words; only silence will prevail. And that is enough. My brothers Willie, Boyer, Philip and Richard; sisters Thelma, Irma, and Christine join me in saying: We Love you, Mom. Rest in Peace.

Andrea