Pananagutan

Walang sinuman ang nabubuhay para sa sarili lamang

Walang sinuman ang namamatay para sa sarili lamang

Tayong lahat ay may pananagutan sa isa't isa

Tayong lahat ay tinipon ng Diyos, na kapiling Niya

No one lives for himself alone

No one dies for himself alone

We are all responsible for each other

We are all gathered by God, who is with Him.

I would hear this song almost everyday attending daily Mass at St. Peter the Martyr Church in Sual, Pangasinan. I didn't really know the words, but when it was sung at my dad's burial, I wanted to know what it meant. I learned that the title of the song, Pananagutan, loosely translates to responsibility or liability, and the lyrics convey the message of caring for one another, of being responsible for one another. Our lives are not our own. We can't live without the love of others.

Today marks 40 days since my dad's passing, 40 days of us Montenegro kids taking on a new meaning of pananagutan to one another because when your parents are both gone, life changes. But for me, as I think about him, it's also a moment to how we were pananagutan to our parents. Shortly after my mom's passing, I took a moment to reflect on the most important things she taught us, and now I'm especially pondering what made my dad so special.

Shortly after the funeral and burial, we all got together at the house and shared stories about Pop teaching us how to drive, his favorite foods, and his stint as a soccer goalie at Santo Tomas University. We talked about his immigration journey from the Philippines to the US and his love for our mom. I shared that for me, two words that described Pop were provider and protector. If we were poor, I didn't know it because we always had food on the table and a roof over our heads. And I always had a sense that if anything happened, he would take care of us because for him, family was everything.

Sometimes I look back on that time and think that I didn't do enough, that I didn't take my responsibility as daughter as seriously as I could have, but that would be a mistake. I did what I could, and I don't regret it. I won't forget the way his face looked when I would pray beside his bedside. I'll never forget the twinkle in his eye or the way he would chuckle when he would tell stories about when he was growing up in the Philippines. I'll remember how he would ask for certain foods (puto, mamon, siopao) and I would go to the market with my pesos and broken Tagalog. But mostly, I will remember how he expressed worry for us kids, always wanting to make sure we were provided for, that we had enough, that we would be okay. Up until the end, he carried the weight of his family, taking us as his responsibility, his pananagutan. And I realize how good we all had it to have him as our dad.

The sacrifices he made make me think of the sacrifices of God the Father. I've been drawn to meditate on His greatest sacrifice of His Son, Jesus. Every now and then, when I think about the cross and my own unworthiness, I can't help but wonder, "why?" Why would anyone endure lashes from the whip, a crown of thorns, a heavy cross, and nails in his hands and feet? I come up empty. I realize I'll never understand or be able to explain that kind of love, not this side of heaven anyway.

Jesus' Passion and Death, when we think about it, sounds scandalous: to die for sinners, those who persecuted him, spat on him, and shouted cruel accusations at him. And that's because it is. It's absurd that someone so perfect would give his entire life for us, and even those of us who believe can get lost in the weeds trying to understand. I've sat at the Cross and I've wondered why a lot. And there's only one thing that I hear, the soft whisper in my heart that makes everything better, five powerful words that are so simple but so life-changing, words that echo why my dad made the sacrifices he did, of leaving his homeland and everything he knew: "You did it for me."