It was drizzling as I entered the grounds of the Carmelite Monastery in Mandalagan, Bacolod City. The cloudy skies came to mourn as well. As I learned beforehand that his body was to be brought that morning from the San Sebastian Cathedral to the Carmelite Church, this was a quieter place to pay my respects, I thought. When I came to the church's door, there was nobody else. From the back, I could see his white coffin surrounded by white and yellow flowers on the right side of the altar.
After making the sign of the cross, I walked towards his coffin; the sound of my light steps was accompanied by the occasional rustling of the winds that caressed the plants on both side of the church. This was my first time to visit the Carmelite Church and it felt, well, weird. Me, along in a church and approaching a casket. The eeriness I felt was just momentary. I was here to pay my respects, my tribute, my thanksgiving, and pray for this extraordinary man of cloth, a good friend and an institution in our Negrense communities: Monsignor Guillermo 'GG' Gaston.
As I stood in front of his white coffin with his smiling portrait next to it, I whispered a greeting and introduced myself in Hiligaynon, telling him who and whose child I was. I remember thanking him for all that he had done for the faithful, his visits to our home and his endearing friendship with our family. But when I heard footsteps coming in into the church, I gave way to his next visitors and chose to sit at a pew a few rows down and prayed the holy rosary for him.
And then a very unusual thing happened. I was in the middle of the rosary and again alone inside the church when, out of a corner of my left eye, I think I saw a priest in a black sotana come in from the left side of the church. It was just a split second; the priest was young and handsome, and looked caucasian, like a foreigner. He was striding from one of the open archways at the left as if walking towards the altar. But then, when I turned my head towards him, nobody was there! The leaves of the plants at that area suddenly were rustled by a strong breeze! Again, nobody was there!
I just continued my rosary. And when I finished, I stood up and went back to Monsignor GG's coffin for a final farewell. I whispered to him to go in peace and asked him to pray for us when he is finally with The Father.
The last time we saw Monsignor Gg was when we, a group of his fans and friends in Victorias, visited him at his home in Hacienda Santa Rosalia in June 2022. We brought him merienda, asked for his fascinating stories, and made him feel he was always remembered and loved. All this while using a small whiteboard and a black marker to communicate with him as he had difficulty hearing. It was a fun afternoon for all of us.
And even years earlier, on one of my vacations in Negros, we drove up to visit him and were fascinated by his stories, including the one about his family's mansion was saved during World War II, which became this following piece.
https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=143310208111630&set=a.102358232206828
He had touched many lives and is still remembered by many, including my mother who still cherishes the rosary he gave her.
Monsignor GG's contributions and service to the Negrense communities and to the faithful of the Diocese of Bacolod and its parishes are immeasurable. We all remember him today on his death anniversary.
Monsignor Guillermo Maria Azcona Gaston was born on March 7, 1932, and died on July 20, 2023. 🙏
#monsignorgaston #monsignorGG #dioceseofbacolod #bacolod #priest
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