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Even as a teenager, he was keenly aware of the suffering of
others—
and felt the need to do something about it.
Last week the Philippine National Red Cross
(PNRC) launched what it called an intensified nationwide campaign to
help curb the spread of dengue. The stepped up drive will consist of
an information program and cleanup.
According to published reports, PNRC chapters
were told to “hold massive health information and education
activities in communities and schools.” They were also directed to
conduct house-to-house visits and organize cleanups.
The move came after the Department of Health
(DOH) reported Tuesday that dengue cases in Metro Manila and Central
Luzon have more than doubled in the past 10 months. Based on the
report of DOH-National Epidemiology Center, Metro Manila had a total
of 11,161 cases with 71 deaths from January to October. As of two
months ago, a total of 32,882 cases have already been reported to
Health department sentinel hospitals compared to the 39,225 cases in
all of 2007.
No doubt, the initiative taken by the Philippine
National Red Cross and Department of Health is laudable and deserves
everyone’s support. For a former classmate of mine, however, the
campaign came too late.
Dengue shock
Ironically, Renato B. Dantes, whom our Ateneo de
Manila High School class of 1970 will always fondly remember as
“Tato,” was a doctor who specialized in pulmonary medicine.
Many medical students who passed through the
Philippine General Hospital remember Doctor Dantes as a generous
mentor who took extra time and effort to pass on his knowledge and
insights to several generations of budding physicians.
After suffering five days of high fever, Tato
succumbed to dengue shock on Tuesday. Several classmates who were
set to visit him at the National Kidney Institute, where he was
confined, did not get there on time.
Tato is survived by his neurologist-wife, Marita
Bernal Dantes and their children Mark, Miriam and Ana.
Among his many professional involvements, Tato
had been medical director of one of the world’s leading
pharmaceutical companies. Needless to say, he and his wife were able
to build a comfortable life for their family who reside in an
upscale subdivision located near the school of our youth.
Weeks before Tato’s sudden departure, some of
our classmates reported seeing him running around the Loyola Heights
campus. He had been a varsity player—basketball and
volleyball—in high school. A classmate, Jojo Bernardo, recalls
that Tato “possessed a jump shot that resembled Wally Jones of the
NBA—he kicked his feet in the air before he released the ball.”
Nearly four decades after graduation, Tato
managed to keep his athletic discipline.
He was a distinguished medical professional, a
devoted padre de familia and a healthy 55-year-old who outran,
outplayed and outlasted many others half his age. So how could have
dengue struck Tato down?
According to some of our classmates who remained
close to him, Tato continued to lend “his time and expertise to
advocacy/developmental projects.” Even as a teenager, he was
keenly aware of the suffering of others—and felt the need to do
something about it.
Tato was a member of the Ateneo Catechetical
Instruction League (ACIL), which brought him to such places as
Calumpang, Marikina, where he taught basic Catholic teaching to
pupils of the Mababang Paaralan ng San Roque.
Later he joined the Summer of Service (SOS)
program, initiated by then-Jesuit scholastic Ed Garcia and immersed
himself in the squatter relocation area of Sapang Palay in San Jose
del Monte, Bulacan. It was in fact to the circle of Summer of
Service volunteers that Tato remained closest.
It was also from Tato’s Summer of Service
colleagues that we learned Tato had just recently conducted a
medical mission—one of many—at an urban poor community. They
could only speculate that it was there where he was bitten by a
dengue-carrying mosquito.
Number 29
We look back to our youth with much affection.
In our attempt to bring back memories of the happy years we spent at
Loyola Heights, many members of our class continue to meet for
monthly pilyo-ships. Others have found greener pastures overseas,
but we are all able to keep in touch via the Internet aside from
regular reunions.
With the passing years, however, we have adopted
another tradition—a sad one that entails keeping count of
classmates who have gone ahead. We call it our Pantheon, and we have
added Tato to this roster as No. 29.
Mulling over what words of comfort we could
possibly offer Tato’s family, Jojo Bernardo, our class chronicler,
wrote the following:
“The family of Tato must be grappling with a
profound question right now . . . why? The trite expression
‘God’s will’ happens to be true. It is God’s will . . . for
reasons that will be revealed as we go through our lives of
discernment.
“We looked at the list . . . all of these guys
certainly passed on before their regular time . . . some met
untimely accidents, some were felled by disease, still others were
even murdered. Examination and analysis of this list reveal neither
rhyme nor reason to justify or explain why this 29 had gone ahead of
the others.
“There is no common ingredient that will lead
us to an insight why these men died when they did. There is only a
sense of mystery and wonderment at the wisdom of God . . . and an
acceptance of a divine plan in all things.”
Tato’s loss is painful to his family as much
as it is to us his boyhood friends. We take comfort in heavenly
wisdom and in the knowledge that without doubt his was—as Jojo
again put it—a purposeful life.
Tato’s mortal remains were laid to rest
yesterday, National Heroes Day.
dansoy26@yahoo.com
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