By Anna Bocar

On July 28, 1993, I lost my beloved daughter Ivy. She was two months short of three and the younger sister of Analou, who had just turned nine. They had gone to the house of my cousin Bernardo to play with his baby. Bernardo had just arrived in our place in Mindanao from Cebu and was drinking with some friends. When my children arrived he was already drunk and possibly under the influence of illegal drugs also. He was showing a gun he had brought with him to his buddies.

Dangerous joke

Analou told me later that Ivy approached her uncle and asked him for a peso. Instead of giving her money he jokingly pointed the gun at her and asked, “Is this what you want?” Ivy, too young to be aware of the danger involved, grabbed the gun. Bernardo tried to pull it from her, not realizing that he was pulling the trigger too. A shot rang out.

Ivy didn’t fall right away. Only a little blood could be seen on her dress and the bullet didn’t exit from her body. It didn’t even show on the x-ray. The doctor’s report indicated that it had gone through her internal organs.

Mother’s anguish

The pain was unbearable for me as Ivy’s mother. No words could describe the anguish my husband, Manolo, and I went through. I wanted revenge. My cousin owed me a life. I wanted him to pay with his own.

I filed a case against him. He was sentenced to eight-to-twelve years for homicide and four for the illegal possession of arms. He is now at San Ramon Penal Colony in Zamboanga.

Shattered dreams

For three long years I suffered without respite, crying myself to sleep almost every night. I thought at first that I couldn’t bear it, to the point where I wanted to take my own life. I had loved Ivy so much. She was such a gentle and respectful child, so very cheerful and intelligent. I’d had so many dreams for my beautiful daughter, now all dashed. I tried to get through each weary day after weary day.

To rest in His arms

Then I got tired of it all. I wanted to leave the pain behind. I wanted peace. I found myself submitting to God. I realized that there could be no peace unless God was in me. I decided to leave everything to him.

It’s nearly ten years now since that tragic incident and God has taught me how to depend on him every step of the way. When I had all my cares at his feet he brought me blessings I never thought I deserved. The greatest of these was our son and Analou’s brother, Manolo Ivy. He carries the name of his father and of our Little Angel and helps me remember Ivy and smile, “Ivo,” as we call him, is now nearly nine.

Struggle to forgive

A few months after he went to prison Bernardo wrote and asked me to forgive him. This is something I’m still struggling with. I’ve never visited him in the penal colony nor contacted him. I’m only human. Yet I ask myself, if God can forgive, why can’t I? Perhaps it’s the mission of Little Ivy, now in the presence of God, to obtain for me the grace to let go of everything and forgive Bernardo.