An ode of gratitude, in loving memory of Dad
26 July to 29 December – A lifetime among many, and to infinity
Yesterday (and 14 hours ago), you breathed your last in this lifetime, Dad. The grief is so deep that I could not even describe it. Ours is not a perfect relationship and we both know, I lost you several times. Once, when you began leaving our family by not coming home anymore, sometimes a day, then two, three days, until you never came home anymore; twice, you just suddenly disappeared from our lives (not leaving an address), and then again, years after l found you (through fate, a lot of help from people, and yes, some sleuthing!), you began changing, it felt you were no longer the Dad I used to know. Maybe because you have a new family already, a new partner, a new home…
But still, I loved you up to the very end. I held on.
Despite the long silences, the distance. And even if you’ve changed, I always knew, there is still that small part in your heart that I still occupy. I will never ever say goodbye to those parts of us, which never parted.
You have left several times that my heart has finally found peace. But, this time, it’s harder to deal with the finality. The final closure.
But, farewell, my Dad. Our happy memories are what will keep me grateful.
There had been a lot of tears but always, the laughters will shine through. The integrity of hard work, I learned from you. Maybe a lot of my sense of humor, my laughter, my love for reading and learning. Most of all, you trusted me. I know I fought hard for my independence after I turned 18. I felt you were already being unreasonably strict at that age! I thought you were bringing me up following a certain formula–a box that I couldn’t possibly fit in. And then, one day, when I came home from school (not going home the previous night because of obligations at the university paper where I was an editor), you were so furious. You said, with an angry tone, “From now on, you will be home before 6:00 in the evening, after your classes!” I thought I am going to burst, too. I was also beginning to get angry inside. We ended up arguing.
Oh, I remember such a tearful exchange; the first time we ever had that kind of conversation (and argument). I knew I have to try even if I wasn’t sure I’d ever change your mind, your ways of doing things. I found my voice and bravely said, Dad, please trust the way you have brought me up. If I fail you, it will be my fault. I will not blame you. And then…I waited. But you didn’t say anything anymore. You just kept quiet.
The next day, I had to attend a party and my friends fetched me. I started walking toward my friend’s car and didn’t notice that you were following me out. I sat at the back of the car, and then I suddenly saw you knocking on the window. I was both surprised and worried–thinking that maybe you will tell me to get down the car now! I slowly pulled the window down, looked at you and hesitatingly asked, “Yes…?” Surprisingly, you simply asked, “Ni, uuwi ka ba tonight?” (“Ni, will you go home tonight?”) I could not believe my ears! I imagined my friends being dumbfounded, too. (They knew how strict you are.) Just like magic, with those five words, you gave me my freedom! My heart almost burst out of happiness. I think we both laughed a little.
When we began driving, my friends, altogether, impatiently, started throwing me questions like, “What happened to your Dad? I mean, he’s a changed man! How did you do it? What dish did you serve so I can give it to my folks, too?”
And so, after that, after an evening that changed our life forever, you began treating me as a responsible adult. You allowed me the freedom to explore, to travel, to make my own decisions, to dream! From then on, in the evenings when you came home late or I was not around or too busy, we’d exchange notes pinned on a cork board, telling you where I’m going and when I’m returning (including telephone numbers or how to reach me). On my return, I will always check those notes to see your signature, which became your way of telling me, “it’s ok”. Sometimes, there were one-liners especially if I had good news. Still a man of few words. Those signatures and one-liners mean the world to me. Because they represent the greatest gift that any parent can give their children: trust. It wasn’t only about you trusting me. It was also about you trusting the way you brought me up.
Thank you so much, Dad. Thank you for the trust, the quality of my education, for not giving unnecessary pressure when it comes to grades in school, the love of reading (which you have instilled in me), the hard work (oftentimes taking on side jobs in the evenings and on weekends alongside your full-time work with Nestle Philippines), the love of life and sense of humor, the sense of discipline, and generosity. I would also remember how you always inspired me to enjoy eating. To savor food. You said, even if I only have the last twenty pesos in my bulsa (pocket) and get hungry before reaching home, buy yourself food. And so, I shared these lessons and snippets of wisdom to my husband, too.
I honor and thank you, today, Dad. You went away several times, and now left for the last time, but for a while, you were there. You were my Dad.
Go in peace, now. Please embrace God-source, and all our saints, angels, and ancestors, and your beloved Nanay (my favorite Lola-Nanay, my most beautiful abuela) and tell them how grateful I am for giving you as my Dad. Rest in peace, Dad. You will always be remembered and loved.
This written memorial is also shared in the second part of my post here. For those who are also grieving, may you find comfort in the graces and light of all that is. Remember, you are loved and supported. Please reach out if you need prayers as you navigate through the difficult days. May this post and images give you strength in your healing journey.
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