Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Goodbye, Dad!

It was 4 in the morning when I woke up with a slight asthma attack. I've never had asthma, but the spring allergies have caught up on me big time. So I ran to the bathroom and drank my ration of Claritin to suppress my incessant cough. I didn't know why I still couldn't sleep, so I took my laptop and started checking on emails. I was still high from the messages my friends and my daughter were raving regarding the previous APO show, that my demeanor was light and cheery. I was happily chatting in facebook with my bff when my half brother in Manila, just popped up and said, “Ate, namatay na si daddy kanina.” (Big sister, Dad just died awhile ago."

 Confusion and disbelief was all I could feel. I then made small talk enough to gain the information needed to relay the news to my siblings in Cebu . I thanked him for the information and told him if there was anything we could do, to let us know. My dad was not sick nor did he have any lingering illness. For a man nearing the eighties, his mind was lucid and sharp. Probably the years of analyzing, speculating and investing in the derivatives market plus that of a trader has kept his mind in constant progression of his mental faculties. But the one investment that he gambled and failed was that of relationship. And I speak only for myself . 

 The hurts and humiliation of having an absentee dad was what prompted me to create a wall of indifference and apathy towards him. Unanswered issues made the barrier even higher as the years went by when his visits to us where scarce and few, as he had other responsibilities that needed his attention. It was only when he was back in Manila and on the verge of retiring, did my dad try to reach out. I was already abroad and we communicated by emails. At one time, he disowned me and vowed never to write again after I hurled some invective insults. He was giving me vague answers of “that's life” which was insufficient for my inquiring mind. But then he would reconnect by greeting me on my birthdays and christmas.

 About 2 years ago, I had the opportunity to speak wholeheartedly to my dad, when he came for a visit. In those few weeks that we were together, he had laid bare his soul and the gaps that were once darkened with doubts in my growing years, inched its way with some specks of light. Slowly as revelations were uncovered and issues addressed, I saw a different side of my father. When the news came of my father passing away, initially I did not cry. Maybe the years of absence had numbed the pain or that I was just in denial. Then I thought of him during my childhood years when he was very visible and alive to me. I thought about his life and everything associated with it. I remembered his last words as he was leaving the apartment on his way to the train station for the trip back to the PHilippines. He uttered an “I love you ,van.” I smiled as I hugged him, but I couldn't give him the same reply he wanted to hear.

 And just as these thoughts were going through my mind, tears started to flow, first in trickles and then I broke down into grueling sobs like a wounded child. I cried not because I had lost a father, who is in a better place now than I am. It was more on the realization of what an egocentric person I had become. I was empowered by my own selfish desire of wanting my own father to beg for my forgiveness for being an absentee dad. I was held down by my own ideals of my own righteousness. It was all about me.

 Life does not come without its flaws, including the choices we make. There are no wrong choices in this world, there are only consequences of those choices. By accepting all that has happened, and releasing them is a step towards recovery. As Paul Boese says, “Forgiveness does not change the past, but it enlarges the future.” 

 My dad will be laid to rest today, so I am told. I imagine myself being transported back in time as a little girl. I look out of the window waiting anxiously for my dad to come home, but he never does. Then, I remembered what he told me two years ago about life, then I understand. It is part of death. And as I bend my head down, I release a whisper, “I'm sorry for waiting dad. But that's okay, I'm all grown up now, I can take care of myself. You have your rest. Goodbye, Dad!”

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