To everyone who knows me offline, in real life (IRL), I've recently suffered a tremendous loss with the passing of my Dad - on New Year's Day, no less.
I've always been a Mama's boy, but ever since my Mom passed away in 2000, I got really close to my Dad since then. I guess my being the eldest in the family, not to mention my physical resemblance to him, contributed to that because that's when we really got to talk a lot. Before, he'd confide everything to my Mom first, but with her passing, I became his closest confidante.
Whenever he had a problem with whatever it was that was bothering him, I was the one he often talked to. When my Dad, my brother Stevie and my sister Dimples still used to live in an apartment in Industrial Valley in Marikina, together with Rachel, my fiancee, a then-infant Dana and I tried to spend our weekends with them just so Dad could bond with his first grandchild. And bond they did that whenever my Dad visited us in our house in Manila, one of the highlights for Dana was to go out to the neighborhood sari-sari store with her grandfather to buy sweets for her. Truth be told, just the effort alone that my Dad took the time to visit us at home, to walk to the jeepney terminal near their house to take him to the LRT II station in Santolan and then take another jeep to our house, that meant a lot to us already. He also doted on Dylan a lot, saying how much his grandson resembled him, down to the shape of their heads. Hahahaha...
Now, for some reason, probably since when we were young and since my Mom and Dad were career-minded individuals then that we only got to see them after they came home from work, we never really became a touchy-feely family. But our conversations were pretty open, though you had to be prepared for the usual, "I'm older than you so I know better," argument from them which only means it's no use to argue your point because their minds have already been made up. Still, when my Dad migrated to America to join my stepmom, Tita Flor, I gave him a really big hug - something that, to my recollection, I haven't done ever. If I had known that that was the last time I would see him, I probably wouldn't have let him go and begged him to stay. Dana and Dylan were getting fond of him as I'm sure he was of them too, but his desire to help out and with his idea of America being the land of milk and honey prompted him to migrate to the US, even if he knew that his immediate family would be left behind in the Philippines.
Alas, just like every Filipino who dreams that America is the land of milk and honey, my Dad soon found out that that idea is something that's only fostered by the American media as he had to look for a company that would employ someone of his age. So from being a Vice-President of a local bank in the Philippines in the early '80s, my dad found himself working in the stockroom of a Home Depot while at the same time working as a security guard, and even recently, taking on a third job as a parking attendant - proof that what America really is, is a land of blood, tears and sweat.
But in fairness to the good ol' USA, at least their companies don't discriminate against elderly people who still want to work. But come to think about it, their usual line, "we don't have a position available for someone with your qualifications but we'll call you once an opening's available," definitely sounds like a blow-off, given a law that American companies can't discriminate against the age of their applicants, that's why they'd rather give them a false glimmer of hope with no real intention of getting back to them instead of outright turning them down.
But enough of the hardship - both physical and mental - that my Dad had to go through in America. This eulogy of sorts is to celebrate my father's life, not dwell on his troubles because, let's face it, I wouldn't be the man I am now if it weren't for his influence and guidance.
Like my Dad, I'm capable of appreciating all kinds of music. Sometimes, my Dad would listen to Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole and The Platters, but more often that not, he'd listen to Elvis Presley and The Beatles and, on rare occasions, to Led Zeppelin. There were even times that, during the long drives to and from Tarlac many, many times, we'd listen to America for the entire trip. So, yes, I grew up listening to standards, R&B, folk, rock and hard rock, which greatly influenced the kinds of music I listen to today. I owe all that to my Dad.
My father is also a generous man to a fault,. When my brother and I were still kids and we were still financially well-off (this was before Ninoy's assassination plummeted the country's economy) it became a weekend habit for my Dad to buy each one of us a toy, so much so that on the rare occasion we didn't find anything interesting in stock, he'd force us to buy one which lead to us having some rarely-touched toys because, well, we didn't really like it in the first place; we just picked it so he'd stop bugging us. Hahahaha...
My father's generosity was also taken advantage of by some people who would borrow money from him but, in the end, just renege on that promise and act as if they did my father a favor by borrowing from him. Or, like when the sugar mills in Iloilo, where my Dad and his brothers and sisters had some shares in were sold to Universal Robina, his brothers and sisters kept bugging my Dad to sign some documents so that they could liquidate his shares on his behalf to close the deal. My Dad knew his share in the sale should have been much, much more than the pittance he received later on but he never complained, even if they never gave him a copy of the documents breaking down his share of the sale after they bugged him everyday to sign his documents. Really, the gall of these people who always took advantage of my Dad's kindness. And before I forget, when the Philippines' economy collapsed after Ninoy's assassination, my Dad, who was then the Vice-President of an up-and-coming finance company in the early '80s, took the fall as the company's president ran away with the company's money to America. And what happened when my Dad got in touch with the said company's president after he (my Dad) migrated to America? They became friends again, as if the hardship that my Dad - and us - went through were nothing. Yes, that was how magnanimous my Dad was.
In some way, I also became generous to a fault like my Dad, although admittedly, I'm less trusting of people because of what we've been through. Still, as long as I have enough money to get home, I'd be willing to part with whatever money I have just to help a friend. And that, I learned, from my Dad, who always was ready to lend a helping hand - and money - to his friends who needed it.
Dad was also a voracious reader. Our two humongous bookcases were packed with his paperback novels, hardbound books published by Reader's Digest, issues of National Geographic and, for a time, his Popular Mechanics subscription. On the long summer breaks in between school years in Ateneo - and this was the time before cable TV and Clark Air Base's FEN was the channel to have to show that you were affluent enough - to keep me from getting bored in our home in a then-desolate Better Living Subdivision, reading those magazines was a godsend, which, in a way, prompted my love for cars and motorsports.
And, I'm proud to say, that I also influenced Dad when it comes to his choice of reading material, because, although I may not have been a fan of his sci-fi and fantasy paperback novels, I did turn Dad on to technothriller novels because, after I bought a paperback copy of Tom Clancy's The Hunt for Red October and procured paperback copies of Patriot Games and A Clear and Present Danger from a friend, and after he read all three books, he started buying a lot of paperback novels of that genre, like the works of Dale Brown and Stephen Coonts. I swear, Booksale owes a tremendous amount of their success to my Dad.
Dad also loved to eat out a lot, particularly when we had the money for it. I'd remember trips to Ali Mall and SM Cubao's food court every weekend where we'd usually have either KFC or Greenwich, or on the rare occasion, Sizzling Plate which is probably what made me into the steak-crazed person that I am today. Sometimes, we'd even have lunch at Rustan's Yum Yum Tree or in the old Choo Choo Junction which is also what probably got me started on pasta. But the one place that I'll always hold dear and that I'll always identify with my Dad since he loved eating there every weekend after we moved to Parañaque was what he called 'Fishpen.' I don't know if that's really the name of the place or if it's still standing; all I know is that it was located in Lower Bicutan and that it was situated right beside Laguna de Bay. I forgot what I usually had there but I do remember falling in love with their halayang ube for dessert which, again, is probably what got me addicted to ube in the first place. Truth is, I actually vowed to myself that, if that place is still around, I'd take my family there one day so that I can show my kids what my Dad showed to me - sort of like passing it down to the next generation.
Dad also loved to watch movies a lot. I have very fond memories of us spending the weekend watching a huge stack of VCR tapes we'd borrow from the many video rental shops we were a member of when I was a kid. Again, I got to experience Dad's love for both sci-fi and fantasy flicks and action-packed thrillers which, somehow, rubbed off on me because these are the very same movie genres I follow until now.
Now, my Dad also got me interested in admiring the female form in all its naked glory - or to be more candid about it, my Dad got me interested in porn, albeit indirectly. You know how, as a kid, you'd sometimes play hide-and-seek in your house with your sibling/s and you'd find yourself hiding in your dad's closet? Well, that was how I discovered my Dad's secret porn stash when I was only around 6 or 7 years old, I think. And from then on, there was no turning back. I became a porn connoisseur of sorts. Whenever my Mom and Dad weren't around, I'd take a quick peek at Dad's porno mags, and when I became old enough to operate the VCR player by myself, his collection of XXX tapes. So it's no surprise then that when I became old enough, I acquired my own collection of porno mags and videos. And thanks to the internet, my porn acquisitions became even more widespread and diverse. Hahahaha... Yes, I owe that to my Dad, although truth be told, I wasn't much of a breast man like my Dad; I'm more of a leg man, really.
So, yeah, I am the man I am today because of my Dad. He was the kindest, most generous person I have ever known. Alright, maybe my being his eldest son could be a very good reason why he was kind and generous to me, but from what I've seen, with how he interacted with family and friends, he truly was a kind and generous soul.
Well, my friends would beg to disagree, since they knew him as a harsh, stern man. But that was the time when I was still a "headstrong" teenager so that was a long, long time ago. And that's why I'll always treasure a text message my Dad sent me when I celebrated my 32nd birthday where he said that I've come a long way from being a strong-willed teenager to a responsible husband and father. Like I said, we weren't a touchy-feely family so to have received something like that from my Dad was truly heartwarming.
My Dad passed away without having any of his children by his side, without having his grandchildren by his side, telling him to wake up and play with them. It's so bittersweet that we were able to talk to him the day before he had a heart attack and went into a coma. He sounded more than fine over the phone, really. He was complaining about how cold it was in Sacramento, how he missed his grandchildren and how smart Dana sounded over the phone and how it was okay for Dylan to still speak in gibberish even if he's turning three years old this year. He even sounded pleased that he finally stopped smoking, but that was only after a previous hospital check-up said he already had emphysema, so his quitting smoking was a little too late, really.
So when we got the news the day after he called that he was rushed to the hospital because he suffered what we then didn't know was a heart attack, we were all shocked because we had no inkling that that was going to happen. And when I was told that he was in a coma, I already expected the worst. To me, it all happened so soon, so fast. I had just lost my Mom eight years ago to a stroke that put her in a coma for a week before she passed away by herself, and now it was my Dad who was now in the same situation, this time because of a heart attack. But this time, it was much, much harder for me and for my family.
When my Mom was in a coma, I'd sometime brush her hair off of her face and tell her to wake up so we could go home. But after almost a week of watching her hooked up to all those machines to keep her alive with no improvement whatsoever, and after seeing what seemed to be a pained look on her face, I whispered in her ear, just in case she could hear me, that if she was having a hard time, it was okay for her to move on. And sure enough, I think a day or two after, she passed away on her own terms with my Dad and me by her side on a Monday morning.
But with my Dad, we weren't there to talk to him, to tell him to wake up, or if there was really no more hope for his recovery, to tell him to move on on his own terms. So when the doctor told me over the phone that, after observing him for three days and seeing that there was no improvement on his condition, that the only thing we could do was unplug him from the life-support machines and let him die a peaceful death, I couldn't bring myself to agree wholeheartedly to the decision. After all, he was asking me to, in effect, kill my Dad. I just couldn't, EVER. But what else could I do? I was more than 10,000 kilometers away from my Dad. Sure, I could easily get the money to fly to America but I had no passport and I had no visa to get there.
So, on a cold, smoke-filled night in the living room just a few short hours into the New Year, when the doctor told me of Dad's prognosis as not looking very good, with the lack of brain activity and of his failing kidneys, I, together with my Tita Brenda, Dad's older sister who lives in San Diego, and Tita Flor, my stepmom, all agreed to have Dad unplugged from his life-support machines so that he can move on on his own terms. And so, after I put down the phone, I spent a good 30 minutes or so crying beside it. I had just told the doctor to go ahead and let my Dad die, a few hours into the New Year no less. Did I do the right thing? Would my Dad be pleased that I had given up on him? Those are just some of the questions that'll haunt me for the rest of my life.
Oh, and you know the irony of it all? Together with Tita Flor, my stepmom, my Dad was supposed to file his petition for us, my family, to become permanent residents in the US this January. Well, with his passing, my dream to move to America with my family to join my Dad is gone.
It's also painful for me that Rachel's mom, Mama Carmen, died just last February in San Diego in a tragic traffic accident. Mama Carmen was like a mom to me, particularly after my Mom died. She helped me get on my feet for a couple of months way, way back when my Dad threw me out of the house during the time when I was still a "headstrong" teenager. She knew what I liked a lot (Star Wars!) and every so often, she'd send me Star Wars stuff in the balikbayan boxes she regularly sent over from San Diego. So when we heard that Mama Carmen passed away, to me, it was like I lost my Mom all over again. And then, without even a whole calendar year going by, it was now my Dad who passed away. In less than a decade, I lost my Mom, Mama Carmen and my Dad. In less than a decade, I became an orphan.
I was expecting that, since I got to see my grandparents grow old and die peacefully, our kids would also see Rachel's Mama Carmen and my Dad grow old. But because of what happened, it looks like we can only tell Dana and Dylan stories about their Lola Becky, Lola Carmen and Lolo Angel.
And so, as much a cliché as it is, life goes on. And for now, I console myself with the knowledge that my Dad is now with my Mom, probably with Mom telling him that he proved her right, that he should've stopped smoking so many years ago, and the very moment my Mom turns away, off my Dad goes smoking a cigarette with Mama Carmen. Hahahaha...
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