An Ode to Dad
From Chase's Cam
11/01/2006
San Fernando, Pampanga
It’s all almost forgotten now.
Except in random moments when I remember those vivid memories of violent fights and the long and tense waits for him to come back home. And when he is home, the endless anticipation that something big is about to happen.
I can't even recall the exact date anymore, but it was 1997 when it all started happening. My sister and I were watching some local shows on TV. Then all of a sudden I heard my mom screaming. The sound she created was the sound of pure anguish, the sound of so much pain. She was laying in bed, my dad desperately trying to restrain her. Between screams she was hugging and kissing him, telling him he was the only man she had ever loved. Asking incomprehensible questions, random thoughts coming out of her about how everything came to be. And everything was never the same soon after. Spitting hurtful words like a woman gone mad, mom told my ate and me the entire, hurtful truth. Dad was having an affair, with one of his office subordinates. A woman my mom considered to be a friend.
I couldn’t help but be angry at him. And I guess its human nature, more so if it's your mom, to sympathize and pity the one scorned. If not only for my weekly allowance I didn’t want to go back home, because then I'll see him, and I'd hear them fighting. And yes, I was angry for a long time for something I couldn't fully understand. I was confused about the reasons why he would do such a thing. I faintly remember the reason he gave mom on that fateful afternoon that "he is only human and that made him weak". I remember wanting to punch him, and to tell him that I heard that a hundred other times on TV. The following years were hell for everyone in the house.
He died in 2000. A massive stroke took his life on the kitchen floor. The irony of it all was that he just came back from the hospital taking care of mom. A sciatic nerve was pushing through a slipped disk which left her unable to walk due to constant pain. No adult was in the house to even help him, more so to rush him to the hospital. Only Levi, my little brother was there to watch and see him pass away. The shock left him sleepless for nights soon after.
Tragic to end a life like that. A sad end for any good man. I'm writing this as a son who misses a parent, for he was nothing short of a good dad before all the pain happened. He provided for us, going as far as driving our passenger jeep (which doubled as his private ride to work) every afternoon, after work, to earn some extra cash. Not surprisingly, every week when I come home I have something to spend for my studies in UP. Yes I hear them complain how difficult life was for a policeman and his family, but he never failed to provide for my studies. He was extremely proud that fact, a son studying in UP who will soon become an Engineer. He never fails to brag about it during his inuman sessions, embarrassing me by making me stand up in front of his friends to prove its not just alcohol fueling his pride. And to add to it, he shows them my multitude of certificates and medals he painstakingly hanged by the walls of our little sala. My mom will sometimes join them in these sessions, adding her own stories about how embarrassing it was to go up the stage multiple times to receive all those awards with me. They even won the couple of the year award from our barangay the year before for being loyal and true to each other for 28 long years.
And now, several years after his death I remember him. I remember the bad times but also the good times he shared with us, his family. I imagine myself buying him clothes, or taking him out for lunch to fancy restaurants or buying him a new cell phone so he will stop complaining how bulky his cell phone was. All to repay him for the years of hard work, so I can have what I have now. I imagine talking to him about serious stuff, like the day we had a fight about Erap's impeachment trial because I bragged about sleeping at Edsa to get him out of The Office (he was a proud Erap supporter). Or the times we argued about Marcos and Imelda. I imagine taking him and mom to Boracay, setting them up for a romantic date they never had. But then it’s too late. For all I see now are the memories of the day he slipped away. The 21-gun salute, the huge Philippine flag in half mast for everyone to see, the entire camp shutting down to see his funeral march and the bus loads of friends and admirers who made his funeral something similar to that of a movie star.
You realize everything when it’s too late, but regretting is useless. I owe him an apology for making him feel worthless as a dad during those difficult times....I was in pain too.
I am sorry for the time he cried his heart out to my sister’s boyfriend because I was ignoring him when I went home for my short visits from school...I never thought he’d notice.
And for all its worth I want to tell him I love him and I’m proud to be his son. And I’m extremely thankful for the many memorable, wonderful and lesson filled days we spent together....I never got to tell him all of these when he was still alive.
Tomorrow, I’ll visit his grave again. Just like how I did for the past 5 years. Everyone matures and all things fall in to place. The confusion eases. Forgiveness sets in. And all wounds heal no matter how painful.