Remembering my Father

A week from now will mark the first year since my father lost his battle against cancer. It was an afternoon of tears and heartbreak – I can still remember my two siblings holding his arms, my mom watching us as she was being comforted by friends and relatives – and we can only cry on the sight of him, weakened…dying. I remember his pale yellow skin as he shivered even with some heavy blankets, and the memories of our childhood as he carried us in his mighty shoulders flashed in my mind clearly.  I remember how I rebelled against him as a confused teen, and arguing with him endlessly to claim that I am smarter than him. I was an arrogant fool, and the time to show him how sorry I am had ran out. For the hundredth time, I asked myself if I  did something that made him happy, something that made my existence worthwhile for him. Sadly, I can only concede that most of the time, I was a pain in the neck. Regrets can pierce your heart so deep, especially in the face of loss, of death.

My father belongs to the traditional ‘Mt. Province family’ discipline although he was half Ibaloi. It can mean that he belongs to the school of warriors where the head of the family cannot really express emotions of connection. You can distinguish this by observing the ‘lambingan’ culture of the people from the lowlands, and comparing it to the family setting of the highlands. For most of us, hugging and kissing our family members becomes an awkward sight at a certain point of maturity, even though we actually love and care for them – most cannot even verbalize what they feel to their love ones. Such upbringing had put an invisible barrier in expression and communication in our family, but that afternoon was different. We told him that we love him, that, we will always do. We want him to understand that he will always be special and important to us. We assert forgiveness for any indiscretion, misunderstandings, from him, and from us, and even with grief…we told him that we will be okay. As he nodded in understanding, he gasped for his last breath – to say goodbye to this world – we gathered around him; his family, and his friends, then... he was gone.

I heard from many people that we can only realize the value of a person when that person is already gone. Indeed, it is true, and many times I cursed myself for not giving him more of my time when he was in his death bed. I was a selfish asshole, and I truly regret it – if only there is a rewind, a time machine of some sort, I could’ve changed things for him. Since his death, I’ve always dreamed of him, and no matter how logical I want myself to appear, I want to believe that he is visiting me, even in sleep.

This event in my life changed everything; my views, my ideologies, my tendencies. I don’t have a father to run to anymore. No dad who saves me from the bullies as a fat kid. No dad to bail me out on difficult situations. No dad to save me from trouble. No dad to give me a different perspective. No dad whom I can turn to for advice. I will be on my own from now on…and it is hard.

My father gave his last breath because we promised that we will be fine in this life. Hence, it will be wrong to give up because we weren’t raised as losers who give up. My father succumbed to the fight because he knew that we can manage to continue living – that, something will live on…that it is okay to die already.

I have seen his struggle with cancer; how he stayed awake for nights because of the pain, how he deliberately took more painkillers just for relief, how he became frail, how he lost his strength…how he died. Dying at 50 is almost unacceptable, especially when things have started to get better for the family. He could’ve been more, he could’ve done more.

It’s easy to say that; ‘life is short’, that ‘there is no permanence in this world’, that ‘everything is temporary’. However, it is hard not to be attached to the beautiful existences in this world. How can I not long for my father again? How can I not wish for that simple joy of his rare approval no matter how imperfect our relationship was? How can I not wish to see my father again?

I miss my dad…