Every time I see an old man who's tall with medium built, with white hair, wearing a polo or polo shirt with slacks or jeans on, and leather shoes; an old man who seems so confident and intimidating and so intellectual--the lawyer or politician type; an old man who looks so strict and old-fashion and who rarely smiles that you'd sort of feel bad for his children cause maybe they had a really hard time growing up. An old man who looks so familiar that I might actually mistake him for my dad--if only he was still alive.
When I remember him, the saying "never take anyone for granted cause it might be too late" would always cross my mind. We barely talk to each other when he was still alive. And on those rare times that we did, it feels so awkward cause we're not close, and yet he's the only family member that's so similar to who I am--independent, quiet but very opinionated, frank and masungit.
It has been almost 2 months, prior to his demise, since we had an actual conversation.
But on March 30th 2011, something happened.
I
just came home from work and went straight to my room, did the usual
then tried to sleep for a little while. But it's like something came to
me that I decided to stand up, walk to my door way and just stand there
and look at my dad.
He was just lying there, with the oxygen tube
up in his nose, barely moving. I just look at him and look at how much
his body changed over the course of his illness. I just look at him and I
think about all those years that he's been battling; going in and out
of the hospital and ICU and being declared as clinically dead twice.
But
just like my dad, who's always been a strong man, he fought through
everything. It's like he didn't wanna leave just yet. It's like there's
still something that he hasn't done. It's like he's waiting for
someone...for me.
And then I stopped thinking and I look at him
again. I look at his thin, fragile body and it's like I'm not seeing my
dad anymore. That's not him. My dad's strong. My dad always has this way
of intimidating people around him. My dad...that's not him.
He
turned around and saw me looking at him. And I saw his eyes, longing for
me and wanting me to come to him just this once, and so I did. I came
to him and I told him I'm sorry for not being the daughter he expected
me to be. I told him that I forgive him for all that he's done and that
I'm letting go of the anger that I have towards him. I told him that I
love him so much. And I hugged him, I hugged him as tight as his weak
body would allow me, then I gave him a kiss.
The next day, on March 31st, he died at around 5 in the morning while I was at work.
I
suppose he really was waiting for me, waiting for me to come to him;
waiting for me to forgive him; waiting for me to say that I do
love him despite the huge distance that we have. He really was waiting
for me. But I was too late and I had no more chance to correct the
mistakes that I've done, to try to be closer to him. So the biggest
lesson for me was to not take anyone for granted, because it may be too
late for you to show that person how much you appreciate and love them.
Papa, alam kong naririnig/nababasa mo 'to kung asa'n ka man ngayon. Gusto ko lang malaman mo na mahal na mahal at araw-araw kitang iniisip at araw-araw kong pinagsisisihan na hindi ako lumapit sa'yo ng mas maaga, nu'ng mga panahong malakas ka pa. Alam kong lagi mo kong binabantayan, kaya salamat. Salamat sa lahat. Despite everything, you are and will always be the best dad.
Love,
Becs
This is a copied post from my other blog, posted last July 2. I just felt this post has to bere.
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