Tuesday, February 24, 2004
i buried my dad last sunday
i wish i could say something witty or meaningful, but i can't.
it was nice, though, to see how many people were touched by my dad's life, despite the fact that he was a terribly anti-social, almost recluse-like, individual. you'd hardly ever see him without a stern countenance, and he always commanded respect (and, when i was younger, fear) from his peers, his younger siblings, and, of course, his family.
i remember the first thing our housemaid of 27 years hysterically said when my sister checked for his pulse in my parents' room and confirmed the worst: 'who's going to pester me in the afternoons now? who's going to ask me what's for dinner?...' and i had to console both her and and my mom on each arm before we went back to the room for a prayer around my dad's deathbed (a mighty comfortable deathbed, may i add)
there were the relatives who just went out of their way and forgot their own daily routines on a sleepy thursday morning just to help with what needed to be done for logistics of my dad's wake.
there were the officemates of 20 years past who, despite not knowing anybody else, braved the distance and the awkwardness of not having anyone to talk to in the wake just to see him (i'd know- i talked to them).
there was the full force of my mom's siblings (and in-laws) who came from the province, who volunteered to keep the round-the-clock watch for my dad, despite our protests (i mean, would he REALLY have felt lonely if we locked up at 2am?)
there was SFC SouthB1C, who served as our choir for all the masses, and who apparently felt that a wake would not be complete without at least 20 boisterous twentysomethings in the joint.
there was the poem written by Jose Rivadeneyra, called Reminiscences, that seemed a poignant verbal representation of how we felt then.
there was my dad's mother-in-law, who flew in the day he died, and threw herself prostrate over his coffin while my siblings and i looked at her daughter with incredulity. it never ceases to amuse me, because this reaction was from the same woman who was largely indifferent of my mom marrying my dad and ultimately first met her son-in-law on the wedding day itself. funny how things change.
it was beautiful to see a sea of white and khakis in a funeral on a sunday afternoon. i think it made for a much lighter atmosphere- it didn't help me from bawling my eyes out reading a eulogy, though (it's tough being the last born, and only son). but i think i shed the most tears that day, because, as i did manage to say through my tears, 'today is a day of celebration. a celebration of a life that will continue to reside in our hearts until our own time has come.'
or something like that. i lost my eulogy now, so i can't recreate it verbatim. it was so light thereafter, i was even laughing while carrying his box of ashes (dad, you're heavy!) and trying to comfort my mom when it was being lowered into the ground. only my mom's family was bawling then. (and they did it a lot, as it was, during the wake)
and when we were packing up and ready to go home after planting him in, my sister asked, 'is everyone accounted for? have we left anyone behind?', i couldn't help but reply, 'well... we left dad behind.'
i do believe my dad is happy now. in the last month of his life, he lost everything that he was fiercely possessive of- his pride, his privacy, and his quick-witted speech. i hope that in his suffering here on earth, he was able to gain some pardon from suffering in the afterlife. (whichever one there is, that is)
he knew that he could die knowing that, though he missed his first grandchild by 6 months, he could take comfort that the child would grow in a loving network of aunts, grandparents, and one grumpy uncle. that he really needn't have worried about his wife, or his children, because he had taught them well to be strong in the face of pain- a lesson he taught very well by example in the last year and a half. that, because of all this and more, as far as he was concerned, he had already won.
and i, too, believe he had.
so yeah, dad, smile.
i wish i could say something witty or meaningful, but i can't.
it was nice, though, to see how many people were touched by my dad's life, despite the fact that he was a terribly anti-social, almost recluse-like, individual. you'd hardly ever see him without a stern countenance, and he always commanded respect (and, when i was younger, fear) from his peers, his younger siblings, and, of course, his family.
i remember the first thing our housemaid of 27 years hysterically said when my sister checked for his pulse in my parents' room and confirmed the worst: 'who's going to pester me in the afternoons now? who's going to ask me what's for dinner?...' and i had to console both her and and my mom on each arm before we went back to the room for a prayer around my dad's deathbed (a mighty comfortable deathbed, may i add)
there were the relatives who just went out of their way and forgot their own daily routines on a sleepy thursday morning just to help with what needed to be done for logistics of my dad's wake.
there were the officemates of 20 years past who, despite not knowing anybody else, braved the distance and the awkwardness of not having anyone to talk to in the wake just to see him (i'd know- i talked to them).
there was the full force of my mom's siblings (and in-laws) who came from the province, who volunteered to keep the round-the-clock watch for my dad, despite our protests (i mean, would he REALLY have felt lonely if we locked up at 2am?)
there was SFC SouthB1C, who served as our choir for all the masses, and who apparently felt that a wake would not be complete without at least 20 boisterous twentysomethings in the joint.
there was the poem written by Jose Rivadeneyra, called Reminiscences, that seemed a poignant verbal representation of how we felt then.
there was my dad's mother-in-law, who flew in the day he died, and threw herself prostrate over his coffin while my siblings and i looked at her daughter with incredulity. it never ceases to amuse me, because this reaction was from the same woman who was largely indifferent of my mom marrying my dad and ultimately first met her son-in-law on the wedding day itself. funny how things change.
it was beautiful to see a sea of white and khakis in a funeral on a sunday afternoon. i think it made for a much lighter atmosphere- it didn't help me from bawling my eyes out reading a eulogy, though (it's tough being the last born, and only son). but i think i shed the most tears that day, because, as i did manage to say through my tears, 'today is a day of celebration. a celebration of a life that will continue to reside in our hearts until our own time has come.'
or something like that. i lost my eulogy now, so i can't recreate it verbatim. it was so light thereafter, i was even laughing while carrying his box of ashes (dad, you're heavy!) and trying to comfort my mom when it was being lowered into the ground. only my mom's family was bawling then. (and they did it a lot, as it was, during the wake)
and when we were packing up and ready to go home after planting him in, my sister asked, 'is everyone accounted for? have we left anyone behind?', i couldn't help but reply, 'well... we left dad behind.'
i do believe my dad is happy now. in the last month of his life, he lost everything that he was fiercely possessive of- his pride, his privacy, and his quick-witted speech. i hope that in his suffering here on earth, he was able to gain some pardon from suffering in the afterlife. (whichever one there is, that is)
he knew that he could die knowing that, though he missed his first grandchild by 6 months, he could take comfort that the child would grow in a loving network of aunts, grandparents, and one grumpy uncle. that he really needn't have worried about his wife, or his children, because he had taught them well to be strong in the face of pain- a lesson he taught very well by example in the last year and a half. that, because of all this and more, as far as he was concerned, he had already won.
and i, too, believe he had.
so yeah, dad, smile.
