Almost Ten Years Later

Eight years have come and gone since my last published posting. It was somewhat refreshing reading the old blogs however few they were. The memoriams to my Dad were sad to read but the passage of time has somewhat healed the grief of loss. My current grief is my Mom's state of health. Over the years since my Dad's death her physical condition has somewhat deteriorated. She is weak from a nagging heart condition. A pacemaker and some medication has kept death at bay for now but withering eyesight, disfigurement caused by rheumatoid arthritis, residual pain from a recent mugging incident, and bad knees have made her quality of life somewhat poor. Most serious however are persistent atrial fibrillation episodes that the pacemaker and medicine provide little more than a salve metaphorically speaking for her discomfort. It's a nagging dread. I wish I could make her better.

I actually started this posting over two years ago and kept it in the back burner until now. It was then that I found out about the death of Ruth Friedrich, my family's next door neighbor from 1978 to 2002. She was my piano teacher and a really kind-hearted human being. Although I had enough interest in the instrument to progress to an intermediate level in the two years that I was her student, it was her encouraging tutelage that kept my interest alive for three and half decades. The past couple of years in fact had me retaking piano lessons at a school in Los Angeles. The teachers were much younger than me this time. In spite of that, I pretty much picked up where I left off decades ago. For the time being however I have had to discontinue lessons due to economic concerns. Just wanted to re-dip my toes in it a little. There's a lot more to learn however. I've digressed a bit in my recollections of my old piano teacher. Last time I saw her alive was perhaps the first year after my Dad's passing during the second half 2012. I had already left the Pacific Northwest regrettably so. By then it was obvious the years had taken their toll. I don't know whether or not she was still teaching then. In hindsight possibly not anymore as she had become a bit hard of hearing. She was still her pleasant self however. As I think about the years after my last lesson with her, I can recall at least a couple of occasions when I said that I would come back for lessons. This time I would be paying for the lessons instead of my mother. It was a reasonable amount per month. I regret not following through on that promise.

Ode to my father

Dad's been gone now for at least 18 months.  He was laid to rest in mid November 2011. I've done much grieving since then and at times still do when a memory is triggered. I think of him everyday. I don’t write this post in sadness since Father's Day is a day to honor fathers and celebrate fatherhood.  He lived a full life in spite of the fact that cancer took it away so unexpectedly and suddenly. Looking at old pictures of him as a young man seemed to indicate that he loved life. There were hints of this as I look at his smiling and then unwrinkled face from the late '40's to the early '70's.  Towards the late '70's and all throughout the '80's as he advanced to late middle age, he transitioned from mostly grey to a full head of silver grey hair. In spite of this, people, most of the time, mistook him for at least ten years younger. His penchant for hard work and keeping active did much to keep his relatively youthful appearance. Decrepitude was further kept at bay toward the '90's when he had reached the seventh decade of his life. It would be a hot summer day in Harvey, Louisiana, but just like clockwork he would be outside tending the yard, building a shed, or whatever else needed mending, building, or trimming. Although for me and my siblings, he was at times stern, from my point of view, as I look back on it now, he was a good father and provider.  He lived on this Earth for eighty eight years and by action alone up to his last days showed that he cared for us a lot.  He wasn't entirely humorless and at times, on a rare occasion, show us his lighter side.  On certain evenings, it was his time to cook and most often it was either fried fish, stewed vegetables, giniling (Filipino picadillo), or his specialty, the Filipino delicacy kilawin among other flavorful and traditional concoctions. Living in Louisiana,  he also knew how to cook a good pot of red beans with smoked sausage  His matter of fact mode of conversation to Mom or to some other person was a bit of welcome reassurance that everything was fine.  Daddy you will be missed, your determination, your stern ways and perseverance ... and your cooking.  You taught us well.  And I thank you and will remember you forever. The following poem was stolen from a website but I found it appropriate for this occasion.

I Did Not Die

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in the snow

I am the sunlight on the ripened grain

I am a gentle autumn’s rain

When you awaken in the morning hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

I am the birds in circled flight

I am the soft stars that shine at night

So don’t stand on my grave and cry

I am not there…I did not die

…Author unknown

In Memoriam, Part 4

It has been a year since Dad passed away. The hurt remains. The regret still remains, and the memories are ever present. The sadness, I find, is still intense and just underneath the surface as I replay the video I created for his funeral. To lose a parent is unbearable. I didn't see him fade away like the rest of my family did. All I have is my final memory of him as he woke me up on the morning of my departure back to Seattle. I was dreadfully late for my flight and would miss it upon my arrival to the airport. I hurriedly packed and dressed and said my final goodbye to him as Mom watched. It was a bear of a hug I gave him. Perhaps the only hug I ever gave him. It was a tight hug as I heard him slightly wheeze during it. I dreaded the feeling that it would be the last time I would see him alive. I owed him money also since I didn't send my monthly contribution the month before. It was days after my departure that he would call me inquiring about the check. That was the last time I ever talked to him as I promised to send it in a day or two.

He was freshly dead when I saw him last year on the gurney. Death mangled and distorted him. Cancer did its work well. The cold body laying in the chapel prior to the mortician's handiwork was my Dad. His mouth was shut artificially however and his body was bloated. I was dumbfounded and emotionless. Nothing poured forth except a feeling of intense loss. I will never see him walk again nor hear his fatherly advice anymore. He's gone for good and I truly miss him in spite of the fact that our relationship wasn't picture perfect.

The video was made in haste. It started out as a slideshow for Dad's 80th birthday in 2003.

In Memoriam, Part 3

Absence and silence. It's been at least six months now. I stare at the obituary page still in disbelief. He is truly gone and becoming ever more distant in living memory. No "visits" between late February and May. Life's daily unfolding is a distraction from the grief and sorrow. Memories, some distant and some recent, do come on rare occasions however. This particular distant memory occurs in the early '70's in the Quezon City house during a weekday morning getting ready for school. Champorado or chocolate rice pudding was the usual breakfast meal. I distinctly remember the transistor radio blaring "Colonel Bogey" followed by some radio commentary. Meanwhile Dad would be outside performing morning calisthenics.

Fast forward several years into the late '80's, around age twenty-two or so. It would've been a warm and humid late, late summer afternoon in New Orleans. I'd be coming home from one of my part-time jobs with the car stereo in the VW Super Beetle blaring Def Leppard's Hysteria album. Turning down the volume as I neared the corner, I'd see Mr. McKenna, our next door neighbor, walking slowly to his front door after a hard day at the office. After turning the corner, I would have the radio volume turned down to a whisper as I then hear the streaming, splattering garden sprinkler fanning the front lawn in broad strokes. Dad, meanwhile, would be in front of the garage setting aside the yard tools and cleaning the mower after a hot afternoon toiling in the sun making sure the manicured lawn looks pristine as ever. I'd feel guilty sometimes for not helping him out, but this was the late '80's when Dad was in his middle sixties, still fairly robust in body, strength, and spirit, and had an enduring passion for hard work. Rest assured, if I was at home when it was grass cutting day, guess who'd be trying to start that Briggs and Stratton four cycle engine that day.

A day in the life, such was normalcy back then. Two isolated events in time that were pulled from my memory banks quite inadvertently. The two photographs above were taken in the late '80's and serve as a typical setting during a hot summer afternoon. Dad, as usual, would be working in the yard.

I mentioned above that there were no "visits" between late February and the beginning of May. Last Saturday night, however, gave cause for me to question whether or not the sensation I had during a dream was purely the result of a nervous condition or another "visit". I don't remember the details of the dream this time. All I remember was possibly being in a REM state and dreaming about missing Dad. I remember saying "I miss you Dad" in my dream. Whether or not I actually said it out loud is not clear. What I distinctly remember, however, was a paralyzing and electrifying sensation from my head to my lower extremities as I was dreaming. I've had sensations like this in the past even when Dad was still alive. I couldn't attribute it to anything as I don't remember even dreaming during those past episodes. This time however, I was missing Dad so deeply that I welcomed this sensation and wishfully thought that it was Dad hugging me. Kind of spooky, I realize, and perhaps, more than likely, it was merely a nervous condition. As the days, months, and years pass, however, every waking moment I've had with Dad in this world will be remembered. A little reassurance every now and then goes a long way.

In Memoriam, Part 2

It has been 3 months and 4 days now since my Dad passed away. Much of the immediate pain has somewhat passed yet I still think of him everyday. There are episodes of intense sorrow as I remember old and relatively recent photographs of times when death was the farthest thing from mind. The picture of him above was taken during a winter day in 1989 in Harvey, LA. It was a rare treat for the family as a freak snowfall enveloped the entire New Orleans metropolitan area. At the time this picture was taken, I must have been out and about in a company truck delivering medical records or perhaps sitting in traffic within a stalled mass of homebound motorists. This particular picture happened to pierce my mind late yesterday afternoon after I said goodbye one final time to my ex-girlfriend Sabine. My heart was riven by this circumstance already and yet memories of my father came flooding in. The tears poured forth as a result and a shrill cry issued from my throat as I wondered where my dear departed father was amidst life's cruelties.

The remembrances also occur in dreams. For the past few years, ever since I moved to the Pacific Northwest, my conversations with my father were cell phone conversations inquiring and reminding me about my monthly financial contribution. It was a routine I grew tired of but an obligation I nevertheless had to comply with for the simple reason that I would feel guilty to deprive them of my help. I won't go into detail here but my parent's financial circumstance might have seen better days. It was in this setting that I dreamt of my father, I suppose, for the first time ever since he died. The conversation, however, was positive and had the tone of fatherly concern for my well-being. I distinctly remember him asking about a car. Was it about my truck or about his Toyota Camry that I enjoyed driving during my last visit home? I was struck by the kindness in his voice if I recall correctly. In the dream, I also suddenly realized that I was talking to my dead father on the phone. The question I posed to him was: "Dad, what's it like in heaven?" I might have heard a non-verbal acknowledgement of the question as I waited for his answer. The dream faded shortly after. I missed him tremendously as my eyes opened to meet the new day.

A little more recently, sometime last week, after the weekend that I starkly realized that Sabine and I were no longer a couple, I dreamt of my father again. This time the setting was inside the present family home in Marrero, LA. I dreamt of him as he used to look possibly before there was even any hint of cancer lurking in his body. The details regarding his "visit" this time are lost but it did seem like an ordinary day in the house as we discussed some immediate matter. In the midst of my conversation I suddenly realized once again, but not with as much clarity as the first dream, that I was talking to my dead father. I felt it strange to see him in the flesh yet felt utterly grateful as I surmised that maybe his death was a nightmare after all. In the midst of this realization I hugged him tightly as I hugged him the very last time I saw him alive over four months ago. The dream faded and I woke up to a dreary, wet, and cold Seattle morning. I wondered seconds later what the meaning of this dream might have been other than my subconscious wishing he were still alive. A strange thought occured that hints at the supernatural. Perhaps this was my Dad's way of telling me not to worry about my recent breakup with Sabine and that there will be brighter days ahead. That's all I could think of.

I miss you Dad.

In Memoriam, Part 1

I wrote the following the day after I lost my Dad on 17 November 2011. The sentimental meanderings still have impact and the pain regarding this life event have subsided to a dull yet persistent ache.

"I lost my Dad to cancer yesterday. As I find the words to compose this, I'm thinking about the stuff he left behind. Small and seemingly inconspicuous things like his shoes and clothes will be difficult to part with. He liked sweets and seeing that open package of coffee milk biscuits on top of his dresser is a stark reminder that he was taken so suddenly from us. I could almost smell his presence as I gaze at the closet full of clothes that he neatly kept for the past nine years. It's painful to look at the room he once inhabited without him in it. The boxes of documents he labeled with his handwriting is painful to look at as well because I will never see his penmanship again apart from what has already been written.

I was, unfortunately, not by his bedside when he toughed it out towards the bitter end. My sister reported him struggling to maintain wakefulness despite his semi-comatose condition. His body was failing fast and my flight to New Orleans could not arrive any sooner. I'd have probably booked an even earlier flight but there was no way of knowing that his eventual demise would come unexpectedly in the early evening of Wednesday. My flight arrived the morning of the following Thursday. I deboarded the plane and walked towards the baggage claim area in a languid and almost aimless manner. I was slowed by the mental anguish of knowing that my father had just departed hours earlier.

The red eye flight was restful compared to other red eye flights in the past. I was drowning in sorrow, dread ....and regret. Regret that I took him for granted in the last decade of his life. Regret that I never took his declining health seriously enough, and as a result, regret that I never made a serious effort to talk to him. Even up to the very last time that I was alone with him in the car, waiting for my mother to finish her Wal-Mart shopping, I played the usual role of compliant and non-talkative son. He was even inquisitive about my life in Seattle. It was, as I can determine in hindsight, a frank conversation that I could have taken advantage of. I could have at least voiced my feelings about his current condition and tell him of my concerns. Now all of that is rather moot.

His familiar mannerisms will be missed. His quirky habits will be missed. Even the strange yet practical gifts he gave every Christmas will be missed. The normalcy that he brought to our family life will be sorely missed. In the waning years he naturally exerted progressively less of an influence in our lives as we marched on into middle age. He didn't waver, however, in his concern for financial matters and kept us on our toes so to speak."

It has been a month now since his death. I've struggled everyday since to keep the pain alive and to keep the memories close. I had virtually forgotten him during the last few years that he was alive. Living 2500 miles away tends to have that effect. In stark contrast now, there's not a day that goes by when I don't think of him. I'm still processing this in and expect more heartache to follow. This will be a sad Christmas.

The Enchantments