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.