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A life without love in it is like a heap of cold ashes in a hearth, the fire dead, all warmth and laughter gone, and no more light.
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More than a month ago, we celebrated the memory of our dear departed. For us Filipinos, we do this by visiting their graves, lighting candles and offering prayers, flowers and food. Yeah, the last one might be odd but that was something I distinctly remember when I was young and whenever I accompanied my grandmother to the cemetery during Old Souls Day. This year, I almost made it to the cemetery but it was such a scorcher of a day and the heat was just too much for me. My head was pounding and I felt a bout of heatstroke coming on so I begged off and went home without being able to visit my father's grave. Feeling disappointed, I rationalized that being physically there was not the only way to pay my respects. Perhaps this blog entry might serve as his special memorial service, one that is long overdue.
"Why do people have to die?"
To make life important.
If you've been watching TV recently, you might have heard these words uttered in a trailer for the HBO series "Six Feet Under". I am not trying to sound morbid or depressing but something clicked in me. I have mentioned my father's death in my previous blog entries but I have not really written much about the events leading to it. Everytime I attempted to write about it, I always found myself pulling back, unable to put into words what I went through. Hopefully, the right time has come. Where shall I begin? 
FLASHBACK: When Kenny and I got engaged and decided to have the wedding in the States, we immediately worked on obtaining visitor's visas for my parents and sisters so they can be with us for the occasion. We knew it was a long shot but we were optimistic that they will be approved. Unfortunately, their first application was denied. Feeling despondent, I considered the possibility that none of my family will be present on such an important event in my life. My then-fiance pushed to apply for the visas again for my parents. My father almost declined to pursue another chance, worried about the financial costs it entailed. My mother persuaded him to try again after I told her that I would have to walk down the isle by myself as I didn't feel it would be right for somebody else, other than my father, to do the honor of giving me away. I guess they just couldn't bear the thought of their daughter looking like a forlorn bride on her wedding day so they hastily reapplied.
Fortunately, the second time was a charm. I was so glad to pick them up at the airport two weeks before the wedding. I proudly introduced them to my then future-in-laws and despite the slight language barrier and shyness, they got along pretty well. I showed them around the city and watched their faces lit up with amazement from every little thing that they found interesting and different. Finally, the big day (Oct. 25, 2002) arrived. Although we were both nervous, the moment felt perfect when my father and I sauntered to the altar where my groom was waiting. He offered my hand to Kenny and that simple singular gesture of trust touched me to the core. I couldn't ask for anything more at that moment 
Weeks later, I was at the airport again, bidding goodbye to my parents. Although I was sad to see them depart, I knew they had a great time during their oh-so-short of a vacation. The time we spent together was one I will forever treasure as it will never be replicated. Nevertheless, almost six months later, I felt homesick and impulsively decided to visit my family. They were indeed delighted to find out about my planned trip home. My sisters were pretty bummed out that they didn't get to be there for my wedding so they looked forward to my coming. In retrospect, it's as if the trip was designed by some cosmic powers-that-be. Whether you believe in it or not, what followed was just pure kismet.
Fast Forward : Eight hours before my departure and in the midst of last-minute packing chaos, I called my mother to verify if someone was available to pick me up at the airport in Manila. Despite the distance, I sensed that something wasn't right. She sounded frazzled and preoccupied. She haltingly informed me that she was at the ER of a local hospital and that my father was just brought in minutes ago. I felt my blood drained from my body and my heart was beating so loud and fast that I almost missed what my mother was saying to me over the bad phone connection. Apparently, my father went to work that day as usual but during a staff meeting, he got into a disagreement with someone. Instead of engaging in a confrontation, my father chose to be quiet. He went back to his office and soon after that, his co-workers noticed that he wasn't looking well. He didn't even put up a fuss when they took it upon themselves to rush him to the hospital.
With all this overwhelming information I was bombarded with, I was just thankful that Kenny was nearby to keep me from losing my composure. I spoke with the doctor on the phone and he basically assured me that my father will be under close observation but will be fine and likely to be discharged in a day or so. I called my mother again just before I left for the airport and was told that my father was resting and seemed to be feeling better. I refrained from talking to him as I didn't want to add my nervous energy in the mix. Some of my fears were allayed but not knowing the extent of my father's medical problem gave me a sense of impending doom. I tried to shake it off, not wanting to give the notion a chance to ferment and fester in my head. "Think positive", I chided myself as I endured the remaining hours of waiting for my flight. Still with an uneasy feeling nagging at me, I finally boarded the plane. I was dreading what kind of a reunion it might be but I was ready to be there with my family.
During the lengthy flight, I tried to lull myself to sleep to avoid thinking those pesky, distressing thoughts. At one point, I suddenly woke up, gasping for air and with a sick feeling in my stomach. It's as if a cloud of sadness enveloped me with an intensity I couldn't fathom. My body was racked with an inexplicable, overwhelming feeling of loss. I was on the verge of tears and it took every ounce of my restrain not to succumb into a weeping mess. By the time we got to Japan for a layover, I was a ticking bomb, ready to explode. I knew something had happened and I had no way of knowing what it was. I was cut off from everything and everyone. I've never felt so vulnerable in my entire life. 
When I finally arrived in Manila, I wasn't even paying attention to the usual melee and the muggy air outside of the airport. I scanned the people's faces and recognized my three cousins among them. We hugged and I immediately inquired, "How is my father?". I got my answer before they even uttered a single word. They could barely look me in the eyes. Oblivious to the bedlam around me, I broke down in tears. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and release all the pent up emotions I had been holding back for hours. Everything around me was in a tailspin. "Why, Lord, why? Not my father, please...not him..." I beseeched.
Mercifully, my cousins ushered me away from the curious looks of bystanders. One of them got my mother on the phone. She was as distraught as I imagined her to be. I still cannot believe the nightmare we were in. I kept wishing that I'd wake up and everything will be back to the way it was. In between sobs, my mother told me that Kenny already found out hours ago. Oh, my God! He must be in the same state of shock I was in. I called him up and we were both crying on the phone. He assured me that he'll be rejoining me very soon in the Philippines. I was beyond caring how he managed to take off from work so fast. I just desperately wanted him to be there with me. 
The following days were in a blur, a roller coaster of emotions: anger, guilt, sadness, grief, numbness, indifference, denial, exhaustion, more anger, self-blame... A lot of people came to offer their condolences and assistance. We tried hard to be gracious, bereaved hosts. We were seemingly functioning but lying underneath the calm veneer was the need to be left alone to lick our wounds, to acknowledge the bitter reality that the person lying in the coffin was our own dearly beloved husband, father, grandfather and father-in-law. Needless to say, the burial was one of the most excruciating thing I've ever experienced. There are no adequate words to describe it and I'm not even going to attempt to.
It has been more than 3 years ago since and although I have come to terms with it, there are still days when it's a bit tough to accept that I can no longer see, hear nor touch my father. As much as I comfort myself with the thought that he is "in a better place" now, I still feel the pang of regret whenever I miss his presence during my visits or when I can no longer ask for him to be put on the phone just to say, "Hi, Papa!".
Oh, there's so many things about him that I miss but it's futile to dwell on them. All I can do now is to be there for my family, to shoulder the responsibilities that came with being the first-born. For the first few months, I became the head of the family while my mother was testing the waters of her new status as a widow and a single mother of a 10 yr-old girl (my youngest sister Sande). Surprisingly, my relationship with her has remarkably changed for the better. We have developed a strong mutual respect for each other and we've become closer as the years passed by. We've had our moments of conflicts as we're both headstrong women but we're secure with the knowledge that we love each other no matter what. 
My father's death has certainly awakened my zest for life that laid dormant for years, buried under the stress of keeping up in a rat race, of self-inflicted boredom and indolence. I satisfied my thirst for travel and adventure. I nurtured a renewed enthusiasm in writing and got engaged in different interests outside of my comfort zone. I took every opportunity I have to be with my family and friends. Most of all, I try not to take for granted the fact that it could be me next in the lottery of death. We all die, that we know for sure. The only unknowns are the manner and the time and if people would even care. Bottomline, I only have one life to live so I'd better make it count and it better be a graceful exit. 
The picture of you and your father at your wedding is beautiful & am happy that he was there for such an important day in your life. I am sorry that he passed away before you got to see him again. I know that must have been emotionally difficult to go through as well as think of to this day. I can relate to the feelings you have regarding loss of a parent because I lost my Mother 4 years ago. You found it in yourself finally to put your feelings in words, I have tried as well but I always fail to describe the grief I still feel today. Like you, it opened my eyes and I know the importance of living well, loving our family, and savoring life. Take care...
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