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Saturday, September 21, 2002
The final Voyage
By Marisol Verallo
Six months ago, on a Sunday after we had gone to early mass, our phone rang. My aunt on the other line was hysterical. For a moment I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. Then, gradually as she regained her voice and could speak coherently, she blurted out that my father died in his sleep early that dawn.
My brothers and I had gone home a week before and we left him in such good spirits. Our ancestral island is remote and flights irregular, so we had to leave on the very day he was discharged from the hospital, confident he was well on his way to full recovery.
My sister-in-law Belle and I spent a disturbed afternoon of the same Sunday at the airport waiting for our flight. Closing my eyes tightly, I went back in time and pictured the years with him. Before I got married and left home, before he retired to the province. Way back…
My father was a big man, tall, dark and good-looking. Being a ship captain for half his lifetime, he loved the exciting voyages across the seven seas. Very humorous with so many stories up his sleeve, my father didn’t drink but he loved the good life. He had a booming voice that commanded respect but he was never preaching. He didn’t lecture or scold and was very generous to a fault.
He wasn’t home much of the time while we were growing up and when he did come home, we built our days and nights around him. Visiting his ship at port seemed like going to a wondrous place filled with mysterious and indescribable contraptions. We peeped through portholes, ran through vast endless corridors, went under or over hardly understood machines, sampled food from the galley, climbed the twisting steps up the top deck and looked through the huge telescopes in the viewing area.
We had such good times, laughing until our stomachs hurt, getting dizzy playing and pestering the crewmen who treated us with the automatic respect given to the captain’s kids. What wonderful childhood memories to keep and pass on to my grandchildren.
It’s too late now and what they say that regret always comes in the end holds true for me. I deeply regret I didn’t do enough. I feel sorry that I haven’t been home as much as I wanted to and when I sent food supplies to the island each week, I didn’t always find time to write him a short note. Oh how I miss my father’s early morning calls, his loud voice, and the never-ending anecdotes.
However I have only good memories. He was far from perfect but his faults are far overshadowed by his kindness and generosity. He missed many significant events in our lives and sometimes neglected us to answer the call of the seas. But he was what he was and he lived the kind of life that made him unique. He was a good father, a reliable provider, a friend to everybody, dreamer, and captain of his destiny.
Today, I am an orphan. It’s hard and painful to think that my parents won’t be around to share the many blessings my siblings and I have, to witness the fruits of the hard work and sacrifice they invested on their children. It’s such a pity they never got to hold the great-grandchildren they’ve always wanted.
Papa, you are now free from life’s misery but you will never escape from my heart. Wherever you are, I just want to tell you that most of all, I miss being your daughter.
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