|
Monday, October 24, 2005
A tale of two daddy's girls
EVERYBODY dreads the word death. Most of us consider this topic morbid. It reminds us of our mortality and how, though sometimes gets cheated, invincible Death is.
Death may be a physical ordeal to those whose life of breath are sucked away, but no amount of reasoning can alleviate the emotional pain of those they leave behind. With the passing of time, the wounds are healed but the pain remains--and we get used to it.
I was only nine years old when my father met his unexpected death due to cardiac arrest at the age of 47. I remember how perturbed I was in facing the facts engendered by his death. I learned to indulge in self-pity at my tender age then. When things were tough I would always long for the days when he was alive.
Believe me, it felt like I was deprived of the last phase of my childhood.
In this edition of LIFE, two individuals talk about their respective fathers whom they both lost only this year. And they're not only their fathers' daughters--they're daddy's girls. Read how they walk down the memory lane to immortalize the first men in their lives through words.
I know all kids think their daddies would go to heaven but I do think some really don't. They go somewhere else if you know what I mean. I'm quite positive though that my daddy did go to heaven.
He was such a warm guy. Everyone from age 1-75 who knew him thought he was such a warm guy. He's warm in a way that he would wake up in the middle of the night to change your stupid light bulb. He won't even remember you owe him one.
Usurers, crooks, ex-cons think he's warm. He shakes dirty hands with a lot of warmth. Real men cried at his wake. The people who worked for him did the same. Once some guy woke him up because a "tiktik" was supposedly at our farm hut. My dad was the kind of boss who'd laugh it off and say, "Okay, go home to your wife." He's warm like that. He'd understand the ghosts of your head. Even the plants think he's warm. Despite my mom's tending, the ones at the terrace practically died with him.
He had but one flaw. He loved me too much. Once when I was eight, I threw a nice hard stone at some guy. I hit him right at the head. My dad sat me down and said, "Today, you're a-not-so-good girl. Talk about the understatement of the century. I was already a monster at a young age. My mom knew this but my dad had a serious case of 'Isn't-my-daughter-wonderful?' syndrome." It didn't matter if I was puking half my stomach away, I was an angel. He didn't buy me a doll house. He built me one for all my stupid Barbies. He's really the type of dad who'd buy a new shirt for your graduation and take you to your first prom. He's like the Robert Redford of daddies.
He taught me a lot of useful things:
1. Don't drink whiskey if you're going to squirm.
2. There's no point in gambling if losing makes you sour.
3. Don't fight with a younger or smaller kid but you can take a shot at the big ones.
4. A lot of people are ugly and stupid but there's no point in saying so. TACT is a mark of kindness.
5. Serve the rich and the poor the same food. Sit them at the same table.
6. Everything sad or scary is at the end pretty funny actually.
I made him a promise that I would take care of my mom. I'd give good money to the person who can tell me how the day he died. He probably went, "See you in heaven kid." Actually, I'm not too confident about that. I'm like, "Gee dad, I don't know." I might be headed somewhere else. But now I've got a good reason to clean up my act. He and I--we made an appointment.
-- Charmaine Posa
"For as long I can remember whenever I met people who knew my father they would always say this line unfailingly: "You look exactly like your father." That line would use to make me feel good and warm inside. It was like a reminder when I was growing up that though he couldn't be with us due to the nature of his job, all I had to do was to look at myself in the mirror and I could see him through me. Well, it's true. I'm the exact replica of him it's just that in the female version. Little did I know that the very line that used to make me happy would also bring pain.
Just June of this year, when people were pouring in at the Jaro Cathedral Mortuary to visit the wake of my father to pay their last respect--once again and for a week I was reminded that I look exactly like him. But that time, it was painful one--a reminder that I didn't want to hear those times. The very line that used to make me smile was the very line that made me cold and empty in response--the words that made me realize why I'm such a daddy's girl though being one does not solely depend on appearance, but it can start from there. My father shared with me his passion for reading good books and novels. He influenced me in choosing good movies and TV programs, listening to jazz music and yes, even in political opinions. He encouraged me to travel and experience living life not just in mundane ways. He would let me argue and air out my side and not to feel scared or intimidated every time we had a discussion. He instilled wisdom in me through his teachings and actions and little did I know that those things I considered trivial before would make up my whole character and persona today.
Four months ago when my mom picked me up at work in the middle of the afternoon, I had no inkling at all that time that everything would change in my life. She said that my father was rushed to the hospital just a while ago because of emergency. I never expected that when I would get there, my father would be at the morgue and lifeless. When they told me that he was dead (due to complication of diabetes and lung problems), it felt surreal--it felt everything around me was cold and everything was just kind of mechanical. But I was in denial. I didn't even want to enter the morgue because in my mind he wasn't dead...I'm still taking baby steps towards that and everyday is still a struggle of pain, hope and faith.
A lot of people would always wish that they had done something for their loved ones before they passed away. Sad to say, I'm one of those for I always thought there was still plenty of time. I realize that I still have the chance to do something for my father--and that is, whenever people will tell me once again that I look like him, I would remember and thank him for all the wisdom, affection and heart prints he instilled and molded in my life.
Pa, I'm so privileged to be your daughter and yes, you are with me for life. I am what I am because of you and for that I'm so proud to be a daddy's girl always."
-- Michelle Gersabelino
(October 24, 2005 issue)
Write letter to the editor. Click here.
Join the Sun.Star message board. Click here. |
|
[return to top]
[home]
[network page]
|
LOCAL NEWS
BUSINESS
OPINION
SPORTS
LIFESTYLE
FEATURE
|
