I have this fear that I’m going to start losing my memories of my dad. Will I forget his face? Will I forget his laugh? His voice? The way he always smells of cigarettes? Right now, all of my memories of him feel fresh – but will they always? Because of this fear, I’m taking great care in writing down all of the memories I have of him because in this way, I can keep him alive though he’s passed on to the spirit world.
On Father’s Day of this year, my mom called me and told me that my dad was found dead in his bedroom. Just that morning, I had texted my dad “Happy Father’s Day, dad!” at around 9:30 in the morning not realizing he had already passed hours earlier. I often think about the fact that my dad never knew I greeted him that day.
He and my mom had separated years ago so he wasn’t living in our house anymore, but rather lived in the basement of his friend’s house who had a family. That morning, they wanted to greet him "Happy Father’s Day", but he wasn’t answering his door. Once they went in, they found my dad beside his bed, dead. We later found out that he passed away from a sort of brain hemorrhage and when the coroner called to tell us, I asked him over and over again if my dad suffered for a long time and he assured me it was a quick death – just felt like a headache. I hold this fact as a balm that I soothe over the wound of losing my dad. At least it was quick and he didn’t suffer long.
A week after my dad’s death, all of the funeral arrangements were made. The service was held in the same chapel and the ceremony delivered by the same priest who had done so for his best friend’s funeral just years earlier.
We held an open casket for my dad and the first time I saw him lying there was when I peeked through the chapel doors while our funeral director was preparing him. The first thing I noticed was his thick, perfect hair poking out of the casket, head laying on white pillows. He wore a barong that I got from my Lola’s bridal shop and had brought back home with me from the Philippines. I thought I would wear this barong for a future speaking gig; little did I know my dad would be cremated in it.
A few moments later, our funeral director let us into the room to have our private greeting with him. My dad looked like my dad, but didn’t. His face was swollen but weirdly sunken, features flatter than usual – something that I’ve since learned can happen during the embalming – and his body hard and stone cold. The most I have ever been affectionate with him was at his funeral. I made sure I kept holding his hand, touched his face, kissed his forehead, played with his hair. The funeral was live streamed so that our family back in the Philippines can witness his service. One of his brothers thanked me for the affection I was showering him with. It made them feel at peace knowing that he was so loved.
Being distant from him for the past seven years makes grieving him feel so complicated because I’ve had all of this time getting used to how it feels not being around him all of the time, but the reality that I’m never going to see my dad in physical form, that I’ll never share a meal with him again, never feel his hugs again – it keeps me up at night. It’s so sad to me that I feel much closer to my dad now than when he was alive. I have to keep reminding myself to have patience and understanding for myself because our complicated relationship made it difficult to be close to him and this was a lesson to us both. A part of me believes that the lesson hits a little harder for me as I’m still out here in the waking world coming to terms with my dad’s death and my dad is peacefully somewhere else, but who knows! Perhaps in the spirit world he’s contending with his own lessons too.
I still message my dad on his cell phone and his Facebook. I plan on messaging him every day until I can’t anymore. Sometimes I have a little hope that I’ll get a “read” receipt or a response back. I don’t know, I can’t describe it. I’m fully aware I won’t, but the hope is still there and it’s a feeling I wish never leaves me.
I’m writing out a few short memories I have of my dad so in this way you can know him too. Of course, I’ll never be able to recount all 27 years’ worth of memories I have of him and a there’s a few that I want to keep all to myself, but I think this list is a great place to start.
Memories
My dad coming back home to the Philippines with a shaved beard and me not recognizing him even though he was standing right in front of me. Then, when I saw it was him I told him he looked like an elf.
Grieving that the last time I was ever in the Philippines with him was when he brought us to Canada and never again did we visit the Philippines together. We always had separate trips. Grieving that my sister has never experienced being in the Philippines with our dad.
I’m 6 years old I’m and sitting with him on the bus going from one city to another in the Philippines and I’m playing with my Gameboy SP and the Finding Nemo game he got me from Canada.
Dad sneaking me a dollar while we eat breakfast because my mom had just made me cry or I was grumpy. It was also a bribe for me to actually eat. He always had a sly smile on his face when he passed me the coin.
Fishing trips with him and catching catfish. Him teaching me how to hook worms and when to pull on the rod to actually catch the fish. We used to take early morning trips just him and I to a corner in the Scarborough Bluffs and we would sit underneath big trees catching fish. Sometimes he brought two rods so we could fish side by side.
Having dinners at 168 Sushi Buffet to catch up with me and my sister.
He was a really silly guy. There are pictures of him strawberry picking and covering parts of words on a sign to make them funny, jumping from a log into a starfish pose, posing with statues like he was talking to them – I think he loved to make people laugh with his funny little humour. He often didn’t like too many cameras pointing to his face and once he’s had enough, he’s start making a grumpy face (I got this from him). Usually he was the one behind the camera. He used to take videos on videos on videos with our home camera. We still have those tapes to this day.
Driving me back and forth from my first job at Canada’s Wonderland. One time, I had a shift right after my mom and I had a fight because her best friend’s son who I went to high school with outed me after he found out I was dating a girl. In the car, I don’t remember what we talked about in relation to my queerness, but he told me I was “too liberal”. He didn’t sound upset. It didn’t sound like it changed our relationship – I think he was just making a statement. I think about it and it makes me laugh. It just felt like he accepted me and that was that.
He smelled of smoke, always.
When he would stop by the convenience store to grab a pack of smokes and would grab me a kinder surprise because he knew it was my favourite.
I miss the food my dad would make. His barbecues, the ice candies, bananas in condensed milk, strawberries in condensed milk, toast with condensed milk, anything in condensed milk, cutting open durian, being allergic to squid, banana bread....
His laugh oh I love my dad’s laugh and the crinkle in his eyes when he does.
I once heard this quote about how you often don’t remember what someone has said to you, but you’ll always remember the way someone has made you feel and I think about that often when it comes to my dad. My dad was a great man and yes, he made a lot of mistakes, but in the end, he always owned up to them and made better the situation. If I could choose a dad in any lifetime, any lifelines, I would keep choosing him. Every time.
To grieve my dad is remember him. To remember him is to love him. To love him is to keep him alive. I’d rather feel the pain of missing him than not feel anything at all.
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