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June 18, 2010 By Nelia Dingcong Bernabe
It has been 21 years. That’s a pretty long time if you ask me but every year, there’s no escaping the painful memories that I have to relive and my dealing with the aching pain that has left a deep void in my heart.
Father’s Day…it’s always a mixed bag for me.
The special day comes and my mind takes me thousands of miles away to my father’s final resting place in Bacolod City. The unimaginable distance does not matter for every year I take that solitary mental trip just to be close to him. And every year my special trip allows me to fill the void, little by little.
It’s really true what they say about the father-daughter relationship. It’s special. It is a bond that finds its strength from a dad who simply wants to look out for his little girl. It is a bond that finds its meaning from the little girl who thinks of her father as the eternal hero. We hang on to that protective cloak that our fathers lovingly threw at us up until the very end.
For some, it may be fairy tale. True. For others, it could be fiction. But for most and for people like me, the imperfections that come with the special relationship do not really
matter. For in the end, you get to sift through the junk and only care to relish the great times that you shared with this special man.
My papa was no exception. He was by no means perfect. Who is? As a matter of fact, he was far from perfect. Let’s just say he was more of a maverick, one who loved life way too much to worry about mundane things like dealing with day-to-day stuff. That was my mom’s job. But that’s irrelevant.
Celebrating Father’s Day allows daughters like me to remember the great things about imperfect dads. I’ve learned to deal with the extreme pain of not seeing him for 12 years before he died. He was so close to taking that dream vacation as he described it. We had a sweet conversation on the phone and I can remember him being so excited about his impending trip to the U.S. Two weeks, that was all the wait that we had to do, and the 12 years that we had been apart would have turned into one memorable reunion. But as luck would have it, it wasn’t meant to be.
But through the years and every Father’s Day, I’ve managed to find a way to ease the pain a bit. Around this time
every year, my resolve to remember this very special man turns into a ritual that starts with looking at all the pictures that I have of him. Then it slowly progresses to staying still and allowing my mind to remember the great times I shared with him growing up.
I remember the parties that he and my mother threw for their friends. I remember the blaring music coming from the bulky stereo system of the 1960s that played those long-playing vinyl albums of their time. I remember my life-sized stuffed animals as birthday presents and those magical birthday cakes that captured the fantasies of my childhood. I remember as a little girl waking up in the morning and my eyes would light upon seeing the unexpected gifts that he would leave on my bed.
My father was a generous man who would give the shirt on his back, his last penny, and his last anything. He was imperfect that way and I could not help but smile now. The thought of those times when his generosity would cause a little argument between him and my mother comes to life. Although they were not funny back then, they are now.
A few years ago when my mother came to visit us, she and I had this serious conversation. She said that my brothers and I would always say that we get all our good traits from our father and all the bad ones we get from her. She was quite defensive when she said that and I don’t blame her. Now that I’m thinking about it, she actually has a point but I remember denying it when she brought it up.
Growing up, my mother was the disciplinarian. She wasn’t the fun one and my father on the other hand was the enabler. We would always have our way with him and his way of disciplining us was giving us what we want without getting caught. He was the joker of the family, he was easygoing personified, and he was the true definition of living life in the moment and he believed that tomorrow is another day so why worry about it today.
I’ve been through 21 Father’s Day celebrations without him and whom am I kidding? It really does not get better. The pain and the void will never go away and for those who have lost their dads would know what I mean. But you deal with it and every year, you find ways to honor their memory.
For me, the bond that I shared with my father is tucked away in a few special places. Foremost, it’s right where I can feel him most – in my heart.
My last conversation with my papa two weeks before he was scheduled to come visit us captures everything that I cherish about him. A loving man until the very end, he unknowingly left me something that has allowed me to deal with the pain and the void.
“Hi sweetheart, I am so excited to see you finally. It has been 12 years…” he said over the phone. “I know, I am excited too papa,” I told him. “Just wait, two more weeks and I am going to cook your favorite dish,” he added.
My papa died in May of 2001. His death has definitely changed everything for me as his daughter but I find comfort in his words and especially in remembering his voice. Though difficult his memory lives on forever.
Happy Father’s Day!!!