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Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The Things I Could Have Done

For My Father

Before my father died, I usually dropped at my parent's house on my way to work to spend some five or ten minutes tinkering on the piano keys. I took a short cut at the back of the rice mill leading to the store. The family piano was transferred to my brother's house at the back lot years ago due to a flashflood. It was a separate house facing the backstreet which was vacant when my brother's family moved to Pagadian. It became a resthouse for Papa and my younger sister Ness.

As soon as I started playing, my father would appear from behind humming softly, walking till he reached beside me. A music lover , he then sat near and made some comments on my accompaniments. My piano studies before was on and off and I had a mixture of oido playing with notes. The rest were self study. My sister Ness and Rudy were better players. Though Papa was not a pianist, he was a good guitarist. He played the banjo and bass well. I remember him play the guitar at bedtime with Mama singing old love songs before the advent of television in our town. After supper Papa would play the banjo with my brothers, Nening and Rudy on the guitar and bass. I was already married when a piano was added so I practiced when I had time.

He made corrections on my accompaniments simply by asking me to strike a note forward and backward until I hit the right note. He would ask me to repeat and repeat till I mastered it. Then we break . He loved to talked of many things until I stopped because I'll be late for office.

This went on every working day. Papa would time his appearance when he hears the first chords and especially when he had something to tell me. There were times when I didn't want to be delayed, so when he appeared, I tell him. "Pa, I would stay only five minutes." to which he would smile in approval. It was like saying, "don't delay me" and he won't persuade me to stay longer.

One day, I played so softly so he can't hear me and when he arrives I'd be gone. When I finished, I stood up to find him just watching silently by the door. How we laughed together because I was like a child caught doing some mischief. A very understanding person, he respected our rights and privacies so much. He knew I was a working woman and he would delay me no more.

When he died, I realized why Papa relished every single minute with me. My mother was gone, my elder sister was gone. I was his only link to the past. My younger brothers and sisters were living far, except Ness, who was still single. She took over management of the store and rice mill when Mama got sick and later died. He needed someone to talk to.

My heart warmed up to him, my belovesd father, the most upright, most understanding father in the world! How could I have denied him even the ten minutes extension of my time. I felt so bad.

I recalled the many instances he supported me. The time he gamely sat up to listen to my stories the first times I read pocketbooks in my first high school days because I had no more audience, all the others had fallen asleep and I was so excited to continue. The times he checked on us at bedtime and tucked in our mosquito nets; the times he hovered over me when I was sick, feeling my forehead so lightly while I pretended to sleep. The times he sat on the stairs reading comics when I was on labor for my first child just to ease the tension of waiting.

I'm sorry Pa. I'm sure you're still watching over me with understanding.

Holy Thursday

April 15, 2006

I creased my eyes to the biting heat of the summer sun as I hailed a motor cab.

" To the church please", I said.

The driver nodded, when a man past middle age hailed the cab also. I let him pass by me because my destination was nearer.

He muttered a "thanks", then he continued in a loud voice.

"What a life! You never can tell! Just last week I talked to my friend. We were happy talking.
I even asked him if he had a medical checkup. Never did. Now he's dead. That's where I came from." He pointed to a funeral parlor behind us.

"Heart attack." He continued . Since he was apparently addressing to me, I asked him politely.

"How old is he?"

"Only seventy years old, and I'm seventy seven. My good friend, huh!" shaking his head.

I was really in no mood for small talk. Usually, when I'm on a ride on the way downtown, my mind takes note of my itinerary, as I have a sick husband at home. But out of respect to this seemingly respectable old man who wanted to unburden himself I answered:

"He's lucky to have reached that age. Nowadays, people die young, due perhaps to the food we eat, and the dust and chemicals in the air we breathe. Besides, thousands perished in recent calamities without warning, regardless of age, young and old, rich or poor. The best that we can do is to pray and be prepared always."

His voice softened a bit.

"I think you're right." he said.

The pain of loss of a dear friend had hit this old man so hard that compelled him to talk even to a stranger like me. Fear of death is inherent in man. Yet we are taught that death is the necessary passage to eternal life. As we grow older , fear is diminished by the expectation of a beautiful life thereafter.

I told him that my husband is paralyzed for more then one year now, after a stroke. There were times when I woke up early at dawn to hear him asking the Lord, to end his sufferings. Much as we ask the Lord to hear our prayers, we say, "Not my will, but Yours be done, oh Lord."

He asked me many things about our health and how we must have regular checkups. I told him not to forget about God's miracles too. He told me he was at Faith hospital and he knew my daughter , when he asked me of my whereabouts.

He was smiling now.

When I alighted at the church, I told him, "Just pray for your friend."

As I approached the gate, He called out, "Thank you , Sister! We'll just pray!"

Was I glad! I did not even know him, but on this Holy Thursday, I had enlightened a stranger to the will of God in my own simple way. Despite my own problems today, I felt lighter.

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