I was told that when my dad left for the United States when I was 2 that I stopped talking for a long time. My parents finally got the visa to immigrate to the United States from the Philippines. The plan was for my dad to go first, find a job and apartment and then my mom and I follow. I’m not sure how long afterwards we came (maybe a few months) but I know from my mom that I stopped speaking because I missed him so much. My mom was so worried that she took me to a doctor who found nothing wrong with me.
I’ve been processing my feelings since his passing on February 28th. It was a whirlwind of busy and emotions since taking him to the hospital December 12 for what we thought was a stroke but ended up being brain cancer. Everyday for those 11 weeks brought different challenges and my life revolved around being there for his and my mom’s needs whether it be for appointments, discussions with medical personnel at the hospital, or picking up groceries or my dad’s favorite foods; extreme grief and sadness living alongside beauty and joy. After dropping my sons off at the airport the day after the funeral I wept uncontrollably for a long time, a floodgate of tears held back that started at the funeral.
My dad was a man of few words but his eyes and his ‘look’ told stories; you always knew if he was mad or content, or filled with joy based on his eyes. Although the first thing he lost early on was his speech which became mostly babbling, we could see the frustration, fear, and any other expression just by looking into his eyes. What I will remember most were the quiet conversations he and I had about the kids, what they were up to, the joy in his eyes when I would talk about them and show him pictures. The day we watched AJs graduation from grad school live streaming and his joy while watching but also the pain in his eyes looking at me knowing I missed the event to stay with him. I will remember the miraculous time he called me late at night from the hospital because he didn’t know how to turn the tv off in his hospital room; miraculous because at a time he couldn’t speak, and was confused, but he somehow grabbed his phone, dialed my number, and spoke clearly saying ‘can’t turn off tv’. I was able to call the nurses station and get someone in there to help him. I will remember his giant smile when Roxy the therapy dog came into his room. Roxy was the name of his dog who passed away almost a year ago and by the way, Roxy came at the beginning (December), and happened to show up again his last week at the hospital before going to home hospice. I will remember his giant smile as all the grandkids showed up at the hospital at Christmas time and then his tears of sorrow when he realized it was Christmas and we were all celebrating at the hospital because he couldn’t get home. I will remember singing Nat King Cole to him and him humming along and smiling just a few days before home hospice (and yes, I have that last precious video saved). And I will also remember that last week when it was just the two of us in his hospital room a few days before going home for hospice care and the short conversation: him pointing to his head then pointing to himself and saying ‘better?’ ‘Are you asking me if you’re going to get better?’ ‘yeah.’ ‘Dad, we’re doing all we can so you just keep fighting and getting stronger.’ ‘I hope so.’ I cry thinking about it.
I’ve been searching lately for something that reminds me of my dad, a symbol that when I see it, I know he’s still here. My friend’s mom loved ladybugs so when she sees a ladybug she’s reminded of her mom and feels her close, while another friend has the same thing with cardinals. I started thinking about this days before his death asking, ‘what is it, one symbolic thing that would remind me of him?’ He loved clothes, playing golf, baseball hats but none of these gave me the warm ‘this is my dad’ feeling. Then it hit me. As I was driving home after taking my sons to the airport, I turned on Spotify to the same station I played for my dad in the hospital filled with his favorite artists from the past and I realized my dad gave me music. Growing up there was not a single day that passed that he wasn’t playing records on our stereo; Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Perry Como, etc. On Sunday mornings before and after church he would play classical music like Beethoven and Mozart and he’d pretend to be conducting the orchestra. He played the trombone and harmonica, sang in his church choir, and he took us to DSO (Detroit Symphony Orchestra) at the park. He brought me to my first Broadway touring show, Annie, which started my love for musicals and musical theater. I cannot hear music without thinking about my dad and I am so grateful.
His funeral was beautiful and packed with hundreds of friends and family, he and our family have been so loved. People spoke of his warm smile and how he was most proud of his kids and grandkids. Many of the church choir members outside of the small funeral choir, came to sing at his funeral and I know my dad would’ve been so proud. I can still see his face proudly singing and grinning with joy. What will I miss most? Seeing his smile, laughing with him through his jokes, and his laughter and joy when I’d speak about the kids. Also, ever since I learned how to drive until even just a month or two ago, whenever I would leave our house and then their house he’d stand at the storm door and watch me pull out of the driveway. Every. single. time. A man of few words, that’s my dad, expressive eyes, a big smile, funny joke, laughter, and always always a song.
that continues to show me what love and sacrifice look like; who loves my mom and supports our family, who is still fiercely protective and gentle and giving. This is my daddy. The one who worried and was probably ‘tortured’ by me when I was a teen but who loved me to beyond and back. I am forever his little girl. I am forever grateful to have been blessed with a great dad. Thank you, proud to call you daddy.
does the same for my kids. He tries to be at most of the games and he drives them around too. Yes, a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes of his love and support.
Anna's Lipstick Journey 