Charmed Life by Gretheline Bolandrina

There is no experience like having children, my Dad believed in this. He lived with this mantra. His happiness and contentment was measured by the unconditional love and attention he showered us. His wealth by the number of his grandchildren! It is bittersweet that I pen this, Father’s Day 2008. My first Father’s day without Daddy, a somber day, and best spent, I figured, reminiscing.

One of my favorite early recollections of Daddy’s patience was on a Sunday, years back, way back. I was a “grade-schooler”, in a new green dress handmade by Mama. Daddy was in a dark suit. I’m not sure where we were heading to since we weren’t on our own vehicle. Not sure how we ended up in our seating arrangement but somehow, I was sitting on my Dad’s lap and as my nervous tummy tends to act, midway through the trip, I hurled all of my previously ingested, partially digested breakfast of fried rice and hotdogs (Pinoy style, bright red, purefoods) onto my Dad’s chest. I hit it all, the jacket, the tie, shirt and undershirt! He didn’t explode in anger. I was merely handed on to the next adult to be freshened up while Dad brushed off smelly-semi-solid gastric particles and I could hear him saying, “can’t help it if her tummy’s queasy”.

Prior to High School graduation, when it was time for me to pick a college (and look into a possible career), I did the easy way out by saying, “my friends are going to dental school, maybe, I can go?” To which my Dad replied, “ you really want to be poking in people’s mouth?” So then, I quipped, “then I want to be a journalist like you.” His response was “there’s no money for female journalists at this time, be a nurse so you can go to America”. I gave him a puzzled look. His comeback was, “ So you can help our country”. He even added with a smile, “You can be a nurse and then write.” I was instructed to try it out for a year, if I really hated it, then I can switch to writing. But I did like it. Four quiet, uneventful years in Nursing School came to pass. So, a nurse I came to be, just as he suggested. A few months on my first job at the Philippine General Hospital, I got in trouble. Old school-style-management collided with my rebellious nature and the supervisor summoned my parents to her office. The intent was to reprimand me. Long story short, I worked the evening shift and was forced to stay the graveyard shift since there was a call out. By 6 AM the following day, I had been up 24 hours and when the supervisor arrived and I did not respond to her cheery “good morning” I was labeled insubordinate! My Dad arrived at the supervisor’s office, listened intently to what was being said, clarified that he was being called only because his daughter did not respond to a greeting, then said, “well, if my daughter didn’t think it was a good morning, it probably wasn’t!” Quick as a flash, he declared the meeting over and such a shame that precious time is wasted on trivial matters such as a missed good morning instead of providing quality care. If body parts were detachable, the supervisor’s lower jaw would have landed on the floor.

Such was my Dad’s confidence in me, (in us, the rest of my siblings included) and his resolve to back us up. I left for the US in 1989, communicated with my Dad frequently by phone and mail. I used to submit news stories to him and he’d proudly say, “minimal editing required.” Along with my Mama, they visited us on special occasions. He used to say, “when you’re right, don’t ever back down but don’t rub it in people’s faces.” There is virtue in humility. He would remind me not to forget the Philippines. “Do something for our kababayan.” His retirement lead him to join us, in New England. Ours was a completely different way of life and gone were his Night Editor glory. He took it in stride, enjoyed having his grandchildren around. Traveled a little. Didn’t like the snow. His failing health took him away from us. From being diagnosed with End Stage Renal Disease, having to go to dialysis 3x a week, to having a heart attack, a stroke and several hypoglycemic episodes in between, it was all a learning experience. With a doctor and two nurses in the family, Daddy reveled in getting opinions. He still had the final say. I had teased him one time at the hospital that he’s “Americanized” since he was responding to my Tagalog questions in English. He’d pause and ask for “balut”. Nutritionally, he was failing. Systems were shutting down but his brilliant mind was aglow. He always asked for Max. It came to be a test on our resolve and our strength to hold on. In the end, there was no fight. He went as he pleased, with dignity, surrounded by our love. The decision for his final resting place was never a question. As we prepared to celebrate his life (a memorial in Milford, MA and then Quezon City), getting all the necessary paperwork together, marvelous things were happening. Peacekeeping, hurts mended, loves restored, reunions, mistakes forgotten, trespasses forgiven and petty differences resolved. And best of all, new babies, their births, a renewal of life. We welcomed Danielle Elise D. Ramos (from my brother Jun and his wife Den) and Cyrusjet Tedi Ramos Bueno (from my sister Genevieve and her husband Alan). Total grandkids, over a dozen! From wherever Daddy is, he must be smiling. Though physically gone, he lives in our hearts. He stays with me in every story I write. His love remains forever. His grandchildren will attest to that. As Morrie says, “Love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone.”

Letter to My Daddy

"Babang Luksa, Jichen, jiri, shraadh, barsy, meinichi, kishin, kijitsu, kinichi, gije, gio”

February 2009
Dearest Daddy:

Hard to believe it’s almost been a year. Almost a full revolution of the earth around the sun, the sum total of three hundred sixty five days, sometimes it feels so long, other days it feels just like yesterday. Seems like a relative thing, considering how much I miss you so. How could all these days have passed so quickly? Four seasons flashed. A full twelve months flipped over, seems impossible. The day looms larger as it approaches faster. Though in my heart, time stood still, like a time warp. My emotions are raw, trapped in a passage that is neither too quick nor too slow. Just in limbo.

Recognizing the day brings back so much sadness, almost slapping me with the full impact of losing you. My heart aches from missing you. (Just as much as Ate Grace’s does but without all the tears, you know I am always the last to cry.) Losing your candid laughter and writer jokes. Losing a ready, willing and able conversation partner on the other end of the phone. I still know the number to your direct line at Manila Bulletin. Some days I feel like dialing and expecting to hear your voice, our standard gre etings: you going, “halo?” me responding, “Dad, Grethel ‘to” and you asking, ‘O, Ethel ano, happy-happy?”

What is to be done on this, the first anniversary? As Mama, my siblings and I all prepare to honor you it serves as a time for us to reunite. Everyone traveling back to Manila, masses scheduled, lunches and get-togethers. All this adds powerful and supportive meaning to the anniversary of your passing. We celebrate your life and all the love you have showered on us. I will burn sticks of incense in your honor. I chanced upon sampaguita scented ones. I will get ilang-ilang. I would like to take colored balloons, write messages for you and float them into heaven. Outside of physical things to do, I am fully embracing my loss, inside in the depths of my heart. Accepting completely the change in my life. You meant so much to me in so many different ways, as my father, my model writer and my friend. I remember fondly how when Mama and I would disagree, I would run to you. You’d talk to me, comfort me and make me see the funny side of things but in the end still make me do just what Mama said!

I will not wallow in sadness. I think of you daily but I will no longer grieve. Even as smoke gets in my eyes! I acknowledge Mama’s strength; this gives me a new purpose in life. To know that I am made of “tough” stuff, both from you and Mama. I know the 12 months have been demanding. She has handled your departing bravely. Enduring the great hardship of now being without her life partner. She is making a new life for herself.

You will live forever in my heart, in all the words I choose and all the stories I write. I love you forever. I would like to close, in Mary Elizabeth Frye’s words. They have given me great comfort. “Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush. I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.”

XOXO Grethel

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Feel free to e-mail me reactions, comments and or suggestions for ideas to ponder. Contact me at Gretheline@aol.com or through Carousel Productions.