Two Love Letters
My dad’s been dead 12 years now and I am convinced time is taking us out for a ride, a game, a play.
I remember I would write him letters on Facebook Notes, whenever the wound from his passing stung like a motherfucker.
But I just learned Facebook, that motherfucker, deleted the Notes function and there was no way I could retrieve those letters.
Thankfully, I reshared two of them recently and those reshares, I could still retrieve.
Migrating those I could still cull from there, to here, because even if the wound doesn’t sting as much, the words still hold true.
[Written in June, 2011]
A Year Later
Hi Dad,
I was youtubing the ‘Up’ theme and suddenly I remembered you. Not that remembering you doesn’t happen every day. It’s just that, today’s remembering came with a huge lump in my throat. It’s been a year since, after all.
I can’t believe it’s been a year, Dad. So many things have happened since you decided to go. I did a lot of growing up, all of us did a lot of growing up. Andres is turning out to be such a charming little Albano and Anya is growing up to be a pretty young lady. Anne is just as sungit, if not more so, but you’ve always been amused with that trait of hers. And Juds, you know how Juds is, and how we are with each other, but I think we’re better. Paul and Aileen, what else is there to say about the power couple? I love and admire them.
And as for mom, I think of all of us, you’d be most proud of your wife. She misses you so so much but such is the strength of that woman. She handled, is handling, everything most beautifully. So beautifully that if you were still here, you’d probably tease her about it, make a joke, take her hand, or half-embrace her. And when laughter subsides, you’d probably stare at her and smile. She did you proud.
I can only hope you were here to witness it all, Dad. But as I’ve learned from your passing, such is life. And such is death. I wish I can turn this hurt into something good and something great. But I don’t know.
All I know is that I miss you terribly.
[Written in September 2013]
Hey Al,
While I’m sure glad yesterday is over and that I’ve overcome, sometimes, I wonder how much missing I can hold in my heart.
We’re facing tough times as people who’ve grown up often do, but I find we’re carefully laced together and made strong by your absence, a thin stratosphere of nothingness, so bold and warm, I confuse it with the coffee you like to drink, after siesta that you like to take, on any given afternoon.
We find you in each other — in Anne’s pace. The tremble in Judith’s voice. The grace in Linda’s days. The way Paul looks at his children. The pride we, especially Aileen, feel for him.
Sometimes, I try to look for you in the first sip of cold beer; what a cliché, I know, but that’s in appreciation of the bottle you put in the freezer for me to drink after my first Math midterm exam.
I find you in strange thoughts and silly behavior and in kindness I didn’t know I was capable of being. I’ve always known myself to be a meanie, but I guess you taught me well. I miss you, Al.
