A letter to Tatay

SASKATOON—My father died in February 2018, more than a month after our last vacation in the Philippines, where we got to spend Christmas and New Year with our family and friends. I have no idea that would be the last time we would see Tatay alive, the last time he would see my family and spend time with two (Macky and Nathan) of his more than 10 grandchildren, and the last time I would speak to him in person and my last time to mano before heading to the airport the early morning of Jan. 9, 2018.

He died while we were back on Saipan, thousands of kilometres away east of the Philippines. At the same time, I was busy covering House and Senate sessions at the CNMI Legislature or busy hounding the governor about a local or federal issue, and while I was working on an island surrounded by the ocean in the Western Pacific.

I haven't mentioned this to anyone—and I'm not sure if Nanay or my sister, who was then taking care of him, remembers this—but I got furious at him when we talked on the phone in mid-February. The raising-my-voice, shouting-at-the-top-of-my-lungs, and showing-my-frustration kind of talk, where I even mentioned the money we contribute for his treatments.

But he said that he doesn't want to get his dialysis treatment anymore. He just wants to go back to Nueva Ecija, his home province, and wait for his final breath in the City of Cabanatuan with his family and relatives.

I was trying to lift his spirits. Trying to convince him to get his treatment and get well, we were planning to surprise him and Nanay with a tour of Los Angeles before my family, wife, and two kids move to Canada. He didn’t get that chance. He was cremated, and his ashes were buried with my grandfather and his stepmom.

November is his birth month. He was born on the 28th and would have been 76 this year. I never had the chance to apologize to my father. Never miss the last chance to say things like, "Thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made for your family," and "I love you." I would do anything if there’s a possibility to talk to him again or send him this short note, which would have these words:

Dear Tatay,

First of all, happy birthday or happy commemoration on the day that you were born. I still remember you joyfully celebrating it with your compadres, enjoying bottles of Cerveza with a side of kalderetang kambing or adobong itik.

I know that one of your greatest regrets is not assisting me with my college education. I kept telling you not to worry about that since you’ve already done a lot for your family, even to the point of working in the desert of Saudi Arabia for 10 years. Your decision to become an OFW to earn more and be a great provider is enough.

We know that you love us because you sacrificed your comfort of being with your family to endure the desert heat and homesickness. A feeling that I too experienced when I left the Philippines in 2004.

I could say that I’ve done fairly well since I started my own family. Though there were challenges and minor bumps, everything happened for a reason, and it helped us get to where we are today. I’ve worked hard, and I think I’ve achieved some things that you can be proud of.

Again, thank you for what you’ve done, and I hope, like Eric Clapton said: Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven? Love you, Tay, and I miss you very much.