Tomorrow, dad When you live abroad, home is far away. With each year you miss your family and friends a little more, each year you spend less time in your native country and with the people you love and miss. Its been over a year since I last saw my dad in person. I had plans to spend six weeks in Germany this year. Quality time with family and friends, a summer vacation in Germany as a tonic for being homesick. Six weeks – almost as much as the total amount of time I had spend in Germany in the past seven years combined. Plans change and you justify that with reason. As I did this year. Stories in Syria, Nepal, India and the Philippines seemed more important. To be a father soon made me stay at home more often. Renovating the house. More responsibilities. Paying bills. Expensive air fares. Next year, I said to myself. As I did the previous years. The only way to stay in touch: Facebook, Skype, Emails. And luckily my dad discovered the wonders of Skype. The illusion of intimacy. So close, yet so far away. He kept on calling me at any given time, often in the wee hours, wanting to know how the pregnancy is going, being excited to become a grandfather, talking to his son on another continent. I often received calls in the middle of the night, dad forgetting once again about the time difference separating us. Just to tell me that the weather in Hamburg is terrible or that he cooked my favorite dish. Half amused, half annoyed I scolded him off. We’ll speak tomorrow, dad, I said. Always tomorrow. On Wednesday afternoon we talked about his plans visiting us over Christmas and New Years, him bursting with pride, joy and anticipation to meet his grandson soon, to play with him, to spoil him. Both of us excited to welcome the new member of the family and to spend time together. We celebrated the German football champions, analyzed the final, followed by chitchat and meaningless topics. And then I shut him off because a typhoon was battering Manila. Tomorrow, dad. I will call you again tomorrow. Tomorrow became irrelevant. It was the last time ever to speak with him. At 4 am yesterday morning I received a phone call from my cousin that my father had passed away, only hours after we had spoken on Skype. A quick, good death, he felt no pain, I was told. And yet, knowing that he died peacefully can’t ease the pain. I feel vulnerable like a little boy who is crying into his pillow and only a hug from his dad could fix the world again. How I wish now that he would call me again in the middle of the night to tell me that it is rainy or sunny in Hamburg. Instead, my wife and I will fly home tomorrow to bury my dad. To say goodbye for the last time and let him feel the presence of his unborn grandson whom he so desperately wanted to meet. It hurts so much that he’ll never have that chance and that my son will never meet his Lolo. I love you, Papa. I miss you so much.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Jul 2014 04:55:50 +0000
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