Vader’s Heartbeats

Idolatry. Grudge. Regret.

If I were to describe in three words my relationship with my dad, it would be those three. Or to be more specific: he was my hero growing up, resented him when I became an adult and grieved him when he passed away.

He was my hero growing up. To my young mind, he was always this physically strong, loud-voiced beast who always makes everything alright: from providing the food on the table and other family necessity to the littlest of my childhood problems, he would always make sure that all is well.

When I was a kid, he had to work out of town for a project and he was away for weeks. I just started my interest in journalism during this time, so I know every news and it made me anxious as I read of petty theft, home invasion and the likes. These thoughts kept me up all night as I felt so unsafe with just my mom, sisters and I sleeping in a small dwelling with an easy to pick door lock.

I dreaded these nights and would pray for him to come home for I know that we will all be protected once he’s home.
I remembered 1 night when I really can’t sleep and every noise I heard made me jump, drop of sweats formed on my forehead and every wild thought made my skin crawl. I fell asleep with such panic in my heart.

I woke up feeling like I’ve had the worst fever ever. Then smiled when I saw my dad asleep beside my mom, probably got back home when I finally fell asleep. My nervous-wrecked mind and body relaxed knowing that he’s finally home.

My dad was a big sports guy: he played soccer when he was in high school; a frequent bowler and paddler during my childhood. He would watch every sport, especially basketball, all day long if he’s just staying at home. So, it didn’t come as a surprise how delighted he was when I made the little league team of my school.

When I finally got my school-issued baseball gloves, he would help me practice catching and throwing the ball. Of course, in a family with a tight budget, he couldn’t afford to buy gloves for himself so he would use his hand to catch it. I was so amazed of how he’s able to do this but also worried of how the strong impact of the ball on his hand will affect him (I was a catcher and maybe just 11 at the time but I throw pretty hard, lol). Well, he asked me to give it my all when throwing it back.
My concern fades away when I saw the smile on his face.

Delighted.

Maybe because he was able to play ball with one of his kids. Something that perhaps he didn’t think of happening since all he had were girls. Don’t mean to offend anyone but during my childhood, sports like baseball are really just for boys.
I got hit by the baseball in the face, back of my head, neck and shoulders, a bat even hit me when a careless batter threw it away instead of putting it down on the side of the field (good thing I was still wearing the catcher’s mask) and made every bone in my body ached so much I started to wonder why am I doing it.

Then I remembered my hero’s amusement of the fact that one of his kids’ a ball player, it made me work hard and be better.

During high school, while I still enjoy sports (basketball and volleyball this time), my focus shifted to music. As a new guitar-player, I was very eager to meet people who wants to be in a band. All the hard work paid off, but my mom was totally against me pursuing a music career. I totally understood as I was still in high school, and I don’t want to stop studying either.

What I did to satisfy my incessant craving for music was to listen to his old records and learn by ear the notes. Even asked him once or twice if I’m hitting the right notes. He knew basic guitar playing and had a very good singing voice. Also, he used to play the drums but needed to quit since the money he’s making from gigs on local clubs can’t support a growing family.

I’m not sure how he felt about quitting a lot of things I know he was passionate about so he can find a better job to support us.
I wish I did.

We never really talked on a personal level. I think it’s because I’m too quiet and he’s almost never home because of work.

Plus, he’s arrogant and a bully. He looked down to people without even knowing them which infuriates me.
I admired how he’s a self-made man but the humility that’s supposed to come with it never arrived. He let his accomplishments get the best of him and that’s when I started to hate him.
The once heroic dad I look up to turned into a self-absorbed monster. He’s so full of himself, I started to look for, not even the dad I grew up with, but the shadow of the man I knew him for.
This was college years, and while I was never on a rebellious pace, I felt like doing so because of how dysfunctional my relationship with my dad came to be.
In his mind, we’re always supposed to follow him and all his beliefs no matter how unreasonable it is. He threw tantrums worse than a five-year-old if he can’t have what he wanted. He’d yell and berate you for the smallest of the mistakes.
He won’t talk to you if you did something he didn’t approve of. And this can go on for weeks. Sometimes you’re not sure of what you did. But the simple how are you will never come to you while he asked everyone how they have been. Mental torture.
I only remembered him hitting me twice when I was a kid and when I grew up, it leveled up to the emotional and mental torture. Which is worse.
My mom made a non-verbal note to me that dad was always like that. I just didn’t get it until after high school. I never saw him hurting my mom physically but again, the other ways of hurting someone is way, way worse.
I resent him for doing it to me. I resented him more when he did it to my mom.
But we kept it civilized. He’s still the man of the household. He fed and clothed me. Sent me to a good school so I was still grateful.
I just made a façade to let him know that we’re good though I know deep inside, and I know that he did too that we’re not okay.
But of course, we set aside our differences and make our relationship, though not close, but at least acceptable.
There’s this one time though, I don’t know what his stand was with me pursuing music, but I know he was proud of how skilled I got with all the practice and training. And during college, I joined countless battle of the bands. But there’s this one competition, the last one during senior year, the only one I told my parents about and nervously asked them if they can watch.
I know they won’t because again, totally against the music career.
But after the last song, I saw this tall, bald guy with his signature black t-shirt, shorts and sneakers leaving the crowd from the farthest corner of the venue.
I think I smiled a little when I saw him leaving. Hoping that I made him proud.

I got a job in Makati right after I graduated from college. My parents purchased an apartment in the city a few months prior trying to rent it out for profits, but I ended up renting it instead. I got a couple of roommates and I totally enjoyed living on my own.
Enjoyed it too much that I didn’t have the time to go home and visit my folks anymore. I still call home but mainly just to talk to my mom, and my dad’s relationship with me was totally obliterated.
Even when I come home for the holidays, we barely talk at all.
I think he still tried to have a relationship with me by visiting the apartment with the façade of checking out if the apartment needs any repairing (he was a contractor). But that’s just it. We never really talked again on a personal level.
My home visits became lesser and lesser specially since my mom moved to Dubai to live with one of my sisters.
The last time I talked to him was in November 2019 when he’s had his first stroke. I went home for a few days and stayed with him in the hospital.
We laughed and joked around, and I even promised that I’ll be home for the holidays. I was positive that he had changed and thought maybe it’s about time for us to build our relationship anew.

But I was wrong.

When I went home a month later, he was still the devil I knew him for. He was still difficult to deal with, threw a tantrum and acted as if nothing is wrong.
I told myself that it will be the last time I’ll be going home except if my mom will be back.

But then again, I was wrong.

Exactly a year after his first stroke, he’s had another one. And I couldn’t go home because of the pandemic.
I called home more often though to check on him and he seemed fine.
My youngest sister who’s been taking care of him give me daily updates of how he is doing, and things seemed to be fine.

He started to be mellow. Talking to my mom every day. Still a little stubborn because according to my sister, he’s still a little difficult to deal with. But we think it’s because he missed my mom who he hadn’t seen in 2 years.
We arranged for him to travel so he can be with my mom, but the pandemic made it difficult. So, my mom decided to come home instead.

She was supposed to come home on Sept 3rd, 2021. But she never got to.

He passed away on August 27th.

My sisters and I decided not to continue with the plan of mom going home because it will just make her sad, so she stayed put.

The start of that week, my sister said he’s had a fever. They weren’t alarmed yet since he’s had colds as well, so they brush it off. Then he had a schedule for the COVID vaccine on Tuesday which he was never able to attend since he’s not feeling well.

My sister dismissed it as him having another tantrum and they fought about it.
Come Wednesday, his blood pressure was sky-high. Only coming down after he took his medicine.
Thursday, still sky-high and it’s not dropping this time even after the medicine.
Late afternoon Thursday, he collapsed.

The last thing he told my sister was he’s having trouble breathing. And he just collapsed.

Doctors tried to revive him but after doing so twice, they gave us the sad news that the 3rd time will be the last time that they will try to since it’s the maximum allowed, and the heart will be damaged if they try more than that.
We were hopeful that he’ll regain consciousness after the 3rd time.

Heart-breaking as it is, he didn’t wake up.
And will never awoke again.

The doctors told us that we can keep him alive with the machines attached to him. Or we can let him go. Of course, we asked if there is still a chance that he’d wake up, realistically speaking there is none. Specifically, since there was no brain activity anymore.

My Mom made a very difficult, heart-breaking decision to unplug him. I guess all of us agree that we don’t want him to suffer any longer.
Though he was not in pain, I asked our friend who’s a nurse on that hospital if he was in pain and he assured me that he’s not.

But still, we need to let him go.

We decided to just let the medicines on the machine to be emptied before unplugging him. This is like waiting for 7 to 8 hours. My youngest sister was beside him the whole time.
Talking to him. We asked her to apologize on our behalf since we can’t be there on time. Specially my mom and younger sister who are living, thousands of miles away.
I came home 2 hours after he was pronounced dead.

That afternoon, we went to the hospital with the funeral service to get him. I’m not proud but I wasn’t brave enough to go near him, so I didn’t.
The only time I did was when he’s already in the casket. And I was still bewildered.

If I can summarize my dad’s life the way I saw it, it will be as follows:
Difficult childhood
Parents who ignore him during adolescence
Marriage at a very young age
Fatherhood at a very young age
Unstable jobs
Money-deprived
Growing family but still money-deprived
Finally, a career success
Insatiable man
Cruel human being
Mental and emotional torturer
1st stroke
Mellowed Granddad
2nd stroke
Mellowed Dad
1 fatal heart attack

Not much of a life but I know he lived his to the fullest. The only way he knew. During his last 2 years, he lived quietly. Talking to my mom each day. Interacting with his only grandson. Tearing up whenever my nephew read something to him and affectionately calling him, Lolo. Looking forward to the day when he can finally meet him in person. Proudly telling everyone of his grandson.
Sadly, he never had the chance to meet him.

And I think, at one time, looked back at how his life had been.
A few weeks before he passed, my sister said he requested for all his tools to be on display in front of him. All the things he used as a contractor: the machines he purchased, the floor plans he drew, the blueprints of buildings and structures he designed, I think the only thing missing are his hard hats and the overalls.

So maybe he was reflecting.
I never knew him to be very emotional. The only time I saw him cried was when my Granddad died.

I remembered each detail of how those days when I went back home transpired.

From the hospital to the funeral home, the way we never get a chance to even changed the clothes he died in since he’s a COVID suspect. So, he was just sealed away. But we made sure that his favorite clothes and shoes were with him in the casket.

We even bought drumsticks and placed it along with his favorite things before his body was deposited in the vault. If he was an evil dictator in our household, I think he’s much worse with his workers. So, I’m a little surprised that some of his former workers attended his wake and funeral service. We’re so grateful of course.

And seeing a lot of people: relatives and friends come from far places paid their last respects made me think that he was somehow well-liked.
Something that I thought of giving him one last time: my love and respect.

Just like what the old folks always say, no matter how you disagree with and dislike your family, they are still family, and you must learn how to compromise.
I learned it too late unfortunately.

The regrets are never ending. And it’s evident whenever I hear the songs he listened to as I always cried my eyes out whenever I hear them. Specially, Van Halen’s “Love Walks In”. Whenever I hear it, I always hear him singing the high notes of the back-up vocals which he always did whenever it’s being played.

But I think I made a little gesture by choosing his funeral songs, my sister and I made a list of what songs to play during his funeral and I think he was proud of the well-chosen songs. Though we can’t put his ultimate favorite song in the mix, I know that he’s proud of what we did. I mean, Tom Sawyer by Rush is not exactly a song you expect to hear during a funeral service, right?
But these are songs he listened to and maybe played to at one point.

We sang along and cried when a heartwarming line comes. Especially when the line: “And Papa, I don’t think I’ve said, I love you near enough” from Dan Fogelberg’s Leader of the Band played.
I still cry every time I listen to it.

So, when I realized that his life came down to 1 fatal heart attack, it unnerved me.
His last heartbeat was at around 6 in the morning of August 27th.
The final one as per the medical records.
But in my heart and soul, that was not the last time.

He still has three heartbeats.
The oldest one, writing this one now.
The younger child, living with her son and my mom.
And the youngest, dwelling in our home.

Three strong heartbeats living his legacy.

I never get to say this in person, and this is what I regret most but if I had the chance, I would tell you each day.

Papa, thank you for the wonderful life. We didn’t have a whole lot, but you never stopped trying just so you can give us all the things we need and deserve.

Rest for now and until we meet again.