TATAY

I remember that day. I was on my way home from school. Tatay, my lolo on my mother's side, was very sick, he'd been so for some time. He had kidney problems and his condition had somehow worsened because of complications. At this point he could barely get out of his room. We visited him at our grandparents' house, which wasn't very far from ours.

Anyway, that afternoon while I was in the tricycle my mom texted and said maybe this was a good time to go there again. They were preparing to bring him to the hospital and it was best to have more people around to help. I was thinking the exact same thing. I was on my way already and I think I even texted my aunts about it.

The tricycle was about to turn the corner towards my grandparents' house. Suddenly something told me it shouldn't. The feeling was so strong I just couldn't ignore it. So I told the driver to go straight ahead instead and take the route towards our house.

But I wasn't really going home. After getting off I walked further, just three blocks from our house. I went to church.

It was a weekday, no one was there. This was the first time I went to church alone; I don't know why, but it felt so comforting. I went inside and knelt. I prayed for Tatay. I asked God to please take away his pain. He was in so much pain. I asked for forgiveness for being such a bad granddaughter.

Tatay and I were never really close. He was the patriarch of the family. He was everything the Garcia name stood for: pride, intelligence, control, reason, honor, dignity, family. He was a rock. A proud man, he always stood stood firm. His reasoning was beyond question. Everyone followed what he said. Not because they were scared--and they were--but beyond that, because he had their ultimate respect.

People turned to Tatay, and he never turned his back. He was the embodiment of strict compassion, if ever there is such (this was eventually softened by the next generation of Garcias). He was the one NPAs went to for help whenever they came down from the mountains. And he would help them, but it was clear that they would never touch his family or the people in their barrio. The buck stopped with him.

What I remember most about Tatay was when I was very small and had a very hard time finishing my meals. For me, it was a task that I found too taxing (I still think that way sometimes). So what he did was sit down beside me, for as long as it took me to finish eating my food. Sometimes it took me an hour, maybe more. He sat there patiently, just waiting for me.

Growing up, though, I never really appreciated him. He was too straight and narrow for me. He always said things that were meant to teach me how to be good and honorable, things that seemed too theoretical for me. I was just a kid after all and I was deeply irritated (which was a coverup for being overwhelmed) by his looming, overbearing presence. And I didn't like it that he had no tolerance for mediocrity. To him that was unacceptable. When you do less than what you are capable of, you would know his disappointment. It was as if you were marked for life. I felt it was so difficult to get redemption. So I did all that I can to stay away from him.

These things and more were racing through my mind as I knelt in church. I let all the memories of him and my family wash over me until I almost felt a ringing in my ears from all the activity in my head. My chest was about to burst. Before I got dizzy I opened my eyes and sat up.

I went out and walked all the way to my grandparents' house, which was also just a few blocks away on the other side of the church.

As I opened the gate I knew something was terribly wrong. Tatay was no longer there; he had been rushed--not brought, rushed--by my tita to the hospital just a minute or two before I got to the house. Nanay and a couple of other relatives were still there, and we all went to the hospital together.

In the emergency room I found my tita massaging Tatay's legs, mumbling something incomprehensible, asking Tatay if he wanted to drink his Ensure--knowing full well that Tatay could no longer respond. He was in a coma.

Mama...Mama wasn't there yet. She was with a client that afternoon, and she was one of the last to arrive because she was one of the farthest from the hospital. Mama is a control freak and she was closest to Tatay. Because of this, I don't think she has fully forgiven or will ever fully forgive herself for not having gotten there earlier. A few days after the incident she suffered a stroke.

It's easy to figure out what happened next. Tatay's systems started to collapse, and after he was wheeled into a private room, the doctor advised us to call a priest. No one wanted to. But there was no beating around the bush, and we finally called the head of our parish. My Tatay deserved no less.

Before the night ended, the line went straight. Tatay had left. I guess God answered my prayers after all. He took away Tatay's pain.

My younger cousins were most affected. Camille cried and said she didn't even have the chance to talk to him and say thank you and sorry for all the wrong she had done him. I could've said the exact same thing, only I didn't because I was either too ashamed or too proud.

It was the darkest, most conflicted night for everyone. We were still in control, yes, as only Garcias could be. There was the funeral parlor to contact, burial rites to arrange, people to call. But there was something we couldn't get hold of. We couldn't stop him from dying. And we couldn't stop the tears.

---

It has been more than three years. Tatay's death changed us all. It threatened to shake the stability of the Garcias. Looking back, I realize that wasn't such a bad thing. It revealed something in each of us, a vulnerability, some rawness and truthfulness beneath our shells. Leave it to Tatay to destroy what he himself created. He was still in control after all.

We are all better off today, I think. The family he left behind is still a proud family, still compassionate, still ruled by reason. But his children make more mistakes now, old and wise though they are. They are less rigid, less controlled, more willing to get out of the box. And that's okay. In losing him, we are starting to find ourselves.

A pheonix can only rise from the ashes.

Happy birthday Tatay.