Forgiving my Father by Forgiving Myself

June 8, 2007

It was sometime in June of 2002 or 2003 (I’m not sure about the date) when I received a call from my sister to fly immediately home to Davao since I was already working here in Manila and that I need to be there fast since my father who was suffering from colon cancer had only a week left to live according to the doctor. I was already able to write something similar to this in my previous blog but to clear it out here, my father and I never really had a father-son relationship except for some vague memory I had with him when I was a child. So going home at that time was more of an obligation than a concern or to put it more clearly, I had to drag myself and forced to pack my things up since I was already enjoying my job and my stay here in Manila. Still carrying a baggage full of hang-ups with him, staying in Davao and waiting for his death was such burden. I even sent an sms to one of my friends when after a week of still being alive, saying, “ang tagal naman mamatay ng tatay ko (it’s taking too long for my father to die *in a grouchy tone)”. I know a lot of people were saying how bad of a son I was when I relayed this incident. And I would always defend myself that he was never a father to me so how can I become a son to him other than being a biological father? But at that moment, it was the exact sentiment I was feeling - for him to die sooner and end his suffering as well as my suffering from boredom. No, he didn’t leave us for another family nor did I grow up without him around. In fact, he was always physically there but in my eyes he was invisible. He was a quiet man who took good care of his fighting cocks. Hell, he was even more affectionate to his roosters, grooming them every so often, but had never expressed some physical affection to his own children. So the gap between him and me grew and a huge wall was built until I found myself in his death bed trying to break a huge barrier asking that he’d be forgiven for whatever it was that he had done wrong. It was not a dramatic scene as you would’ve seen people dying in movies -fighting to utter the remaining words he has left in the world. While I could only feel pity for his suffering, I was indifferent but was trying really hard to understand him and gave my remark of forgiveness just so, you know, he would die in peace. 

He talked to everyone of us who was present, and we were there at his last gasp of breath. And there he was, at peace! And there I was, as well, still alive at that moment trying to resolve all my hang-ups. It would’ve been hard for me to write these things if I have not forgiven him. But I think I’ve already outgrown the anger. Those were the growing pains that I had to endure. I don’t know if it comes with age and maturity but I could only look back… Now, I understood that he was also merely just a victim of himself and his fate. He might never really know how to show his affection and felt hopeless for not fully able to provide his obligations. As I recall now, he was actually playful and close to my nephews and nieces. Maybe, those were his ways to make up for his deficiencies with his own children. As I started to grasp deeper into my life and experience life’s realities and its brutal jests, somehow, I understood - perhaps, not fully, but one of those mysterious acceptance that suddenly runs through you. I’m writing this as recently my officemate reminded me that father’s day is approaching. I can’t recall greeting my father on a father’s day, but perhaps, this would be my way of remembering him. Something that may not be heard by someone who has long gone buried, but maybe this is something that I owe to myself and give it a full closure, that, I had forgiven myself for the lack of understanding, and that I too was merely just a victim of my own anger.