20 June 2008
21:50
My dad passed away today. At the early hour of 1:00 am, we lost him. I was on my way home from work when my sister called me, crying, saying that Dad’s gone. I feel such a wretch about this whole situation. I know that death is inevitable. But knowing it, doesn’t really make it easier.
How was my Dad like? I was a daddy’s girl, you see. I loved my dad to bits and pieces when I was a little girl. Then I started to grow, and the hero worship I had for him deteriorated with the realities I saw in him. He was arrogant, bossy, self-righteous, pompous, conceited, and too proud for his own good. He was a jack-of-all-trades, and a master of nothing. What’s worse, he was an alcoholic. And since he was too proud to admit he was an alcoholic, it was an issue with himself he never resolved. He became self-destructive, and destructive to everyone else. For the longest time, I hated everything about him. I hated his guts, his pomp, his arrogance, his narcissism, and most specially his self-righteousness. I hated the issues he couldn’t resolve for himself. And I hated him for not doing anything about it.
Later, I realized that while we grow up, we put our parents on this pedestal. We see them as gods. They’re the all-knowing and the all-truthful. And as we grow up, we become more aware of the demons they’re fighting, the battles they fought, and the scars they’ve worn. They aren’t gods, after all. They’re just human. And like me, who has tons of issues I can’t resolve on my own, they also have these demons they try to fight off. That’s probably the reason why it becomes much more disappointing when they show you that they’re weak too. Because you believed that they were the strongest people for the longest time. It isn’t something they told us, it’s just something we assumed. When we see them in their weakened state, it shatters the rose-colored glasses that we see them covered in. You start saying that they should be this, or they should be that. But again, they’re still human, right?
That probably is the damnedest thing I realized about my father. I saw him for what he was, for the longest time. Not who he was. When I started seeing him as just human, I realized that he probably started out the same way that I did. Had a childhood, argued with his parents, cut a bit of classes, drank some beer before turning eighteen, had girlfriends, got his heart broken, had dreams, aspired for things, planned for his future, got disillusioned with reality, and all that. He’s just human. He fails sometimes, picks himself up sometimes, succeeds sometimes, and stays down sometimes. He has demons he fights off too. And the things I expected him to do, but didn’t, are probably the effects of his own disappointments. He was bitter about a lot of things. But I understand him better now.
He wasn’t born perfect. He wasn’t meant to be perfect. In his mind, he tried his best. I just expected too much from him.
Another thing I realized is that despite my disappointments, my cynicism, the things we fought about, the things that mattered to me that didn’t matter to him, and every inconsequential thing that happened in our relationship, he’s still my dad, and I still love him. I remember that he only told me he loved me when he was drunk. I don’t recall being able to tell him that though. Maybe I did, at one point or another. But I don’t really remember any significant moment when I told him those words. I guess, I can only wish that he knows it now.
“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and things left undone.”
21:50
My dad passed away today. At the early hour of 1:00 am, we lost him. I was on my way home from work when my sister called me, crying, saying that Dad’s gone. I feel such a wretch about this whole situation. I know that death is inevitable. But knowing it, doesn’t really make it easier.
How was my Dad like? I was a daddy’s girl, you see. I loved my dad to bits and pieces when I was a little girl. Then I started to grow, and the hero worship I had for him deteriorated with the realities I saw in him. He was arrogant, bossy, self-righteous, pompous, conceited, and too proud for his own good. He was a jack-of-all-trades, and a master of nothing. What’s worse, he was an alcoholic. And since he was too proud to admit he was an alcoholic, it was an issue with himself he never resolved. He became self-destructive, and destructive to everyone else. For the longest time, I hated everything about him. I hated his guts, his pomp, his arrogance, his narcissism, and most specially his self-righteousness. I hated the issues he couldn’t resolve for himself. And I hated him for not doing anything about it.
Later, I realized that while we grow up, we put our parents on this pedestal. We see them as gods. They’re the all-knowing and the all-truthful. And as we grow up, we become more aware of the demons they’re fighting, the battles they fought, and the scars they’ve worn. They aren’t gods, after all. They’re just human. And like me, who has tons of issues I can’t resolve on my own, they also have these demons they try to fight off. That’s probably the reason why it becomes much more disappointing when they show you that they’re weak too. Because you believed that they were the strongest people for the longest time. It isn’t something they told us, it’s just something we assumed. When we see them in their weakened state, it shatters the rose-colored glasses that we see them covered in. You start saying that they should be this, or they should be that. But again, they’re still human, right?
That probably is the damnedest thing I realized about my father. I saw him for what he was, for the longest time. Not who he was. When I started seeing him as just human, I realized that he probably started out the same way that I did. Had a childhood, argued with his parents, cut a bit of classes, drank some beer before turning eighteen, had girlfriends, got his heart broken, had dreams, aspired for things, planned for his future, got disillusioned with reality, and all that. He’s just human. He fails sometimes, picks himself up sometimes, succeeds sometimes, and stays down sometimes. He has demons he fights off too. And the things I expected him to do, but didn’t, are probably the effects of his own disappointments. He was bitter about a lot of things. But I understand him better now.
He wasn’t born perfect. He wasn’t meant to be perfect. In his mind, he tried his best. I just expected too much from him.
Another thing I realized is that despite my disappointments, my cynicism, the things we fought about, the things that mattered to me that didn’t matter to him, and every inconsequential thing that happened in our relationship, he’s still my dad, and I still love him. I remember that he only told me he loved me when he was drunk. I don’t recall being able to tell him that though. Maybe I did, at one point or another. But I don’t really remember any significant moment when I told him those words. I guess, I can only wish that he knows it now.
“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and things left undone.”
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