LATE IS AS GOOD AS NEVER

Of all the failures I had in my life, the only thing I regretted failing is to utter the words “I love you dad”.

I am not a daddy’s girl. And my dad is not the type of dad that would have such. He’s a disciplinarian, fair and a strict parent. He doesn’t want to spoil us and give anything that we want without us knowing how hard they work for everything that we ask and we need.

My dad is also a hot tempered-person. I remember those instances when he scolds at me when I’ve done something wrong; his loud, trembling and angry voice would always make me cry, and that would make him angry even more.

But more over, I can say that my dad is a strong person. My aunts and uncles would always say that he was the reason why they finished their studies. At his early age, he worked for his 10 siblings, unable to support his own. He also works even harder for us as father; add the fact that he is a diabetic.

My father, Arsenio D. Mungcal is one of the millions who suffer the rancor of diabetes even before he got married. Because of the long period of treatment and medication, my father had a complication in his kidneys. For two years, he had undergone dialysis, twice of thrice a week. This is needed for my father to have his life extended, but not to cure his illness.

I can still remember the first time that he had his session; it was before my 10th birthday. I was awaken by his kiss and very tight hug, gave me a P500, and apologized to me for we can’t have any party for my birthday, because undergoing dialysis is quite a very pricey medication. But more than that, I know that there is nothing to celebrate about knowing that our dad is sick.

During this time, he still helps my mother to work at the market. He still wakes up at 3 0’clock in the morning, do the same routine as if he was not feeling something wrong with his body. The doctor tells him not to work anymore and just stay at home. But he still insists to do everything in the normal and usual way. He does not want us to have a hard time taking care of him, that’s why he really tries to prove that he’s fine, that he is still strong… nothing to worry about.

Seeing this, I thought that my dad was really strong. I am used to seeing him take his medicines, inject himself with insulin, go to the hospital and then afterwards, he’s strong again. I thought that it’s the same with the dialysis session. Death never entered my mind during those times. “My dad is strong. He will get through this”.

But all of these just took place during the first year of his medication. The complication ate my father, ruined his body and slowly rotted him away. He can no longer walk by himself; he cannot bathe himself or even to go to the comfort room alone; he cannot eat well. All these things make it hard for him to adopt the situation, losing his active and strong body.

Even his physical appearance changed. He became very dark, thin and different marks and blemishes surfaced in his skin, especially in his face. This is a sign that the dialysis can no longer clean his blood and body fluids anymore.

It so happen that it’s my graduation is fast approaching by then. When I told him that I was the class Valedictorian, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t congratulate me, nor hug me nor smiled at me. My heart broke because I was so excited to tell him the good news. I expected him to be proud, to be happy for me. But he wasn’t.

I thought he wouldn’t watch me deliver my speech. I even prayed that he would not come, because I am shy of what other people would say about his appearance. But he came. During the processional, all of the students walked high and proud, but not me. I was looking down. My dad decided to join my mom walk the middle aisle. I was looking down, ashamed of his appearance. I was looking down, not appreciating his efforts walking in the best manner he could.

And during the awarding ceremonies, he promised that he would not go up the stage. He told me that my mom would be the only one to award me my medals and certificates and pin my ribbons. But he broke his promise. I was the last to be awarded; I waited for a couple of minutes on stage for he cannot walk properly. I thought that those minutes are moments of humiliation and I told myself “you promise, you promise not to ruin my special day”. But as I watch him walk and tried his best to balance himself, tears roll down my face. I welcomed him on stage with a smile, and he paid back with a bigger, teary smile. I felt happy because at last, I know that my dad was proud of me. If I could stop the time, I would stop it right then and there. Those moments, are the moments that I would like to repeat, if I can… over and over again.

Few weeks after my graduation, my father passed away.

Yes, I would admit that I am slightly aloof when it comes to him. Maybe because all I consider are the not-so-good events in our relationship; maybe because I am still too young to understand better; maybe because of our age gap; or because I am pre-occupied by the fact that we would have all the time in the world to settle things in the future. I don’t really know why… and I have not thought of any possible ways to know.

Whatever reason it would be, all I know is that I am very sorry, I’m very regretful and how I wish I could turn back the time and if ever I could, I would do everything to be close to him, to hug him every time he gets mad at me, or return his kisses of apologies, or thank him for all his hard works, or make him proud to have me as his daughter - everything… everything that I haven’t got to do.

He failed me. I thought that he was strong. During his wake, I always asked him, why leaving us too early. I haven’t got the chance to bond with him, nor to share my silly thoughts, not played with him. I haven’t got the chance to be a daughter to him. I thought that we would have all the time in the world to make it up to each other. But even how hard I try to make him answer, I know that he wouldn’t.

But moreover, I have failed him.

It’s hard to live every single day of my life with regrets. It’s hard to grow, to be mature even more, realizing that I am living feeling sorry for myself for not being a good daughter to him. It’s hard to miss him, knowing that I had enough time to be with him but just put those times to waste. It’s hard when I decided to do the right thing, but he can’t wait any longer…

Every time there’s a person lying in his death bed, it’s the same old scenario. People are talking about how good person he is, how lovable, talented, kind, and all the angel-like characteristics they can attribute to a person. I am not saying that it’s bad to reminisce or share his good deeds or remarkable achievements. But I cannot help but ask myself, did they talk about all of these when the person was still alive? Did that breathless person had a chance to be thanked, or appreciated, or recognized during his existence? Because if he didn’t, I think that’s unfair, it’s definitely unfair. And if those people would try to repay him by talking all these crap during a person’s wake and burial - it’s too late, it’s undeniably late.

Though it is certainly too late for me to appreciate my dad, it’s still amazes me that he still has caused me to realize this and be reminded that it need not for a person to die to be appreciated, or to be acknowledged or be grateful for that person’s presence. Smile, thank, tap, kiss, hug and tell the person that you love him, that his existence is one of the things you are grateful for. It isn’t that hard to acknowledge other person’s kindness. Actually, it is as easy as when we point out their negative side which we often do, right? Do this to your parents, siblings, relatives, friends, or even to strangers who showed you acts of kindness before it’s too late. Though there is a saying that is better late than never, when it comes to death, late is as good as never.