A beautiful life, a beautiful death

My father did not live very long, passing on to heaven at the age of 60. But if his life on earth were measured by magnificent moments, it would surpass the mere number of years. Because my daddy, Vincent P. Dayrit, lived his joyful life to the fullest, making the most of every God-given moment.

He left this world 16 years ago, yet hardly a day goes by without a vivid memory of him fluttering around my heart. He was a caring soul who did everything out of love for us, watched over us, prepared what was best for us.

He was a relentless mentor who directed his five children until the very end. Love was his motivation, family togetherness, his burning passion. His family was his priority, forever top of his mind, king and queens of his heart.

 He appeared tough on the outside but for those who managed to peek inside, he was a sweet chocolate-covered marshmallow to those he loved. He was generous and thoughtful. More than receiving, he found true joy in giving.  He taught us our first lesson in stewardship by constantly reminding us to work hard, take our business seriously because many depended on us. He said the money he made allowed him to be generous to others. You cannot share what you do not have.

His employees loved working for him that they stayed in the company for extended years. His father’s driver Mang Ben who taught him how to drive at 13 remained with him for a lifetime. Mang Ben’s three children also joined the company. So thoughtful was he with big as well as little things that touched people’s hearts. Our sales supervisor Jovy has a fond memory of him playfully rolling hot penoy and balut as a late night TV snack to all the stay-in staff.  Whatever he enjoyed, he wanted others to enjoy, too.

As adventurous wide-eyed teenagers, protective Daddy was our very first date to the latest discos and bars. He enjoyed meeting our friends, listening to our stories, graciously hosting all our soirees. Our family home was a favorite party venue where friends loved to gather, a happy place where Daddy kept us safe.

Every time a daughter got engaged, he spent sleepless nights in turmoil badgering our mother who patiently held his hand while he painfully lamented, “Why do my daughters have to leave me to get married?” When our only brother got engaged, he decided to renew wedding vows with our mother on the same day resulting in a dramatic double wedding. That was Dad, our drama king with flair.

When his daughters married, he missed them being home that he would borrow us from our husbands to enjoy our company on trips abroad. Then there were the annual trips he loved to plan, when he would take the entire clan. His only requirement was everyone had to be complete including the grandchildren he was absolutely crazy about.

Daddy made our lives beautiful. He anticipated all our needs.  As a little girl in pain after my first tooth extraction,  a bad haircut,  a dreaded math test,  or  through growing up years tinged with anxiety or disappointments, I would run to my parents’ room. Their doors were always open and their hearts were always ready to receive us whenever we needed them. Ever a great comfort, Dad was always ready for late night or morning chats. He always had a solution to every problem as well as a stash of goodies waiting for his children. He fed us ice cream and chocolates while imparting countless words of wisdom and encouragement, interspersed with humor. He never failed to remind me of how much he loved me. He was my sunshine on a gloomy day.

 With Daddy around, life was so wonderful. But on this one rainy day I woke up feeling something was wrong. Dad had a nagging cough that wasn’t going away. He claimed it was nothing. But deep down inside I knew he refused to deal with it because he was then more concerned about taking care of our dearest mother. She had been battling terminal cancer for months and he was doing everything in his power to keep her comfortable.

One day as we were climbing the hospital stairs to visit her he stopped on the third flight gasping for breath. His good friend Dr. Simon Sawit immediately sent him for a chest X-ray. The results showed a lung filled with fluid. It was a mirror of Mom’s. Except his was on the left, hers was on the right.  The diagnosis was the same: both my parents had lung cancer stage 4. Mom’s cancer, we found out months earlier, had metastasized to the lining of her brain. Dad’s, as was discovered in the days ahead, had metastasized to the lining of his heart.

“It can’t be. I have to take care of your mother,” he trailed off. I knew, though it was unspoken in the beginning, he was thinking of us too.

He had reasons to explore other options to fight to stay alive.  He told my Ate Jaqui and me to keep watch over mom day and night while our  younger siblings  accompanied him to Stanford. His best friend in California Norman Turley thoughtfully made all the arrangements needed to keep his best buddy comfortable.

The terminal diagnosis came and he went back to Manila immediately.

On the first month, he valiantly fought for his life but when he realized this was a battle he couldn’t win, he humbly turned to God in total surrender. He called upon his spiritual adviser Father Gerard Deveza to prepare him to meet his maker. What transpired was a beautiful story of God’s love.

“What do you want me to do for you?” Father gently asked.

Daddy replied, “I just want you to prepare me spiritually. And, Father, will I be saved?”

“Yes, Ting. Don’t worry our merciful God gives us this kind of opportunity to be sorry for our sins.” 

This was indeed a turning point for Dad. After receiving absolution, his worried face turned radiant as it took on a peaceful countenance. God’s divine intervention began.

For one so accustomed to being in command and taking charge of those around him, it was most difficult for Dad to be bedridden. Yet somehow God allowed him this special time as a priceless gift of love to our family — away from worldly distractions, in his hospital room next to Mom’s. We were given a chance to care for him and our mom in those last four blessed months that the Almighty granted. It was a time for Dad to prepare us and to say goodbye in the best way he knew how. The outpouring of love went on and on and on. He requested our brother to sleep in the hospital room right directly across his so they could talk to each other day and night. Daily, his four daughters would come to him and he gave us all directions on what he wanted us to do what direction to take what decisions to make. He told us to write down all our questions. Answering all of them he continued to advise us on everything under the sun. He even had dialogues with our spouses.  

He would gather us together around his bed repeatedly telling his five children, “Take care of each other.” He gently added, “And take care of our people.” He would check on mom; and write her love letters. One specific letter said: “My dearest Mila, I will marry you again in heaven.”

We knew their time on earth was up and we had to let them go. Through constant prayer and thanksgiving, we received immense consolation from God. Fear and pain were replaced with deep faith, trust and merciful peace that settled sweetly into our hearts because suddenly we knew exactly where our beloved parents were headed. They were destined for a happy new home, where God was waiting to marry them again in heaven.

On June 28, 1998, Dad made his graceful exit.

Twenty days later, Mom slipped away on July 18 ( a few hours before his birthday) just in time for their sacred wedding date.

As we bade them a loving farewell, my youngest sister Yvonne wrote in her eulogy: 

 â€œThank you Mom and Dad for showing us not only how beautiful life can be but also how beautiful death can be.”

(Would love to hear from you at miladayjewels@yahoo.com.)