A father’s legacy

MANILA, Philippines - Literature enthralls me, and a subject such as my favorite book immediately brings to mind the memory of a wonderful man, an educator who — knowing fully well the tests and difficulties along the road to maturity — in my tender years steered my inclinations toward nobler concerns.

Of the arts, he allured me with the beauty of the written word.  When I was in grade school, he first fascinated me with the rhythmic poems of Longfellow, such as “The Arrow and The Song,” “A Psalm of Life,” and “The Day is Done.” He would read me a poem with feelings, emphatic as he declaimed the melodic lines, explaining their deeper meanings afterwards.  He once asked me to memorize Edgar Allan Poe’s “Annabel Lee,” and it enchained my young heart.

He continued to sustain my interest in literature. In high school we went further taking up such more profound works as Poe’s perfectly metered “The Raven,” Elizabeth Browning’s captivating “How Do I Love Thee,” Ben Johnson’s craving in “A Song to Celia,” and Thomas Gray’s soliloquy on life-and-death in “An Elegy Written In a Country Church-Yard.”  We then took up the succinct simplicity and soulful sincerity of Abraham Lincoln.  Of course, we were made to recite the “Gettysburg Address” in class, but it was Lincoln’s ‘’Letter to Mrs. Bixby,“ mother of five sons who all perished in the American Civil War, that touched me most.

It was at about this time that my sister in the US, who had learned of my penchant for literature, sent me a nine-volume Grolier.  I was particularly attracted to the volume entitled A Treasury of the Familiar.  As denoted by the title, the book contains the most loved and appreciated pieces of literature including poems, sonnets, essays and choice Bible verses.  When I became a professional, this book became part of my mini-library, put in a special place alongside the Bible, which I used to read daily.

Speaking of the Bible, in the beginning it did not quite attract me as literature and history did.  Providentially, however, on a special occasion a couple-friend presented me with the book Life Application Study Bible, published by the Tyndale House Publishers Inc. of Illinois, USA.  Impressed by the exhaustive presentation of the Bible, with its all-embracing annotations, footnotes, illustrations and in-depth research, a daily perusal is a regular preoccupation on my part.

My father, and I had a uniquely cordial relationship. He was kind and gentle, never ever having uttered harsh words, much less beaten me even when I committed adolescent acts of indiscretions.  He always had a way of delivering me a message that effectively brought me to my senses.  He framed and posted in my bedroom two poems: Rudyard Kipling’s “If” and “Polonius’ Advice to His Son” from Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

In his 80s my father still had a sharp mind and a retentive memory.  At 86, however, a devastating blow hit the family when he was diagnosed with stage-4 cancer.  A physician-friend, a lung specialist, advised against subjecting the old man to chemotherapy.  It would only entail for him untold discomforts and inconveniences.

 â€œIf he were my own father,” the doctor said, “I would bring him home, get all his loved ones together and make him feel love and care in his more or less month-long time to live.”

It was a sad reunion for the family in a sister’s spacious house in Quezon City.  We held nightly religious services.  We asked his few esteemed friends to give him a moment of their time to reminisce with him.  We served him his favorite food until we noticed his waning appetite.  He refused to be assisted in getting up, or when he strolled around the yard.  In the afternoons as the sun descended in the lonely west, he would sit in his rocking chair at the azotea with his eyes focused far, far away and above.  He knew he was going, though we never talked about it.

One early evening after the usual prayer meeting, when he could no longer stand up by himself, he asked to be brought to his room.  My mother, sisters and I joined him there, and from his bed he talked to my mother most of the time, my sisters and me.  His blood pressure began to drop, slowly though.  My mother and sisters after some time, unable to bear seeing him go, moved to an adjacent room where they gave vent to their grieving hearts.  As those desolate hours dragged us deeper into the night, yielding to destiny’s unforgiving verdict, I sat on a low chair beside the bed and held my father’s hand.

Surprisingly, he recited some poetic lines and asked me to guess the title of the poem.  I obliged, giving him the author, too.  Then I understood what he wanted.  I recited a poem and he gave me its title and author.  We played the game for about half-an-hour, the most precious and unforgettable game that I ever played in all my life!  Then when it was his turn again, he started to recite:

So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan …

I knew the poem and I was struck under the circumstance, I could not help but let loose his hand and I ran to the kitchen restroom where I cried my heart out.  His message was clear.  Composing myself I returned to the room and resumed our little game with just a few more poems.  Soon, his blood pressure dropped more often until he could no longer speak audibly.  He was trying to whisper something to my ear, which I could not now comprehend anymore.  Slowly, he was going down, and as I watched him catching his breath, I did not know anymore what to wish for.  As the wall clock chimed the hour of six in the early morning, my father — mentor, that wonderful man, breathed his last.

The poem that he started to recite that sent me rushing to the restroom to hide my emotions  comes from the ultimate stanza of William Cullen Bryant’s “Thanatopsis,” which reads in full:

So live, that when they summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan that moves

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustain’d and sooth’d

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

THIS WEEK’S WINNER

Atty. Guillermo T. Maglaya, Sr. is a graduate of Journalism in 1961 from UST and  Law in 1966 from UE. He became a member of the Philippine Bar the following year.  He joined the NBI in 1969, where he held positions such as chief of staff  at the Director’s Office, and concurrently head of Information Division from 1975-1986.  He also worked at the DOTC and LTO. He has five children and 13 grandchildren.