In memoriam

My father, Blamar, would have turned 78 today, but days ago, his gentle soul decided, as his favorite song goes, to go on a summer holiday. For good. Off to the great beyond.

Saul Bellow said that losing a parent is something like driving through a plate-glass window. You didn’t know it was there until it shattered, and then for years to come you’re picking up the pieces – down to the last glassy splinter.

It’s a paralyzing feeling of immense loss. One of the two people who brought us into this world, cared for us and nurtured us to survive it, and thrive, is now gone.

But with his death, we also celebrate his life – a man who loved us in his own sweet way that was second to none; a man who taught us life skills to help navigate a complex world and who taught us how to survive almost everything in this thing called life – hopefully including his absence.

His lessons were mostly practical. He taught me and my siblings how to drive, how to get out of road mishaps and how to get ourselves out of trouble, which came in handy during street brawls or encounters with strangers. He taught us how to deal with people from all walks of life. He taught us what to do in case of emergencies.

He was also my personal Rescue 911 and boy, did he come swiftly, all the time without fail, wherever I was. He saved me many times – be it car trouble or a heartbreak.

When my siblings and I were kids, he and my mom often brought us to crowded places – Christmas bazaars and carnivals.

As kids, we often got lost in the crowd because we were young and restless.

To find our way back, he came up with a signature whistle and all we needed to do was to follow his voice whistling in the madding crowd.

With that sound, our daddy was like the Pied Piper, luring us back home whenever we lost our way – in crowds and in life.

Our father was also a very funny man. He gave us belly-aching laughter with his antics and all. He was funny, without even trying.

When the number coding scheme was implemented, as a journalist, I was lucky to have a PRESS sticker on my windshield and thus, I could drive every day.

He asked me to make him one for his windshield. I said that was not possible because it was only for members of the press. But my father had a bright idea.

How about, he said, I just print on a bond paper the words, DO NOT PRESS with the “PRESS” typed in a bigger font? “DO NOT” would be typed in a really small font so that from afar you could only see “PRESS.” That gave me a good laugh. He was kinda serious. That made me laugh even more.

When people ask me what my father did for a living, there is no single answer. He was in the corporate world in his early years and later on, became a contractor who built houses to sell. He had exceptional auto mechanical and carpentry skills. He was, in a way, a jack-of-all-trades.

In his sunset years, he created curio items out of old wood – pots, bookshelves, chairs, tables and more.

Someone once said your work can be your prayer. I think that our daddy’s work was his prayer because he was most at peace while creating. It was his own spiritual act.

Speaking of creating and spirituality, he actually created his own prayer: “Jesus, mercy, Mary help. Lord, thank you for this day.”

At night before ending the day, he and my mother prayed together. “This completed our day every day,” my mother said.

Some of my father’s happiest moments in his last two years were receiving our family’s University of the Philippines Alumni Award in August last year, receiving the Upsilon Sigma Phi Noble and Outstanding Award bestowed on his father, Jorge, in February this year in Malacañang and going on a Marian pilgrimage across Europe with my mother.

Early this month, for his birthday, I gifted him and my mother a trip to Iloilo, his hometown. He went back to his birthplace and to the places of his childhood. His circle of life had come full circle.

On the last day of his wake, his beloved Upsilon fraternity Brods gave my father the traditional final rites.

We are certain he was very happy that his Brods were there, especially his batchmates (Upsilon Batch ‘66) including Tony Cailao, Efren Gancayco, Boy Pimentel (via Zoom), Jess Yabes and Toy Palarca. And many more Brods.

Both Jess and Toy were among the batchmates he enjoyed spending time with at Cubao Rangers, a fellowship of Upsilonians held every Thursday, which my mother said made him very happy.

It was a younger Brod, Joe Rabago, who made sure he was updated on goings-on in Cubao Rangers and other fellowships.

The final rites were solemn and beautiful, with his beloved Brods present, his casket adorned with pink roses and us, his family, beside him.

During the rites, his lone living brother Benny, also an Upsilonian, answered for him when his name was called. “I answer for Blamar Gonzales for he is now resting.”

As was said in the rites, “we grieve the loss, yet at the same time, we are at peace with ourselves – for he knows the peace which we will not know for the rest of our normal lives.”

Rest well, our dear Daddy.

Your light is now scattered, somewhere across the universe, between your heart and ours – a thousand glistening lights, shining brightly until the end of time.

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Email: [email protected]. Follow her on X @eyesgonzales. Column archives at EyesWideOpen on FB.