Dear Papang

You were a perfect father. I am an imperfect son.

I am sorry for all my shortcomings.

I am sorry for raising my voice every time you scatter the extension cord on the floor.

I am really sorry when I get mad at you sometimes.

I am sorry for all the things I failed to do for,and give to you.

We, as father-and-son, were not the type who hug each other and say I-love-you to one another, so allow me to shout it out now: on behalf of Mamang, Manong, and Manang, I love you, Papang ko!

Helping you get out of bed during your last few days gave me a chance to hug you, feel your warmth and smell your scent.

Humble. Diligent. Intelligent. Generous.

These words, I think, best describe you. I could cite and enumerate more but my tears are now starting to fall, so I must stop lest I drown in my own tears.

Did you ever know that my style in writing was basically influenced by you (although over time, I found my own technique)? When I was in grade school, since I could not even compose a sentence then, I let you do my homework whenever we were required to write an essay.

You had the noblest profession. You dedicated 40 (or more) years of your life to teaching. As your son, I am very proud of that.

You have been very patient with us. We, your three children and Mamang, can never repay your sacrifices for us.

You never failed to drive me to the bus station on Mondays (when I go to Cabagan for work) even if it means you waking up very early. Thank you for doing that. I could not have asked for more.

What sets you apart from most of the fathers I know is the fact that you perform household chores: doing the laundry, cooking, washing the dishes, going to the market, etc.

You were so kind to everyone. Sana naging masamang damo ka na lang para mas mahaba pa ang buhay mo. If I could trade my life for you, I would do it, definitely. 

Your seven siblings were lucky to have you as their eldest brother because you had supported them financially.

Our lives will never be the same without you. We will never be as happy as we were when you were here. We will no longer hear your opinions or comments regarding current events and mundane things.

Who are we going to consult when we need to make major decisions? How are we supposed to celebrate your birthdays from now on?

It breaks my heart to even continue finishing this piece.

I miss you very much. I miss your smiles (though you rarely smiled and laughed, which makes it all the more precious) and your dad-jokes.

I am not used to seeing your chair or bed empty. It is as if you are still coming back.

Now, I can only see your face, feel your touch and hear your voice in my dreams so, maybe, I will sleep more just to make myself believe that you are not gone, and that you are still with us. – Leonard Kristian Mesa Gelacio, San Fermin, Cauayan City, Isabela