To the first man I loved and lost
For over a decade, I have always felt like I have been shouting my Father’s Day messages to the wind. I never stopped posting on social media even though I knew my Tatay will never reply.
After 12 years, I now ask myself if what I have been doing every third week of June has been worth it. But I realized, it is indeed worth the time and effort, to honor my Tatay and to speak on behalf of those who, like me, likely dread waking up that Sunday because it doesn’t really feel like Father’s Day. So let me share a letter I would have sent to my Tatay if he were here to celebrate this day:
Tatay,
You are my first love, the first to make me feel valued, safe, and secure, the first to stand up for me and protect me.
But you were also the first man I have ever lost. It was the first time my chest hurt so bad, it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. It was also the first time I slept at night without any idea on how to live the next day. Losing you was the worst heartbreak I had. I wasn’t even sure if I would ever recover from it.
But this is the heartbreak I never want to move on from. I am afraid to move on because I do not want to wake up one day and realize that I no longer remember the sound of your voice, your smile and laughter, the features of your face. I fear the day I might stop talking about you and letting people know how great a dad you were.
An officemate once told me that human beings die twice: First is when the physical body loses life, and the second is when people have already stopped talking about them. That’s when I promised myself not to let you die the second time.
I will never get tired telling my nieces and nephews of the kind of Lolo you were. How you did not mind their soiled diapers and loud cries. How you have looked at them like they were the cutest creatures in the world.
When the one for me finally came, I was so happy to introduce you to him. I always tell him about the kind of husband you were to Nanay. How you have always held her hand while walking. How you snuggled together when it was too cold. How you have always stood up for her especially when things got chaotic. How, even in your death bed, you told her that she was your greatest medicine.
When I start my own family, I will make sure my husband knows what kind of father you were. How you have always fought for me. How you cried in every graduation ceremony and even dance recital just because you were proud of me. How you have let me live in a dorm while in college even if it broke your heart to see me go. How you never pressured me to be the best but always reminded me to enjoy what I do. I will recount stories of how you and Nanay did parenting so well like a dance for two.
Once I have my own kids, I will let them know how you would have loved (and would have spoiled) them. How you would secretly buy them the toys we refuse to give them. How you would set aside their favorite part of the chicken or fish. How you would have asked Nanay to prepare their favorite dishes whenever we would come to visit.
And above everything, I promise to love them as you have loved our family. I think that’s the best legacy of yours that I can pass on.
And for the rest of my life, I will never get tired of honoring you every Father’s Day, letting the world know about all these.
As the cliché goes, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
And yes, 17 years are indeed too short to spend with you. But I am thankful that you have maximized that time to fill me with love so that I have more to give to others. Your love is your legacy, and it will never be lost.
Zarrel Gel Noza, 28, lost her dad when she was 17. She is a communications specialist and project coordinator in an international research organization.
