Chelie

For the memory of my late grand father Mr. Adriano Grande Rivera…

Exactly 12:00 am of December 18, 2003 he took his last breath and passed away at Amang Rodriguez Hospital. The time I regret that I didn’t even touch his hand before he died.

My grand father that we called “tatay” (father in English) of all his grand children was a furniture painter. He became a guerilla before during a Japanese invasion. An authoritarian man according to his children who punished them for every mistake that they done. He changed for his grand children, different in the story of his own children. He’s the first person teach us how to ride a bicycle. Being an eldest grand daughter I became closest to him. I remembered when we’re small we putted our sock on there Christmas tree and the other day he will full it of coins and candies. A time he will cook fried rice in the morning and he will call all of us to eat. Sunday’s that he’s going to a cock fighting game, and when he won he will give us some “balato” (money from winning a game) and a dead cock that we will cook for lunch.

When he resigned in his work, he became more alcoholic who liked especially San Miguel beer. I hated him every weekends that visiting our house and sleep for us for two days. He will drink and drunk and after he will talk too much that I don’t like. A year after they transfer in the same place we’re living. In the morning I like visiting him because I’d like to share with him his breakfast. Years came that made him more old and his eyes was became more blurred but not a barrier for him to read an every day tabloid. Almost every day I’m in his house and chatting with him, a story of his younger years, World War II, how he studied, and a lot more. His older grand children including me called him George when his giving an advice for us or making joke for him. According to them he got a George name from his American employer before.

A day we noticed that he always massages his chest and kicked his feet. We didn’t give to much burden on that maybe its normal for a person whose getting old. Even his Robotic walk didn’t alarm us, because he’s not shouting for pain and didn’t ask for medical attention. For two years he keeps this for himself only and another morning he waked up that he cannot move his body. I saw him but I can’t stay for a long time looking at him for that situation. My uncle rushed him in the hospital according to the doctor he has a severe stroke. His a man who’s not shouting for pain and being strong until to the end because he know that we don’t have enough money. After three days he returned to the house and can take rest but his situation is remain the same. After one day we rushed him again in the hospital and no chance to live only the medical oxygen was keeping him alive. My grand mother is besides him and saying prayers for him and she asked him “if you are tired you can leave us now” after that he took his last breath. All of us are waiting for his remains, inside on his white coffin I saw his face lying peacefully. I cried silently, and ask forgiveness for sometime being rude for him.

A week before he died, I remembered his asking a cigarette and a choco nut in our store that my mother don’t like to give then say a word “A time I will die you will not give anymore”. Still I feel his soft hand that once I touched when I’m cutting his nail, words that he’s always tell for us. I feel regretful that he will not taste anymore the imported chocolate that I’m sending the things he wanted that I cannot give before.

Wherever you are “Tatay or George” I know you’re happy for us and your memory and love will remain in all of our hearts. Here I wrote your favorite quote; “The debt of Pedro is for Pedro only it will never be with Juan”.

Comfort and warm in my father’s back, a time that I always remind and almost two and half years that I didn’t make again.

Rough hand and feet that I need to massage every night and making him a cup of coffee that I idle to do.

Memoirs of my father and I has been my treasure to keep until my entire life and to share to the people that cherished to me. From a family of a farmer, doing farming that he hated to do, he chose to be a driver and then traveled to manila and he became a furniture carpenter that he’s uncle supposedly taught him. At my age of five my father always brought me and my older brother to his work shop that I always like, but mostly he brought me. The days that started the string that bonded for both of us were didn’t break even he work in Riyadh Saudi Arabia.

When I saw that his turning his back toward the departure area of the airport I didn’t cry.  I communicate to him thru letters, we don’t have phone that time. I’m seven and I terribly miss him, a fiesta that we’re going to a carnival, riding in caterpillar and horror train, playing coins game and watching trick shows. For straight four years I didn’t saw him.  Big surprised when I’m playing outside an airport taxi parking near in our area and my neighbor shouting on me and tell it is your father. I ran towards him even he didn’t saw me I hug him very tight on his back and I tell “Papa”. 

He always tells me a story, during his years in Riyadh that I’m the only one who listened to him.  Even I’m growing up, he always treating me as his little girl and until college he still beating me by a hanger if I’m don’t like to eat. A story when I’m young that he taught that I will die because I was born when I’m seven months and very small. One day he got angry with me, and told “you have a very high principle in life, what will happen when you become educated?” I did not reply I keep in my mind the answers.

We shared the happiness and bitterness, this sourness teaches me how to plan my own destiny. I saw how much he suffered when we are sick. His children are most important to him than his work. I saw on his face the tiredness and his small eyes becoming blurred. I cannot see him in despair and it’s my turn to let him feel the comfort that he didn’t experience even before. 

My father was a carpenter and my brother and I was his great master pieces from his tree, which he cut in to pieces and nailed to became well-built through years. The loved that he gave to us was not enough to be paid even a thousand money or expensive things. Loved is to be paid by love, and he know how much I gave this to him, not he sip my nose when  I am a baby because I cannot breathed or chewed the peanuts and feed me.

I am proud to be a carpenter daughter, without him I will not be what I am now. I even didn’t tell to him these four words “I Love You Papa!”