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| When Papu made it to my book launch in 2017 |
Today, I remember my father, a retired public school teacher who served in the public school system for thirty years, more or less. He is 72 years old now and is recovering from a stroke from four years ago. Such things recur when untended. With the pandemic barring him from regular medical check up, therapy and consultations, the symptoms seem to be compounding. We keep faith and hope afloat. We pray and dream of better days to come.
While he is still able to text me, to call me and chat through Mamu online, my Papu has lost so much weight and his joyful personality has dimmed. In his younger days, he was full of life and the sun lived through his eyes. I seldom saw him upset. He was very good with his hands - wood work, handy repairs, gardening, caring for animals and raising pigs and poultry. When I was six, he made me a wooden swing inside our house and I became the envy of all my cousins. I did not know that it was called love back then. The work he did. The tasks he could do. It was his language of love.
As an elementary teacher, he was strict. He was very traditional and yet, he earned the respect of students, peers and the entire school community. I knew it because when I visit him at work, his students and co-teachers treated me special. I have always loved the attention. I basked in it. Recently, a high school friend sent a PM on Messenger. He was my Papu's former student. Although we chatted about publishing and the book industry, he asked about "Sir Calimag" before closing on the convo. I told him how he is. No sugar coating. My classmate offered help in anyway he can. I, of course declined but thanked him for the generous gesture.
Two years ago, he made an effort to see me and my family. He stayed with us for a while. He repaired the old bike. He cleaned the yard. He made the plants grow. Those days were golden.
Reality caught up on Papu and he had to return where he started. I made a promise to myself to walk with him despite the distance in small steps. I do not know if I am fulfilling the promise only that, when he calls, I respond. I wonder if this is enough.
