This is about a letter that my father wrote to my eldest son 14 years ago, when my son was only a year old. A letter that was never sent... until recently.
You see, 14 years ago, my husband and I, with our then one-year old son, set out to start a new life in Canada, leaving behind our parents, siblings, relatives and friends in the Philippines. It was a difficult time as we said goodbye to the people who have been a big part of our lives since the day we were born. We have gone back and visited the Philippines a few times since, and the loneliness and difficulty of being thousands of miles apart have somehow faded – but never really went away.
Last April, my father passed away, after a five-year battle with cancer. My eldest Miguel, now 15, and youngest Gabriel, 13, saw their Lolo (grandpa) for the last time in February, when our entire family visited the Philippines once again as my dad's illness took a turn for the worst.
Patience has never been my greatest virtue, and I couldn't wait for the letter to arrive in the mail so I asked my niece to send me a photo of the letter. I read it last night, and then I cried myself to sleep.
The two-page letter was an outpouring of my father's emotions, divulging his innermost thoughts about the day my family of three left for Canada. The stern disciplinarian, my father was never one to show his emotions and vulnerability in front of his children. That demeanour somehow changed and softened with every grandchild born to the family. The strict, authoritarian parent gradually peeled off his layers to reveal a loving, funny and overprotective grandfather.
"Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild," a Welsh proverb goes. I probably will not know how it feels to have a grandchild, until I have one of my own. But I know now how my father felt knowing his grandson will never truly know and feel the love flowing out of a grandparent – not physically anyway.
Reading my dad's letter addressed to his little "Miggy," which I have yet to translate to my son (it was written in Tagalog), I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for moving my children so far away from their grandparents. But my dad's words also gave me assurance that he understands and supports our decision. Despite the pain, despite the longing to hold his small grandson in his arms again, he knew that we made a good choice for our family.
With my father gone, the guilt of somehow depriving my boys of the love and pampering of a grandparent has resurfaced. But I take comfort in knowing that although we were thousands of miles apart, my children grew up knowing and loving their grandparents in the Philippines. I thank technology for that. When they were little, the exercise of writing and sending letters to their grandparents and their cousins excited them. The anticipation of getting letters from their distant family inspired them to write more. These exchanges eventually transitioned to the more instantly gratifying Facetime, Facebook and Skype communications. My boys grew up knowing their family in the Philippines so they were never strangers to one another.
I miss my father dearly. It breaks my heart every time I realize he is no longer on earth. It now breaks even more to realize how much it had pained him to live so far away from his grandchildren. I hope seeing his grandchildren for the last time had given him some level of happiness in his last moments. I wish I was able to spend more time with him. I wish I took more trips back to the Philippines than we did in the last 14 years. I wish my father is still here. All I have now are my memories, the fondest of which are those times when we would sit in the backyard talking about anything and everything.
If you are one of the lucky ones and your grandparents are still alive and well, give them a big hug and let them know how much you appreciate their love.
