Sabado, Agosto 29

Remembering Dad: One of the Few Constants of my Days

I write belatedly about Dad's last birthday because I was too overwhelmed on the day itself. A poem from ee cummings depicts almost exactly who my dad was to me.

my father moved through dooms of love
ee cummings

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm
newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.
Scorning the pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.
My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why men breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all



They often say: " absence makes the heart grow fonder". But in our case, your absence did not have that effect. Or at least, I cannot imagine being more fond of you than I already am.

If your absence has indeed encouraged fondness, it has encouraged my love for the things you believed in. The "bottom lines of life" that you and mommy stressed when I was growing up were what I took up eventually; though I resisted them in my teens.

You believed in improving the human condition. In compassion and courage. You believed God was a God of justice. You always said: "To be Christian is to be relevant in today's world. Faith will compell you to action, anak. It will push you towards helping the destitute, to fighting for them if need be. Simply because you cannot imagine Jesus doing otherwise."

I am thankful Dad. I am thankful you gave me the support I needed when I decided what I finally wanted to make of myself, the course I wanted to take, the politics I believed in and saw the people I wanted to serve. You and mommy bore the brunt of comments and eyebrow raises from our relatives and friends when I made these choices. But you never took it against me that I became someone who did not fit in our family's perceptions of a good daughter.

I am grateful, Dad. I am grateful you let me be and you trusted me to discover the world on my own.

I am grateful you told me that women should be strong. That the world was full of opportunities for men to dominate. That to face a cruel world, a woman must be prepared and ready to strike. Though I only see the truth of your words today, I am happy to have been forewarned.

You taught me that I must never relent, never back down and never compromise what I believe in for trifles. You taught me to make few enemies and to mark them well. You often said: no matter what happens; I would get past anything life put in my path. If people think I am stubborn, they are welcome to blame you for it.

Dad, I miss you everyday. I miss all your advice. I miss all your jokes. I miss the instances people point out how much we look alike. I miss your text messages and your puttering about the house. I miss having a designated driver, a Dad who let me party but insisted I be picked up lest I roam the streets drunk and alone.

Missing you has become the norm. It is not a choice consciously made. It is something that just is. But though I miss you, I have to prod on. I have to work on the things you set me out to do. I have yet to become the person you encouraged me to be. I have yet prove to you that all your advice was not wasted on me.


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