You might think kids, in their hyperspace drive mode during play time, would have little comprehension at all the changes happening around them. After all, even with limited and still-developing motor skills, they tend to go full-automatic at all times.
Almost twenty-three years ago, our son, about three years old then, loved to run non-stop inside my parents’ spacious house where we still lived. When we eventually transferred to our mere 36.5 square meter single in the south part of the city, he tried the same maneuver; run full speed upon entering the front door,
then only to be suddenly stopped by the wall at the back We had laughed at his puzzled look. I also remember our equally-hyperactive apo, Kael, who also loved to run around that same house, speeding across the same living room until he stopped at a now-suddenly empty corner where our late father's bed was. With the same puzzled look like that of my son’s many years ago, he exclaimed “where’s grandpa?” Reminds me of a meme I once read, “Crazy how the spirit knows something is wrong, before you physically see it.” How accurate is that, without any warning or fanfare, everything can change. Just like that.
For so many years, even when mom was still alive, Sundays had always been the time for our regular bolt-in at the family’s main house we fondly dubbed the Mothership. It did not matter where you lived, Gensan or Manila, if you were able, then Sunday was the perfect day to come visit. During them days, while the
elders indulged in Mahjongg and some of the yuppies gathered around a beer table, the growing kids ran around the yard with their own ideas of fun.
When mom passed away in 07, Sunday visits became more than just a traditional event for the family. Instinctively, everyone felt that our lone pilot, my dad needed more emotional support than ever, not only from us but also from the apple of his eyes, the grandkids. In the years that followed, he doted over his grandchildren, then his great grandchildren and eventually, the great-greats. For a long time, because he loved to shower them with treats and ice cream, we literally enjoyed what I would call our very own ice-cream Sundays.
I recall that during the last time I bid him goodbye, I said that I couldn’t get near because I had the sniffles and it wasn’t good idea. Then, just when the continuous string of weekend joys had seemed to stretch on despite limitations set by the pandemic, he was gone. Just like that.
Last Sunday was supposed to be his 95th birthday and once again, we gathered at his house. The lanai, where he usually held court, while propped in the ancient rocking chair, had now been turned into everyone's favorite karaoke spot. Surely, he wouldn't have minded that at all. In the past , it was only the nieces and nephews who hugged the mikes and that was all good. Now, it would have gladdened him no end to see his great grandchildren putting in a song or two. As the Sunday afternoon signaled it was time for us to go, it was only then I noticed, his chair hadn't been occupied the whole time. Or perhaps, who knows, our old man had been there all along.
