Daddy’s Gone :( Daddy’s Gone? From a Son in Honor of His Father: In Memoriam – A.A.S.K.

(written for the funeral mass on April 25, 2013)

My phone emitted a familiar beep as I got to church last Sunday before 10 am, Canadian Eastern time. When I checked, it had a terse message from Manila: “Daddy’s gone.”  ……   Although I was expecting that for a long time, there’s really no easy way to accept the death of someone, especially if that person is your father. It becomes all the more difficult when you’ve just spent two weeks at his bedside, witnessing how he was slowly but surely fading away. Still, I didn’t see it coming. During my two week stay, Dad’s situation actually became more stable and the dominant thought I had as I flew back to Canada on April 17^th was: Daddy’s eventually going to be discharged from the hospital. And then … he was gone, just like that. When you live half-way around the world, it’s not the easiest thing to travel again and be present at his funeral on the spur of the moment for many reasons, hence, my absence today.

Since then, I’ve just been trying to wrap my mind around that one liner “Daddy’s gone.” The reality of death is blunt but, unfortunately, very real, although for me Daddy’s death is still surreal. It’s like I’m in a dream where the border between reality and fantasy is blurred.

Daddy’s Gone?

However, as I look more deeply into the matter, something tells me that, in another sense, the line “Daddy’s gone” is profoundly untrue because the truth of the matter is that, when seen through the eyes of faith, Daddy has actually moved on to a higher dimension of existence. Daddy’s not gone; he has just “gone beyond” or transcended the limits of a frail, sick body and the chains of time and space.

The day after daddy died, our four year old daughter, Haj, woke up with the words, “I had a dream about Lolo. He became a superhero! He was flying in the air with you, mommy and me.” It hits me now that little Haj just expressed in her own way what I just said: her lolo was no longer constrained by the normal restrictions that limit our existence as humans on earth – lolo was now, as she put it, a “superhero.”

We’re All Connected

Daddy’s land, Japan, is one of the great Buddhist nations on earth. So let me dig into this tradition for enlightenment. One of Buddhism’s main principles is what is known in Japanese as Kū (空) or Mu (無) “Emptiness" "Nothingness”. The Principle of Nothingness teaches that nothing or no one exists as a completely separate thing or person. No, everything and every single person exists only as part of a whole ‘matrix’ or ‘web’ or ‘network’ of relationships with other persons and other things. In short, we’re all interconnected. Everyone lives on in everyone and everything else!

To put that in a simpler way, when you look deeply at a sheet of paper, you realize that you can see lots of other things in it. You see the tree from which we made the paper. You see the logger who cut down the tree (now that I’ve mentioned that, yes, daddy was some kind of logger at a certain point in his life!). You see the water which made the tree grow. You see the soil which provided the right environment for the tree. You see the air; you see the animals; you see the forest; of course, you also see the sun without which nothing can grow. In short, when you touch the sheet of paper, you touch all the other things connected with the paper. So just because the sheet of paper is on your desk, it doesn’t mean that it and only it is present there and the other things connected with it are gone. They’re not gone; they’re actually also there in the paper. In short, when you hold the paper and it is night, you still touch the sunshine in the paper.

Now look at all of you gathered here today. You’re here because your lives have connected in some way with the person we knew as A.S.K.. He may have been your spouse or your father, your grandpa, or your uncle. He may have been your friend, your boss, or your associate. You may not have known him personally, but you may have only known his wife, his son or daughter, his grandson or granddaughter. You might have only known his niece or his friend. It doesn’t matter. The Principle of Nothingness states that whatever the circumstances, you still have touched A.S.K. as well. And you are here because of that.

So look around you, not superficially but deeply. And you will see that daddy is not gone at all. He is still all around you. He’s very much present within us, among us, here and now.

Here I am in London, Canada, typing away at my computer, far removed from where the action is in Manila, wishing that I could be there with you at my father’s funeral. Now let me pause a bit and look at myself, at my face, at my heart. … Wait! Who did I just see there? I blink and stare again. Didn’t I just see Daddy? But of course! His genes are in me.

More importantly, let me look at my heart. For all my faults and limitations, I see some things that make me happy – like the capacity for friendship, love, affection, dedication, caring. Having been trained to be a celibate, I wasn’t confident about myself in the spousal and parenting fields. But ever since I myself became a spouse and a parent, I pleasantly realized that there were vast resources for love and caring within me. Where’d all this come from? Yes, of course from God. But there is a venerable Catholic tradition that says “nothing can be present in the mind unless first in the senses” (Nihil in intellectu nisi prius in sensu) and my very loose paraphrase of that is: You cannot really learn anything unless you have first experienced it yourself. So I look deeply again and … whoah! …. Who did I just see there? Again, it’s the face of daddy that I’m staring at.

Daddy’s Subtle Gestures of Caring

  As many of you know, the Japanese are not good in showing their emotions. That doesn't mean though that they have no emotions. They just express emotions more subtly, hence, one should be very observant of the slightest actions or smallest gestures because they may contain very profound messages.

  I remember two subtle yet profound gestures of Daddy for me. The first is a Christmas memory. One Christmas season, Dad, my younger brother Allan and I went for Christmas shopping. While we were going around the stalls looking at different things, a GI Joe doll caught my attention. Since I was old enough to take note of prices, I noticed that the GI Joe seemed a bit too expensive. I'm pretty sure daddy was observing me as I continually looked with longing at a toy that I knew was out of the budget because of its price. So it was daddy who finally made the move and asked, "Do you like that?"

  Of course, trying hard to be a good boy, I dutifully answered, "Yes but it's too expensive."

Daddy's response to that as far as I can remember was, "Di bale na (the price doesn't matter), why don't you get it?"

That may seem like an insignificant incident from long ago but for some reason, as I think about Daddy now, this memory keeps coming to mind. I distinctly remember feeling profoundly moved and, in my own boyish way, I felt that I mattered more to daddy than money or the budget.

  The second memory is more significant, significant because, as many of you know, when I decided to enter the seminary at 12 years old, I broke daddy’s heart. If you recall, he wanted me to go to Japan, learn Japanese and eventually succeed him in the family business. Now when I was ordained a priest in Tokyo in 1995, after the ordination day festivities, at a certain point, daddy and I happened to be alone, walking to the hotel room where my mother and youngest brother were waiting. As we were walking, daddy just very off-handedly and nonchalantly remarked in Japanese, nay, in his native Kansai-ben (the Kansai area dialect), "Mukashi, iro-iro attan ya kedo, kimi wa yo-- yatta wa' (to translate, We've been through a lot but ... you've done well." Of course, in proper Japanese style, I just grunted, "ah..." In keeping with traditional Japanese emotional sobriety, that doesn't seem like a big deal, but there and then I was aware that in those few words, all the time of my stormy relationship with daddy had been forgiven. Daddy had given me the most significant sign that he was very proud of me, that he was giving me the greatest encouragement and approval that he could ever give. Again, as I look back, this memory makes me profoundly grateful.

I’m sure my mom and my siblings have more interesting stories to tell. It would be worth asking them in the days to come.

So when I catch myself looking at my wife or my daughter now with love and tenderness, sometimes I ask myself: Where’d this come from? I wasn’t trained for this … And then I sense a presence, the presence of someone who was a hard-working spouse and father, who always tried his best to get whatever was good and useful for his wife and children, who helped us in our homework, covered our books, treated us to great meriendas, gave us travel tips, was overly generous with his treasure, gave us an example of a solid work ethic, stuck it out with us through all the ups and downs of life … all this because he loved and cared for us … Oh yes, I feel very strongly this presence it almost gives me goose bumps. No, daddy’s not gone; he’s here … in the love I’ve experienced, in the love I feel. Nothing else to do but bow Japanese-style and say, “Arigato!” or in his native Kansai-ben, “Ōki-ni!”

Continuous Presence

This principle I’ve been describing is not only Buddhism, if you have a taste for country music, check out the song from the country band Lonestar entitled “I’m Already There.” (click link to hear music and see lyrics)

I'm already there 
Take a look around 
I'm the sunshine in your hair 
I'm the shadow on the ground 
I'm the whisper in the wind 

And I know I'm in your prayers 
Oh I'm already there 

I'm already there 
Don't make a sound 
I'm the beat in your heart 
I'm the moonlight shining down 
I'm the whisper in the wind 
And I'll be there until the end 
Can you feel the love that we share 
Oh I'm already there 

Applied to Daddy, it makes so much sense. It expresses what I now feel that makes me say, Daddy’s not gone. He’s here, there, everywhere; he’s in me, with me, around me. He’s here particularly when I feel and practice the love and caring that he extended to me, to our family.

Of course, it is actually a happy occasion that Daddy’s death took place in the Easter Season because the principle of continuous presence beyond death is not only a Buddhist teaching or a Lonestar song message. It is above all part of what Resurrection is all about. The risen Christ is no longer bound by time and space and the limitations of human existence. He’s here, there, everywhere. He’s in us, with us, around us. He is particularly and strongly present when communities live in love and harmony.

Daddy and the Story of Easter

I guess I’ll end on a very Christian note (old habits die hard!). If you’ve not yet noticed, I’ve just blurred the line between the risen Jesus and Daddy. St. Paul calls Christ the “firstfruits” (1 Cor. 15:23). In plain language, that means that whatever happens to Christ, will happen to those who hope in him. During the Easter season, we celebrate the following series of events: A much-loved and admired rabbi, wonder-worker from Nazareth was put to death. His friends were heartbroken and disillusioned. They despaired and ran away at first, thinking that their master, Jesus, was gone forever. But was he? The story of Easter from the human side of things is a story of how the friends of Jesus began to look more deeply into the matter and realized either little by little or suddenly that Jesus wasn’t gone at all. He was very much alive and continually present among his friends.

Dealing with Daddy’s death is much like the same story for me. Yes, daddy is gone in a sense. But, looking deeply, I realize that he’s not gone at all. He continues to stay with us …  if we but have the eyes to see him, the hearts to feel him. And for this presence, I say, “Arigato!” “Ōki-ni!”

*****

(Daddy’s Profile)  Need not be read anymore

He was a loving spouse and a great, hard-working dad.

We treasure and love him very much.

We continue to sense his presence in our hearts and in our lives.

We trust that he is with the gracious God, at peace, free from the illnesses that troubled him in his last years, and rejoicing in love.

We look forward to our eventual reunion.

Personally, let me say (although it is not so Japanese to do so) “I love you, Daddy. I’m so proud to be your son. Ee, iro-iro atta n yakedo, Daddy mo yo—yatta wa! You’ve been through a lot, but you’ve done really well, Dad. Way to go!!!”

Daddy, myself and our youngest brother A. This was taken during one of our visits to our oldest brother's boarding school in the early 70s.

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