Remembering our "Bunso" (youngest sibling), Allan: On the Occasion of an Untimely Passing

 

(when I started this piece) Today is July 1, 10:00 a.m. here in Canada. Our youngest sibling, Allan passed away due to serious health issues on July 1 at 4:46 p.m. Manila time (4:46 am Toronto time). He was 57 years old, too young to die. We usually describe such deaths as "untimely." We were four years apart, so he was our youngest brother—our bunso, as we say in Tagalog.

Bunso (the Youngest)

The bunso, in many cultures, is the one who is doted upon, spoiled, and thus often grows up happy-go-lucky, dependent on everyone else, and not especially responsible. That's the stereotype of the youngest child in the family. I guess that stereotype was, more or less, true of our dear Allan. Yes, he was a happy-go-lucky type, but in a very pleasant sense. He was simply a nice guy you could not hate. When you met him, you could immediately relate to him. He was easygoing, easy to talk with, quick with a joke, and, most importantly, he loved life!

That's the phrase that comes to mind immediately when I think of him: he really loved life. He enjoyed living. This I say having known him from the time of his birth. I left home and Allan though. I wasn't in the Philippines anymore when he became a full-fledged lawyer. I do hope that he maintained that easy approach to life even with the many responsibilities of his profession. But during the times I came back to the Philippines and we saw each other—whether after a long absence or only a short one—I always had the same impression. He was still that easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who genuinely loved and enjoyed life.

That is what I liked most about him. He was simply very easy to relate to.

Allan and I were the youngest two siblings in our family. I was born in 1965 and Allan in 1969, so we were four years apart. I remember that when I was ordained a priest in 1995, during a thank you speech, my father remarked that I was supposed to be the youngest child, but then, four years later, another one came along. That drew laughter from the congregation, since the speech was given in church. Happy accident (!😊) because I didn’t have to be alone growing up. I now had a sidekick. There we were—Allan and I—the younger pair in the family. Our oldest brother and our older sister, whom we called Nonoy and Inday, formed the older pair. They spent their childhood together. We—Allan and I—spent ours together.

This is something I remember with great fondness: during the first nine years of Allan's life, I was probably the person who knew him best—perhaps even more than our mother, because Allan and I were constantly together. We shared a room. We played together all the time. We went on adventures together. We went on vacations together. When he started school, we attended Don Bosco Makati together for several years.

At that stage of life, four years is a huge difference. I was the kuya (big brother). He was my sidekick.

Allan’s Birth—My First Memory – Younger Years

As I reflect on Allan now, I'd like to recall a number of random vignettes and childhood memories, because I think I’m in the best position to tell the story of those first nine years of his life.

The very first thing that comes to mind is that Allan's birth is actually the earliest memory in my life.

I was four years old. Daddy took us to the hospital. I suppose my siblings were there as well. We stood outside the nursery, looking through the glass inside. Then, Daddy pointed to one of the babies and said, "That's your younger brother." I remember that moment very clearly. This is the first memory of my life: Allan’s birth! I hardly remember anything from before I was five years old. I can look at photographs of myself when I was two or three years old, or even as a baby, but I don't have those images in my memory. Allan’s birth though I remember very well.

From that time onward, Allan became a permanent fixture in my life. I remember him as a big, healthy, chubby baby. As soon as he was old enough to walk around by himself, we were constantly together. We played together. We rode our bicycles around our subdivision. We shared the same circle of friends, especially Marvin (Macalintal) and his cousins, who lived only a few steps away from our house. Marvin's father happened to be Allan's baptismal godfather, so Marvin and Allan were kinakapatid, or godbrothers, in Filipino culture. We spent a great deal of time in their house, especially after Marvin's cousins moved in with them. All of us attended Don Bosco Makati (school) together, and we became very close friends. Those were wonderful times.

Who's My Padawan? A Father's Day Reflection 2024

Very recently, someone we cared about, whom we had helped and guided, just turned their back on us and walked away: a heartbreaking experience.

Reflecting on this, I casually remarked in a family conversion, "Well, I guess even (the great teacher) Master Yoda's padawan (apprentice in Star Wars) became Count Dooku (the villain)." I meant (in ordinary language): Even the greatest teachers will have students who will turn against them and bring them sorrow.

Whereupon, the Haj (our 16-year-old daughter) came to me and gave me a hug with these sweet words, "They (this person) are not your padawan, Daddy."

Looking into her eyes, I knew what she was thinking so I voiced it out, "You're right. You're my padawan." And she just nodded contentedly.

It hit me afterwards. The Haj is already one of the persons that I admire and respect most because she's just an overall beautiful person in and out, tremendously gifted and diligent, and making such a positive contribution to the world. For her to consider herself "a padawan" (apprentice) of her good ol' dad is high honour and praise indeed for me. I have tears in my eyes as I type this. She has already surpassed me in many ways! But it is these little acts of love and affection from one's daughter that make life as a dad really, really worth living.

I will savour, cherish, and treasure my daughter and this thought of hers all my life. I feel so warm and thankful inside on this Father's Day. Such a joy to be this girl's dad! Love you to the moon and back, Haj!

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A Father's Day Memory: The Moment I Became a Daddy

holding the new born KH hours after her birth

Just past midnight: London, Ontario, Canada, June 8, 2008. Our daughter, KH was born around 12:45 am. I was assisting D (my wife) in the birthing room. Although D wanted a natural birth, circumstances beyond anyone's control forced her to consent to a C-section. We found ourselves then in the birthing room. I was holding my wife's hand while the C-section was being performed. There was like a (cloth?) barrier between D's upper body and abdomen area so that we would not see the bloody procedure being done inches away. However, I wanted to witness with my very eyes the birth of our child so I asked the doctor if I could stand up and see the procedure being conducted beyond the barrier. She asked me in turn if I was sure that I was OK with that. They didn't want to have to assist me if I should faint or anything. Now, I can become queasy with blood on certain occasions but when it involves my dear ones, I'm solid as rock. So I replied confidently that I was definitely OK.

I stood up then and when I looked at the procedure beyond the barrier, it was the very moment when--I could only describe it as--our child was "yanked" from her mother's womb. I saw the bloody bundle that was our child and she let out her first mighty cry to the world. It was an amazing scene to behold!

When I heard that first cry, something deep within me stirred: it was a kind of profound, existential and visceral sense that shouted "I am now a daddy!" Since I had previously consented to be the one to cut the umbilical cord joining baby with mommy (it was just a ceremonial action because they had actually done an initial cut already), they beckoned me to do so. Unfortunately, I let go of my wife's hand without so much as a word to her -- Sorry D! I think I was just excited and stressed and moved, all at the same time. So it was that I left her to go and perform the "cut."

After that, they had to wash and clean the newborn and dress her in her first "clothes." I had the presence of mind to ask them if I could record the whole procedure with a video cam (yes, I had that with me too!). I still keep all that precious footage up to today!

After little KH was all clean and dressed up, the nurse summoned me, gave her to me and told me to bring her back to our room from the birthing centre. I was so nervous. I had never had any previous experience of carrying a new-born but there I was, the new father. I had to say yes. I only knew that I had to support her head which I dutifully did.

KH was crying furiously. That was the sign of a healthy new-born. As I was carrying the precious, crying little bundle back to the room, I stopped and decided to speak to her with these very words spoken as tenderly as possible, "H, welcome to our world!" At that, she immediately stopped crying. The cute little one made as if to open her eyes (no, newborns can't see things clearly yet, I knew, so I was really moved). But our darling daughter tried to look at where the voice came from, a voice she probably recognized because I had read to her often when she was still in D's womb. It moved me immensely and brought tears of joy to my eyes ... even now it does!

There and then, I was able to grasp a little of what an "absolute kind" of love is all about. There and then, I knew that I was REALLY a dad now because when I looked at that little face that in turn was trying to recognize the face of her dad, I knew that I would love this daughter of mine with my whole heart, soul, and mind ... with everything I've got; even if that would mean giving my very life for her.

They say that the only absolute bond is between parent and child. I knew it then; I know it now. This experience of fatherhood, of parenthood ... is one of the closest things one will ever get to the experience of pure love and joy ... this side of the grave.

I savour and cherish it deeply!

Stranger Things S3 - Hopper's Letter to El: What a Loving Dad Fears …

At the end of Stranger Things Season 3, we see that Eleven (“El”) is with Joyce’s family because Hopper, her adoptive father, is presumably dead (incinerated in the Russian-run facility). (OK, I strongly believe he’s not dead though…)  Earlier in the season, Hopper wrote a letter to El in order to express his concern that she is spending way too much time with Mike, her boyfriend, in an unwholesome, exclusive way but he never got to speak with her about the contents of that letter because he took it all out on Mike and sternly prohibited him from continuing his and El’s relationship. At the end of the season though, El finds that never-communicated letter from her dad and reads it.

This is what the letter said:

There's something I've been wanting to talk to you both about. I know this is a difficult conversation, but I care about you both very much. And I know that you care about each other very much, and that's why it's important that we set these boundaries moving forward so we can build an environment where we all feel comfortable, trusted, and open to sharing our feelings. 

Feelings.Feelings.Jesus. The truth is, for so long I'd forgotten what those even were. I've been stuck in one place. In a cave, you might say. A deep, dark cave. And then I left some Eggos out in the woods and you came into my life. For the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. But lately, I guess I've been feeling distant from you. Like you're pulling away from me or something. I miss playing board games every night, making triple decker Eggo extravaganzas at sunrise, watching Westerns together before we doze off. 

But I know you're getting older, growing, changing. I guess, if I'm being really honest, that's what scares me. I don't want things to change. So I think maybe that's why I came in here, to try and make [us] stop that change. To turn back the clock. To make things go back to how they were. But I know that's naive. It's just not how life works. It's moving, always moving, whether you like it or not. And yeah, sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's sad. And sometimes, it's surprising. Happy. So you know what? Keep on growing up kid. Don't let me stop you. Make mistakes, learn from 'em. When life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt. The hurt is good. It means you're out of that cave. But, please, if you don't mind, for the sake of your poor old dad, keep the door open three inches.  

(Source: https://www.menshealth.com/entertainment/a28338013/stranger-things-hopper-eleven-letter-full-text/ )

Some of My Thoughts and Reflections

A Loving Father’s Fears … particularly, of Letting Go

This letter of Hopper to El touched me in a profound way. I’m asking myself why. I guess, it’s because over the last year and a half, our daughter KH seemed to have grown a lot—from a kid to a young woman!—(at least it seems) almost overnight! (Now I’m writing here from the perspective of a daddy who has a very close relationship with his only daughter … just like Hopper with El.) I can understandably relate a lot with Hopper’s sentiments in this letter. Up until now, KH (our daughter) has been our darling baby-girl, very close to us/to me; KH and I have spent a lot of time together: as a whole (small) family (with D my wife-her mom) to be sure, but we’ve also had so many very special exclusive daddy-daughter times, such as hiking, camping, watching movies, church, or even just talking in the car while going to or from school, etc. etc., things I (and hopefully she) will always savour and cherish all throughout life!

When D and I got married and we planned to have a child, I clearly wanted a daughter; D was more “neutral.” So when we did have a daughter, I was ecstatic since she was a wonderful answer to my prayers. Looking back at the eleven years we’ve spent together so far … I can only sigh in contentment and happiness – it’s really been a great first eleven years together as a family, and also as a daddy-daughter team!

But when I see her now growing rapidly into a young woman, I kind of feel that the time when she and I are inseparable (like up until now) might soon come to an end … because …well… that’s life. Your child has to move out into the big, wide world and not remain tied to her parents. And … as Hopper expressed it so eloquently in his letter, I’m scared … I dread it… Going back to the letter, Hopper says

But I know you're getting older, growing, changing. I guess, if I'm being really honest, that's what scares me. I don't want things to change. So I think maybe that's why I came in here, to try and make [us] stop that change. To turn back the clock. To make things go back to how they were. But I know that's naive. It's just not how life works. It's moving, always moving, whether you like it or not. And yeah, sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's sad. And sometimes, it's surprising. Happy

Upon closer reflection, this fear I have as a dad is actually an infallible and clear sign of the profound love I have for my daughter and, as far as I can tell, the profound love she has for me. I don’t know what the near future will bring but I hope and pray that that love which binds us all together as a family stays intact and continue to flourish as KH moves on to become an adolescent and a grown-up …

Feelings, even hurt feelings: a Clear Sign of Life and Love

Hopper relates in the letter that, for a while, he could not even “feel” anything. Life had so hurt him that he became numb … in short, unfeeling. It’s said that the opposite of love is not hate; it’s apathy—that uncaring attitude which is a sure sign that you are no longer interested in something, that you’ve died to something … or someone…

Life is tough; it can hurt us in many ways. When we get hurt to such an extent that we lose all interest in life and cease to have any feeling for anything, then that’s really the end. As long as we feel something, even hurt or anger, then it’s a sign that we’re alive.

The last part of Hopper’s letter is a gem. He says, “remember the hurt” because, as I said above, it’s a sign that you’re alive, that you’re not insensitive and numb.

For some years now, I’ve been advocating the spirituality of “Savour & Cherish” as two very important traits of a way of life that puts an accent on living to the full the NOW of one’s life. SAVOUR! What? Anything and everything in life, be they good or bad. The good is to be savoured because, among other things, it will encourage us during the tough times in life. But the negative, annoying, dark and ugly things in life (such as hurt feelings) as well are also equally to be “savoured.” Why? Because they can teach us precious lessons that we will never learn if everything is good and smooth-sailing… And the rule in life I know is THERE IS NO GROWTH AND DEEPENING WITHOUT PAIN!

I also noted that Hopper’s letter gives us a rare glimpse into one man’s (male) inner feelings of vulnerability. We men usually have a lot of difficulty acknowledging and honouring our feelings. Women are generally better in this than us. But it is a necessary task in life, even for men. Our feelings teach us a lot about ourselves, about who are the important people in our lives, about life itself. Let’s not be afraid to work with our feelings! (That’s a note to myself more than anything!)

Those are the things I thought about when thinking about Hopper’s touching letter.

Savour and Cherish: A Daddy-Daughter Moment to Cherish

I have to remind myself every now and then of the purpose of this blog which is expressed in its name "Ippo-ippo" (step-by-step): We have to take every step in life with deliberation and mindfulness because, as the Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us, "Mindfulness is a source of happiness."

Related with this is a wonderful passage from Franciscan spiritual teacher Richard Rohr: 

Fearful, negative, hateful thoughts are like velcro; the neurons just grab around them and solidify. (My comment: That's why it's hard to let go of a grudge.) Positive, grateful and loving thoughts are like Teflon. They just slide off unless you savor them consciously (me: this is a major component of contemplation) for at least 15 seconds

For the full passage, see: Rohr on turning toward the good

***

With that, let me resume this practice in this blog more regularly (since I'm on sabbatical!) and share something, a life "ippo" (Japnese, one step) today about one of my favorite topics - dad-daughter moments.

Our dear daughter KH is 10 years old. She's grown up to be a fine 10-year-old so far - respectful, having a fine sense of right and wrong, smart, athletic, musical ... She has far surpassed what I dreamed of in an ideal daughter. One thing that I really treasure and cherish though is our unique bond as dad and daughter. At this point in time, I can say, that KH and I are in a wonderful dad-daughter relationship - easy, friendly, affectionate, respectful. She can joke with me, tease me even, but I know that deep within she respects and loves me. When I am annoyed, hurt or even angry with her, she perceives that and seeks to address it swiftly for the better. The same is true of myself toward her, with her different moods. We can readily apologize to each other.

The other day, when I picked her up after her second choir concert (of that day), we were walking toward where the car was parked. She was in a happy mood and she was chatting away merrily as we walked. As we turned onto the street where the car was (it was a side street and at that time of the night [after nine], there were practically no other people around), she just naturally twirled her hand and arm into mine as she was chatting happily. 

KH doesn't really like public displays of affection but when we are by ourselves as a family, she is the sweetest young lady there could be! I don't exactly remember what she was saying but that moment of daughter-dad walking hand-in-hand, sharing the happy experiences of the day is something that really gave me such a deep and immense joy. My heart was just full to the brim. When your child is affectionate this way, doesn't it just melt your heart? 

I savour and cherish this "ippo" (one step)!