(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 17th 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!!!”
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| 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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