The Soap Opera that is our lives

I’ve been caught up watching Magkaribal, and I’m one episode short of being up to date.  The last episode I watched last night hit too close to home, with Mark Gil’s character, the errant father, meeting his end before he could set things right between his two daughters who didn’t even know they were the sister the other one was looking for.  He wanted to make amends and do right by his children.

I decided to skip the last episode for the week and postpone watching it for the morning.  I thought I was tired and decided it was late enough to hit the sack but instead I found myself thinking of Dad.  I know it’s probably far-fetched to connect the soap opera with my own life’s drama as far as my Dad’s recent passing, but I somehow made the connection.

Dad’s passing had left many questions unanswered.  The days following his death only raised more questions than produced answers.  I found out he was trying to have a will drawn up where he was relinquishing his half of the property he was occupying before his death to my half sister, and I knew it was because her mother could not be an heir.

While under the law this was not legal due to the concept of legitimes owing to us his children (including my half sister’s share as an illegitimate child), it appears that the lawyer my father was speaking with was working on having the will drawn up, but as fate would have it, the will was never signed.

Given all the things that had been happening before Dad’s passing and the problems we were trying to solve, it hurt me to realize that it was indeed true that my Dad didn’t seem to care about helping us with our dilemma,   But what hurt more was the realization that his partner had postponed calling us and getting us involved with this last hospitalization because she was afraid that another reconciliation would happen between my father and his children, just as had happened the previous two instances he was confined.

Too many things shouldn’t have happened and I kept repeating Dad shouldn’t have died.  Twice before, he was brought to the hospital on the brink of death, and yet he left in a better state.  This one time he wasn’t brought in for anything life threatening, because we were not involved, the wrong decisions were made leading up to his expiration.

Looking back now I got a reaffirmation that everything happened for a reason.  I would’ve wanted Dad to have stayed on longer, but that is not for me decide.  As they say, when it’s your time, it’s your time. 

I lay there and felt the tears coming — wondering if before he breathed his last, he actually changed his mind.  Perhaps he did.  Perhaps he never signed for a reason — not just because those scheming to make it happen never got the chance to have him sign.

There are many “if”s and “what might have been”s… I just let the tears flow and I realize I miss Papa and wish I had the chance to hold him before he died.  Yet I was fortunate enough to have taken care of him the last two times we saw each other.  I fed him, held him up, and stayed there by his side.  And I was there to lay him to rest.

I forgive you, Dad, and hope you forgive me, too.  I wish you peace and may you find yourself with those who went before you.  May you and Kuya find each other there in heaven.  I know he will keep you company, and you two can be together again finally.  I miss you both. 

There will come a time when we will all be together again.

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