I'm not sure which parent is easier to write about. Mother who I didn't know or my father who I know too well. When he died, Ryan and I had just celebrated our first birthdays, we're three days apart. We spent the day at Mother's Beach, I asked him for Filipino food, which we order too much of. It would be the last day I saw him outside of a hospital. It was his passing that changed the course of my life.
My dad was always a generous person. Always sticking his neck out to help his family and friends. But he was a complicated man too. He did not have an easy time raising a girl all on his own after my mom died. We did not see eye to eye about a lot of things. Living in the United States is a completely different culture than the Philippines. You would say I grew up sheltered, and by the time I left for college at 18, I let out all that pent up angst all at once. It only put a bigger strain on our relationship.
As I grew older and started to understand the reasoning behind his actions and reactions. My dad was doing his best. He didn't understand, but he loved me. The days before he died I was at the hospital everyday. The day before he died we sat back to back on his bed, and he told me his last words. He assured me that he loved me and we came to a quiet understanding. He felt safe to leave me on this earth plane because he knew Ryan would take care of me. I can still feel him on my back. His energy felt at peace, accepting what was coming to pass.
Dad, I want to let you know. I know it wasn't ever easy. I'm me because of you. I want to thank you. I know you're here by my side every day. I know you're proud of me, because you speak through the people who connect to your spirit world. I'm grateful for you!