how i longed to shed a tear

Have you ever heard a tune, seen something so beautiful, or smelled a familiar scent that reminds you of beautiful memories—beauty so profound that it makes you shed a tear? I lost that tear the day my father passed away.

It was in 2018 when my father passed away.

I was sitting near the window beside my grandmother's bed when my phone suddenly rang. It was Nanay (mother) calling. I quickly picked it up. I could hear the despair in her voice, something I had never heard before. “Ann, natumba si Tatay” (Ann, father collapsed), she said.

I didn’t recognize her voice at first and thought someone was trying to fool me, wondering if this was a scam—one of those where someone pretends that a relative has had an accident and asks for money. But I was wrong—it was really my mother. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it, or perhaps I didn’t recognize Nanay’s voice because I had never heard her in such a situation. She told me to come quickly as they rushed Tatay to the hospital.

We quickly ran out the door, got into a jeepney, and arrived at the emergency room, where I saw him.

His voice was different.

I had never seen him like this.

At first, he was still conscious. He even joked about feeling okay. Then he started to fall asleep, and he was placed in the ICU. We stayed in the guardians’ area of the ICU the entire time, never even having the chance to go home. Once, I spoke with a woman whose husband was also in the ICU. She told me, “Alam mo, habang nakahiga ka sa sahig, nakikita kita, para kang nagdadasal habang tulog” (You know, while you were lying on the floor, it looked like you were praying while you were asleep.) It was true. I kept praying, nonstop, wishing and hoping he would get better.

The whole time at the hospital was a terrifying nightmare, but the sad thing is, it wasn’t a nightmare.

It was real.

On his fourth day at the hospital, the bills were mounting. So, I had to run errands to find ways to pay for them. I stopped by a convenience store, and there I saw Anthony, a little boy Tatay and I had met. He looked at me, and I asked, “Naalala mo pa ba ako?” (Do you still remember me?)

We had met at that same convenience store. Tatay was a church server, and he was great with electronics. Anything related to electronics, he would set it up at our makeshift church in a clubhouse on Sundays. After the mass, we wouldn’t have time to cook for dinner, so we would go to the convenience store. As we parked our car, we noticed two boys by the door, opening it for whoever entered. We went inside, and before I could order, Tatay told me to call the two boys and invite them to join us for dinner. Tatay spoke to them and asked if they were going to school. He made jokes to make them feel more comfortable and encouraged them to go to school for a better life.

After dinner, we said our goodbyes.

I asked Anthony, “Naalala mo pa ba si Tatay?” (Do you remember Tatay too?) He said yes. I asked him to eat with me and told him that Tatay was in the hospital and that I was trying to find ways to cover his bills. I could see the worry in his eyes. He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out all the coins he had, trying to give them to me. “Ito oh, pang dagdag sa bayad sa ospital.” (Here, you can add this to pay for Tatay’s bills), he said. I cried and told him he should keep it because Tatay would have wanted it that way. He tried to comfort me, saying, “Uuwi na siya, bukas” (He will come home tomorrow).

Anthony was right. The next day, Tatay did come home—in his real home, and not ours.

When you first hear the title of my story, you might think that I didn’t cry when my father died. Maybe you think no tears came out from my eyes? I wish that were the case.

Because when he died, I only cried for him. My only thought was of him. Nothing else made me cry except for him. I cry every day, remembering memories and dreams about him. It even came to the point where I wanted to follow him, but I know I can’t.

I cried, knowing that my dream of having a Christmas celebration with the whole family would never come true.

I cry every time I see a moth.

I cry when I’m about to sleep. I cry when I wake up.

I cry while rummaging through his things, hoping to find pieces of him in everything. I cry when I hear recordings of his voice. I cry, thinking of never being able to photograph him again.

I cry because I don’t have a father when I need him the most.

I still cry.

I intended for this story to have a colorful ending, to show that I’m okay now and that I have moved on. I’ve told this story to a few people, and because of it I thought I had already healed. But I was wrong.

Because I did get my tears back and can now cry over other things. But the tears I have for Tatay have never left. I still cry to this day. I still cry as I write this. I still cry because I still love him, and my longing for him will never go away.

Years have passed, and yet there are still questions that bug my mind. “Kilala mo pa rin po ba ako, Tatay? Mamahalin mo pa rin kaya ang Ann na ngayon? Magiging proud ka pa rin kaya kung ano na ako ngayon?” (Do you still know me, Tatay? Will you still love the Ann I am today? Would you still be proud of the person I am now?)