I Love You Dad

I am most fortunate to have thoughtful children – Kim, Jam and Me-el. On the eve of Father’s Day celebration (September 1 in New Zealand), they came with their young families (except Me-el who is single) sharing food, giving gifts and viewing together the musical, “Goddess”. Each year, they find time to gather for this occasion.  To my children, I am most grateful.

But this piece is not about me; it’s about my Dad, Angel Libre Jr. My dad was a strict disciplinarian, and when I was a kid I had my share of spanking for mischief.  I thought I had one over him, by putting cardboard to cover my buttocks, but he knew better, that I couldn’t escape punishment.  I did not really like my father during those days, and sought refuge with my mother, Milagros

When I became a young adult; I saw a different picture of my dad. He was involved in opposing the Marcos dictatorial regime, as an opinion writer and was active in the protest movement. Those were dangerous times, but that did not deter him in fighting for the cause.  He must have really ruffled the dictatorship as a warrant of arrest was issued against him. Knowing the kind of justice dispensed by the regime, he opted to live a life of a fugitive, until freedom was restored when Corazon Aquino became president.  My dad was given executive clemency, and returned to live a normal life, happy that in a way he had contributed to the democracy regained by the Filipino people.

We often had family gatherings, and I guess, those were the best days of my parents’ lives, seeing their children as professionals and raising their own families.  Then in 1999, my mother died followed by our eldest brother, Angel III in 2001.  These two tragedies took a toll in my Dad’s health, and in 2003, he was diagnosed with cancer of the lungs.

From the robust man I always knew, my Dad became frail and the pain that he underwent could not be hidden.  In one occasion that I visited him, he called me to his room. He asked me about my health, as he learned that I had undergone a stress test that showed four blocked arteries in my heart.  What he said at that time is forever etched in my heart: “Son, I will die soon. I have money for my medication; but I believe you need this more than I do. I am giving you this to help you defray the cost of the operation. Live a full life.” 

The last time I saw him, we had dinner at home, and when he needed to stand up, he refused the help from anyone.  Sadly, I was not even in his bedside when he died.  (He told my wife that he’d wait for me to return, but I was one day late.)

I owe my life to my father, having been born into this world. I owe my life to my father, who inspired me to become a writer and to do my share in the betterment of society. I owe my life to my father, having obtained his financial support in my successful heart bypass surgery.

I could not say thank you to him before he died. Through this piece, I would like to tell the world of my gratitude to my father.  I love you, Dad. Thank you.