My daughter taught me how to grieve

Two weeks have passed since my father’s death, and I am still grieving. In my case, it is the mundane things that make me emotional—the glass I used to hand him, his unused clothes, his slippers, and his favorite songs sung by Martin Nievera. These everyday reminders constantly reinforce his absence.

My mind often wanders, especially when I am driving. On the way to the novena, I briefly spoke with our daughter about her studies. She mentioned learning about weather preparedness, saying, “That’s why I’ll always have my umbrella.” When I asked if she missed her Lolo Danny, she nodded. I remembered their morning high-fives and embraces. Truly, my daughter also brought immense joy to her Lolo.

My father had a difficult life, and his struggles motivated me to plan for my future. This drive sometimes led me to neglect the present and miss out on quality time with him. Looking back, I wish I had been more affectionate and generous with my time. Remembering my limited expressions of affection, I envied my daughter’s tight morning embraces with him. Now, I realize that true preparedness is not just financial security—it is expressing love freely.

Among my most cherished memories with my father is singing videoke, especially on special occasions. He adored mellow music and often requested that I sing some of his favorites. My younger brother once pointed out that we could have spent more time singing with Papa, but the microphone was broken. Singing was Papa’s greatest joy, yet it took us too long to replace the microphone. Now, it is too late. Still, I am hopeful that Papa would be proud of all that we have accomplished. Despite the broken microphone, our lives are more comfortable now, and for that, I thank him. He endured a hard life so that we could live a better one.

As we approached home, I noticed my daughter had something she wanted to say. At that moment, I was deeply touched when she confided in me her love for both Lolo Danny and her Lola-Mama La. It reminded me of Senator Francisco Rodrigo’s words in crafting the Rizal Law (Republic Act No. 1425): “These two loves (love for the Church and love for the country) are not conflicting loves. They are harmonious affections, like the love of a child for his father and his mother.”

This harmony of love is my guiding principle now—to move forward, to love more deeply, to cherish my loved ones, and to live fully in the present. Love endures and grows, regardless of circumstance; it is life’s greatest investment. (Francis Manayan)