Lost in Thoughts

I've heard it before, though it never really applied to me until now. I miss my Dad, and it's difficult for me to believe he's no longer here, that his light no longer makes this world and my life, brighter.

I'm in a haze, though more often than not I'm just living my everyday: wake up, morning routine, work, meals throughout, home, et al, even taking in a movie or some leisure or recreation. He's not forward in my thoughts most of the time. Then I get snapped to that single thought, that I won't be able to walk into his office and find him pondering over some paperwork, or at his office at home taking in yet another old western, or at the dinner table perusing his phone, or in the garden tending to his pineapples.

I'm a broken record, I know, and I'm told that eventually, one day, the mystery of whether it hurts less is no longer a puzzle, and just becomes part of my everyday.

There's a takeaway from all of this, a lesson I've learned, though I wish I'd learned and lived it while he was still around. He talked about it. He said he'd get the trust finished, get the estate written up and signed, all of it. But he didn't. Not all the way. And now some of what should have been settled while he was here is still being worked out after him, by us.

And that's the part that nags at me most. Dad was purposeful about everything he did, there was always a reason behind it. He used to tell us, if you can do it now, do it, because you don't know what tomorrow brings. He said that his whole life. And somehow the one thing he preached loudest is the one thing he didn't get to finish for himself.

But I do know this. In his last days, his mind was filled with what-ifs. I could see it in his eyes.

That preparation an adult does for the future, for when they're no longer able to provide for themselves and their families. A point in life where it's truly time to stop, take in the life you've lived, and enjoy the peace you worked so hard for. That peace in your surroundings, knowing you'd done your best. The peace that comes from the laughter of your grandchild. And the peace that comes from knowing you'd prepped enough so your kids don't have to fight as hard as you did in life for an easier or a more comfortable life.

I'm 59. I'm nowhere near prepared for retirement, but at the very least I have a plan for it now, where I didn't before. This is in part because of my Dad's passing, and seeing all the things that now have to happen, and also because of my wife.

The plan, right now, anyway, is the mountains in the Philippines. We'd been thinking Tagaytay, but we're reconsidering, somewhere like Antipolo or Rizal might make more sense, closer to BGC and St. Luke's, closer to the veterans clinics. That's really about me more than her, she's twenty-nine years younger, but I suppose one day it'll matter for her too.

It's amazing to watch her. I don't know how to say this without it sounding condescending, since I was the one making more, but she put away more than I did. She worked in the dietary section at Pasig Hospital for about seven years, through COVID even, paying her own rent, her own utilities, on her own at the time, and still saved more than I managed to on a bigger paycheck. Seeing that is part of what finally got me to make a plan.