Tolkien and Tatay

Tatay's birthday. He would've been 73, a perfectly happy man in God. In preparation for today I'd been remembering him, as I've always had—but to a greater degree, I suppose. As you know, when you lose a loved one, birthdays and death anniversaries take on revered spaces on your personal calendar. Hardly ever a day passes by without a thought of him visiting me. Those recurring moments used to be bitter because of the pain of loss, then became bittersweet because of time. Now, six years later, they are just sweet to me. I imagine that if I could perfectly remember my dreams, he'd also be there, with his perpetual smile and laughter, which, to this day, people still remember. If you see me and my brothers, you will notice that we got our hearty chuckle and stupid, self-deprecating (in only the good sense) humor from him. 

What helps me remember him is the treasure trove of letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, edited and selected by Humphrey Carpenter). Tatay was not a writer of letters but I could hear him—see remnants of his fatherly advice—in Tolkien's letters to his sons. He was, like Tolkien, a man who found deep friendship with his children. Tatay was a keeper of close friends. After his early morning visits to the farm, he'd spend the day at home, tending to repairs and feeding his brood of sons, take an afternoon nap, then head out for afternoon coffee with his kumpares. Often he'd bring one of us with him, usually the gullible third-born, because Tatay's enjoyment of the afternoon wouldn't maximal without any of his family around. After coffee, he'd always buy something on his way home—pan de sal or cinnamon bread from the KCC bakery, or whatever he could find his hands on—then regale Nanay and his children with stories over the dinner table. He insisted that we all eat together. "Hindi na magpatawag!" he'd say, because our young eyes were glued to the TV, indifferent to the preciousness of the after-school routine, unable to grasp that one day we'd cease to hear his speaking voice, for he would leave his terrestrial world ahead of us, leaving a perpetual emptiness in our hearts. 

But today, we remember.