Dearest Papa

We heard that you're leaving us.  We hope and pray not yet.  But who are we to delay the inevitable.  We entrust you and eerything to God.

Papa, as I write this letter, I try very hard to remember you since I started to know you.  I remember you and Mama Adelaida happily receiving us whenever we went to Aurora Hill, Baguio.  You were so much delighted whenever we visit you.  We would enjoy the cold weather, snuggle into your sofa and bed, enjoying every bit of time while away from hot Manila.  We were very young, had less things to be worried about.  We were only interested in playing, listening to each others jokes, watching shows from the old wooden TV that had a sliding door, reading your old magazines, and sitting on your rocking chair.  We remember listening to your war stories, how you survived the death march, how you were with President Marcos during the march, and how everyone died due to suffocation, while you were lucky to be by the bus window and be able to breath during the long trip.  We played outside, donning blankets as capes, being our own super heroes.  We enjoyed watching and feeding your fishes at the pond.  And when it's time to eat, we would go inside and devour the favorite talbos ng sayote with mushrooms, and strawberries!  I remember the time when all the Arellano grand children had our beds in adjacent bedrooms, but we choose to stay at the living room until late night.  We enjoyed seeing our breaths come out from our mouths like smoke, and we dread the morning bath when the hot water from the kettle does little effect on the very cold water from the pail.

Then we would go out, hiking on the hill, boat and bike riding at burnham, horseback riding at wright, throwing coins at mines view, admiring the president's mansion from the gate, window shopping and eating at session road, where kuya Bong and I once shared the interest on US fighter planes and Star Wars.  We bought old US Air Force magazines and designed our own fighter planes.  I remember attending the childrens worship service where only the teacher had a copy of the lesson.  When we turned to adults, we appreciate you attending the worship service with us, even if you weren't a church member back then.  I never failed to sleep during the service because the cold weather made it so comfortable.  We remembered how SM Baguio didn't have air conditioning, and people actually went in to escape from the cold.  Then, on our last day, we would go shopping with you for pasalubong, buying peanut brittle, ube, vegetables, and the ever popular strawberries.  Every year we would have new wearables - tshirt, cap, jacket - from baguio.  It was our second home.

Then there was the earthquake.  Our dads went to your rescue.  Stories say that the house needed repairs to be restored to its original condition.  When we went back, there was no more fish pond, maybe less orchids, but the house remained cozy.  We also remember when Mama Adelaida had alzheimers, left the house, and was lost for one week.  Our parents helped you find her, but you persevered above all, and found her.  You took care of her since then.  We remember seeing her picture with only one leg, and she seemed very well taken cared of by you, until God decided that it is time for her to finally rest.  She was so much like our moms, lovingly embracing and kissing us on our Baguio trips.  As we visited Baguio less often, I remembered how you wrote and likewise appreciated long english letters that were a delight to read.  I did the same when I was courting Grace.  Everyday I wrote her a letter that would fill one short bond paper.  I guess that was my practice, to prepare myself for the task, the hobby of writing you.

Then I started to write you.  It amazed me that, when I start writing, I never ran out of things to write.  You wrote back, and it was longer, but it was a joy to read.  I learned new english, new styles.  I kept the letters.  I would write you again, and you wrote back.  We enjoyed the craft.  You even granted my request to join the church, and I will be forever grateful for that.  I never told you that my writing evolved to writing farewell poems for my colleagues at work who resigned.  Every employee that left our company was expecting a poem from me.  The poems were a mix of wit and humor which I believe I got from writing you.  Stories about you are endless.  How you wrote the US and Philippine Presidents about your war veteran benefits.  How you survived a ravine fall while driving a car.  How you wake up the earliest in the morning to jog and stretch, read the newspaper over a cup of coffee.  How you dressed up snappy, shirt tucked in, as a proper solder veteran would.  Somehow, my kids remind me of you.  Mia is articulate like you, Dave has your wit, and Mikee has your leadership.

I am thinking, if this is my last letter to you, maybe I could post it in Facebook for the world to see and for my friends to appreciate.  But, then maybe I won't.  This letter is only for you, and only for the few who know how you lived, and who had first hand experiences of the stories mentioned here.  We love you Papa.  Warm hugs and kisses from all your loved ones.

With so much love,

Mike