I will tell you how he lived...

I have missed my father everyday since he departed this life on June 24, 2009. Antonio Lores Liquete passed away on a Wednesday morning at Guam Memorial Hospital after two months of battling an infection that started with a cut on his left arm. Ever the stubborn man who endured his pain silently, he did not tell anyone of the wound until the infection became virulent enough to land him in the hospital for over two months. Towards the end, the infection did go away and he was on his way to a long recovery. We all thought he was getting better; my sisters and I made plans to go back and see him once he made it back home. But it was not so...his very last battle was with aspiration pneumonia - and it was a battle he did not win.

It was a shock to all of us. When I received the news he was still there somehow, coding on the hospital bed. Over the phone, the nurse said "we're in the second round of code blue."

I just stared at my cell phone, not understanding. Of course I knew what a code blue was - but I couldn't understand - why was it happening - there must be a mistake. "What do you mean?" I asked, "He's supposed to be getting better...what are you talking about!"

Again the nurse spoke. "You need to tell your mom to make him DNR."

In my state of disbelief, I just kept repeating "what do you mean? what do you mean?"

Finally the doctor came on the phone and he said "I'm sorry to say your father has passed away."

Still in disbelief, I said "what? how could this happen?"

"He lived a very long life," he said, sounding sincere in his sympathy. After a few more words, the doctor handed the phone to my mom, who did not know what was going on.

"Daddy is gone" I told my mom, and her sobs were the last I heard before my brother spoke to me. I told my brother to take care of mom and promised we will on the very first flight out to Guam.

At my father's funeral service, Father Dan quoted a line from "The Last Samurai," in which the character says: I will not tell you how he died, I will tell you how he lived. In doing so, I have briefly described how my father died. Now, the bigger picture is how my father lived.

His life story is 83 years long. That life began in San Esteban Ilocos Sur, Philippines on December 15, 1925 and spanned a spectrum of changes and constants. I am sure he had a colorful life long before he became a husband, father, and grandfather. Sadly those stories are locked in the memories of his cousins, old neighbors, and his lone living sister - my Aunt Josefa. On his last visit here to the states, at the San Francisco Airport just moments before he departed for home, I asked my father how he met my mother. The story he told was one I never heard before, and I craved for more - but time was short and he had to board the plane. Truly, time was too short and I now realize how precious my father's memories are now that they are lost forever. But... all is not lost. My memories of him are abundant; stories of him from my sisters and brothers, my many aunts and uncles, his cousins, his neighbors-they are still within my grasp. And as I get them, I would like to share with you stories of how my father lived.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Memories from Uncle Rex

When the Liquetes left for Guam, I gave Manong Tony one of my suits. I was working with Advertising & Marketing Associates at that time, and I had accumulated a wardrobe that included six americanas. I told him he couldn't go to a U.S. territory looking like a refuge from the Philippines. He gave that short, snappy laugh, more of a he he than a ha ha. It was one of the few times that I saw him light up. He always seemed so serious, like he was anticipating another problem and wondering how he would resolve it. In fact, he resolved a lot problems for himself and his family.

He told me about the difficulties they had when they arrived in Guam.They would forage for Coke cans on weekends and other items of value to recyclist entreprenuers on Guam, and the kids would cheerfully pitch in. Both Manong Tony and Manang Loring worked hard and lived frugally. Manong Tony worked for the Guam power company. The company was originally managed by firm on the mainland. That firm folded up but kept Manong Tony as its lone employee to take care of residual matters. He was always a quiet worker who did an outstanding job, and the firm appreciated it. You know what? All the salary he received from that firm went directly to their joint bank account. He could save every penny of it because Manong Tony created his own Stimulus Package, long before Barack Obama arrived in Washington.

He made a lot of extra money fixing a lot of things. For instance, he showed me grass-cutters and broken lawn mowers that he recently bought at give-away prices. The cutters and mowers had been repaired, repainted and looked like new. He would make about 300% on his investment. Within two or three years after their arrival in Guam, they were able to buy a house and lot with a hefty downpayment. The lot is about a thousand square meters. They were able to fully amortize their bank loan in record time, while sending all the kids to school and making remittances to Edwin in the Philippines. Behind their modest home is an impressive building. It is a two-storey 4-door apartment that generates additional income for the family. In addition, he has been liquid enough to help his daughters and a son on the mainland to purchase their own homes. Financial success did not change Manong Tony and Manang Loring. They continued to live simply, doing simple things like selling home-grown vegetables at the flea market on Sundays. Of course, that's what almost all Filipinos do in Guam on week-ends. It's almost a fiesta. Physically, Manong Tony also did not change. He maintained his slight frame and slight stoop. And I could not help noticing the prominent veinsat the back of his hands, something that he inherited from Auntie Merced who lived a long life. Somehow those veins assured me that he, too, would survive at least another decade, probably more. But I think he lived a full and meaningful life.

We cherish his grit, his example, his individualism. I am so glad I journeyed last May to Guam to rediscover him.
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