OverFlow: A Death in the Family
He was larger than life; healthier than my dad, more active than my mom—much more centered and at peace than either of my parents. He was invincible, and now he’s not.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them.
Full disclosure: This is something I wrote on December 14, 2016, after I found out that my father’s best friend died. I didn’t know how to grieve then, and I also didn’t see it for what it was—Tito Manny’s last gift to me and my siblings. He gave us a chance to practice grieving before Dad died a few years later. It was Tito Manny’s birthday last November 14, and I thought reposting this piece would be a great way to celebrate.
I just found out. I no longer look at Facebook, which apparently means I don’t receive important news, so I just found out.
He’s not my father or my father-in-law; but a father figure just the same.
This is a man I’ve known since before I was born and now he’s dead and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. How could I let years slip away so fast? How can it be that the last time I remember sitting down and talking to him at length was over five years ago during my wedding? Tito Manny is gone, and gone with him are the many opportunities I didn’t take to let him know just how important he was—is—to me and my family.
We’re not even related, and I’m sure his children and his wife—my godmother—are devastated. It’s sick but the thought of that is what’s keeping me from just coming apart at the seams; people have it worse, so I can’t act worse. That’s the rule. That’s the reality. That’s what I’m rolling with because that’s what’s keeping me sane.
I always say that I’m not good with grief, that I just keep things in and never feel things.
Why am I like this now? I can’t understand it. Years ago I’d already come to terms with the fact that my parents are fragile beings and not the gods I thought they were when I was small; they’re humans just like everybody else, and sometime down the line, they’re going to leave this plane of existence. Why had that thought not occurred to me even once for Tito Manny? He was larger than life; healthier than my dad, more active than my mom—much more centered and at peace than either of my parents. He was invincible, and now he’s not.
To me, he is the ideal best friend; he and my dad often called each other soulmates but in recent years rarely even went and hung out with each other.
Distance was no obstacle; memories were everything. That’s how I pick and choose close friends to this day. He’s also the best music collaborator; he played the lead and my dad played rhythm, he sang high baritone and my dad sang low. They were so similar but that never meant that they had to fight for the spotlight. They shared it equally and gave each other space to shine on their own.
My dad is not an easy person to love, much less get along with, but Tito Manny did so with grace, compassion, and without judgment.
I will forever be grateful to him for being one of the reasons why my dad is as balanced and as good a person as he is. I’m sorry I never had the chance to express these thoughts out loud, and without frills. He would have loved the honesty and the sentiment; he would have laughed it off and patted my back, and now that will never happen.
When I was much younger, he always encouraged me to sing and draw and never made fun of me when I asked him to help me with my homework. He was a better math teacher than any I ever actually had, and he never laughed at my English mispronunciations. He loved ordering out and eating at restaurants—something my family doesn’t do very often—and I loved hanging out with his family and going to KFC and Pot & Noodle. I was with the Perlas family when I tasted Chicken McNuggets for the first time, after watching a movie and before heading back home to that warm, inclusive family dynamic that I still cherish.
I will miss him terribly.
I can’t stop crying and I still can’t really believe that he’s gone. Fuck 2016.
Keep on rocking and rolling in heaven, Tito Manny. Whenever I play the Jaguar, I’ll think of you.
Photo by Katie Montgomery on Unsplash
If you’ve enjoyed reading this or something else I’ve written, please consider buying me a coffee. ☕ Thank you!