for mary, love pops by maine uy

8/10/2019 For Mary, Love Pops by Maine Uy

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Its a good thing I remember so well the roads that lead me to our hometown, if not I would have

been lost. I want to cry so loud, because after all, I do love my father.

My father was a writer and of course, my mother hated that. But thats what I love about him;

he has a way of describing things with beautiful strong words. He wrote so many things. And

sometimes, I take inspiration from his works, and turn it into great pieces of art.

I reached the hospital and stormed its dim lighted hallways, went to the reception and

inquired where my father was.

De la Paz, please? Trying mybest to not show any sign of weakness to the lady in front of

me.

Room 516, ICU, maam. She replied.

Im hoping that everything is okay. I waited patiently for the lift to come. I watched closely

at the elevator screen as it flashed the floor numbers.

G.

2.

3.

4.

And 5. I step out of the elevator, trying my best to prolong the time. I march slowly, as if

there are chains in my feet. I shut off everyone for three years, and right now, is the moment of truth.

Im going to see my family again, had I just wished that it wasnt in this setting.

I reached the room where my father is. I knocked softly, and Sarah open the door. She throwsherself to me, and embraces me so tightly.

And then theres my father lifeless, like a vegetable, inanimate, as if someone to ok out all

the sunshine from him. The car crash was so bad, leaving my dad in the state of coma. I wanted to

look away, but my mother pulled me, and she was crying so hard.

I should have told you everything. Everything. The reason why your father left that day, that

he didnt do anything. That it was I to be blamed. Her words were barely understandable. I looked at

her, skeptically.

What do you mean, Ma?

Darling, it wasnt your father. It was me. My mother responded.

Now I understood why she isnt around every time my father and I go on trips. Why my

father always writes letters to her, why he always cries and would tell me, Mary, someday, you

would love harder than any pain youve ever felt. Now I know exactly what that meant.


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I looked at her and couldnt help the tears Ive been holding back since. I couldnt utter the

words, but right at the moment all I want is for my father and I to be alone.

Ma. I paused, trying to sound at ease. I wouldnt be mad at you. I wont but right now can

you give me some time with him?

My mother did not question this but left the room with Sarah. I stood there for a minute, and

held the book in my blue bag so tightly. I crept up beside my father, kissed his forehead like how he

always does to me.

Hey, Pops. I tried to sound enthusiastic. Looking great! Have you been working out for

the past three years? That was the time I let out an ocean of tears.

I open his letter, and hold his hand, as I read through the words so dear to me.

For Mary. I listen to my fathers voice by memory, how delightful it is to hear him say my

name.

I know youre angry at me for so many reasons. I wanted to tell you everything, but

sometimes, its the best thing to keep your mouth shut about everything. I dont know how to

reach you, but I hope one of these days you would read this letter, and realize everything. But

for now, heres the poem by Frank OHara, the poem which pretty much inspired me to travel

and see the world with you, my young one.

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irn, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne

or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona

partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian

partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt

partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches

partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary

it is hard to believe when Im with you that there can be anything as still

as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it

in the warm New York 4 oclock light we are drifting back and forth

between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

Memories start swarming back to me. How the younger me had so many experiences with

her father. Except that father is now lying lifeless right in front of her. How I ignored him for three

years with the wrong reason.


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I squeezed my fathers hands, and continued reading his piece hewrote for me.

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint

you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look

at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world

exceptpossibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway its in the Frick

which thank heavens you havent gone to yet so we can go together the first time

and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism

just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or

at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me

and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them

when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank

or for that matter Marino Marini when he didnt pick the rider as carefully

as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience

which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it.

Darling, how I miss your beautiful smile. You must come back, your mother and I would be

so happy to see you. And maybe we can see The Frick Collection in New York together. Come back

my darling, Mary. Pops loves you so much.

Love,

Pops

I stayed in the hospital and looked after my father till he regained his consciousness. In fact,

he did wake up. His eyes were filled with joy seeing his whole family together again. Good thing his

doctor agreed to have his recovery at home. That is so he can get back to his daily routine and not to

get bored at all. As a family, we would watch a lot of movies, have dinners from time to time, and

have good old friends come over to play Monopoly. My father and I make a great team as always.

That was the time I met, Henry, which I would tell you about next time.

One Saturday morning, while we were at our veranda having our usual things going on, I

surprised him.

Pops, no peeking! I covered his eyes.

Youve never changed, darling, still full of surprises. On his table were four tickets to New

York, just so we can see The Frick Collection, the one he mentioned on the letter he scribbled for me.


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I immediately bought tickets after my art exhibit got sold out for three consecutive nights. I figured

surprising my family with a trip would bring us closer.

Ahh! The Frick. But darling, why are there four tickets? He wondered.

Why, Pops? Are we going to leave Mama and Sarah again? I raised one eyebrow. I saw my

mother giggle.

Before he could speak, In fact you guys should all get ready, were leaving this Tuesday!

I knew how happy he is, since thats the same look he would always give us when he is

proud.

Our New York trip was one of the many trips I would never forget. Except for the time that

my father experienced breathing problems. He had complications in his lungs; mother said he

stopped taking meds the year I left. At times, he would smoke, making it much worse than he

thought. I witnessed the terror on my mothers eyes. But I had to be brave for them, even if I was

terrified as they all were.

On the Eve of New Years Day, my father left us. He was sitting on his favorite couch

watching the trees in our yard sway. My mother was busy preparing for the Media Noche, and I was

setting up our dinner table, when Sarah noticed. It wasnt the head trauma that killed him, but the

poison cancer sticks, which he smoked every time hes creating something genius. But the months

before that were filled with happy memories we spent together as a family. Before he passed away, I

was able to ask him one question, which is one life lesson I shall never ever forget, how was he able

to forgive mom after everything she did. He answered boldly,

Mary, I chose to forgive your mother for the many things she did right and not for one thing

she did wrong.

One day, I hope I could love like my Pops did, how my devoted father did.

for mary, love pops by maine uy

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