On Grief and Birth: A Filipina-American's Tribute to Her Father

By Marilette Sanchez

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t was somber and almost peaceful at the hospital. Don’t get me wrong, it was gut-wrenching as well, but we prayed and sang hymns until the very end. In his last moments, my mom, my sisters, and I stood as witnesses to the moment my dad passed from this life to the next. On September 11, 2020, I lost my father due to complications from a rare bone marrow disorder called myelofibrosis.

In the six months since my dad passed, there have been ebbs and flows of joy and pain. Joy wells up as I think of the memories he created, especially with my five kids. Recently, my six-year-old daughter recalled one of our last trips together with my parents to the Jersey Shore. In her words, “I was crossing the street and Lolo (Grandpa) said, ‘Make sure you look both ways.’ and I ran across the street and hugged him. That was when he was alive.” 

One of my two-year-old’s favorite books is a children’s book titled Grandpa’s Wish List, which portrays a Grandpa and his big plans now that his new grandchild has arrived. Whether it is “go on a fishing trip” or “build a treehouse,” the book only highlights the things that are no longer possible for my kids to do with their lolo. Every time I have a sweet moment making new memories or laughing with my kids, the moment soon turns bittersweet when I realize my dad isn’t here to experience this with them and never will be again. 

Heaven Touches Earth

As a mother of five, I know the birthing process well. With the births of my children, though the process was slightly different for each, the same somber—yet joyful—atmosphere I experienced in the room when my dad died was present. As I endured the labor pains, there was a joy set before me that made the pain worthwhile: the moment my little one would transition and enter this world. With birth, there is a gravity to the moment as heaven touches earth, and we have the privilege to witness the ushering in of the supernatural. 

The same thing happened with the passing of my dad. As his body was withering away, his spirit was being renewed. Heaven touched earth in that moment that his soul left his body. We saw the peace on his face as he went. “Therefore we do not lose heart,” the Apostle Paul tells us. “Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). 

A Father’s Legacy

My father grew up in a rural area of the Philippines, and quit school at a young age to pick up odd jobs to support his sick father. Despite his lack of education and upbringing in an area with not much opportunity, he went to a vocational school for printing, which eventually led to a steady printing job in Manila, the metropolis of the Philippines. Several years after marrying my dad, my mom had the opportunity to work as a nurse in New York City—without her family. She soon petitioned for him and my two elder sisters to come on a dependent visa. In April 1988, three months before I was born, my dad took the 24-hour flight from the Philippines to New York City, two toddlers in hand. His strong work ethic and love for people (and food) eventually led him to start a Filipino grocery store just outside New York City, creating community and providing my home away from home. 

When I think back on the legacy my dad left his friends and family, I am struck by how one person could touch so many lives just by living his life well. He was a surrogate dad and grandfather to those without, including my husband, Moses, as well as several young men at our church. My dad was a man of few words, but showed his love through his actions. Practical help was his love language. Gifted as a handyman, he loved doing household projects for his friends and family. Whether it was renovating entire bathrooms or installing new flooring, he was generous with his time and ability and never charged for the labor.

My dad always made sure that every person he met felt valued and cared for. He never met a stranger, especially a fellow Filipino. I remember many Costco trips during which he would greet strangers with “Hoy Kababayan, taga saan ka sa atin?” (Fellow countryman, where are you from back home in the Philippines?). Later that day, those same people would be over for dinner or at least for kape (coffee) and meryenda (snack). If you stepped in his home, he would badger you incessantly until you gave in to having something to eat or drink. I remember growing up in a three-bedroom apartment with my three sisters and grandparents—and still taking in newlyweds whose immigration status made it difficult to find a safe place to stay. 

My cousin reminded me recently of a saying that my dad lived by and spread to others. “Walang imposible basta may pangarap ka. Ang importante ay marunong kang magsumikap at higit sa lahat wag kang makakalimot sa Itaas,” which translates to “Nothing is impossible as long as you have dreams and aspirations. The most important thing is to work hard, and above all, never forget God.” 

My dad had his own dreams. He always told my kids about a farm that he would build in the Philippines, and after years of effort, despite his sickness, my dad made that dream a reality. My dad showed me perseverance in the way he pushed through his health issues and fought hard to not only survive, but to live his life to the full. 

I’m learning that grief is not one-size-fits-all; it looks different for everyone and there is no right or wrong way to grieve. In my experience of a few short months, grief looks like a push and pull of joy and pain, and usually hits me in the little, seemingly mundane moments, like storytime with my kids. I am comforted by these two facts: Abba, our Heavenly Father, experienced grief when he witnessed his one and Son suffer and die. And our Savior, Jesus, on the cross, experienced being separated from his Father for the first time in eternity. God can intimately identify with our grief and loss.

As I faced my first holiday season without my dad, comfort came as I was reminded of the Bible verse Hebrews 4:13. “For we do not have a high priest unable to sympathize with our weaknesses…”  The road of grief ahead has many unknowns. But I rest in the fact that God has gone ahead of me and knows exactly what is to come. 

Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash

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Marilette Sanchez is a wife and mother of five young kids first, but put some coffee and a pen in her hand and she is unstoppable. She and her husband work for the Christian non-profit organization Cru, working alongside marriages and families. New York City natives and college sweethearts, they are known for their transparency and their ability to inject their love of hip hop and pop culture into their discussions of love, sex and marriage. Follow their parenting and homeschooling journey on Instagram at @bigcitybigfamily and Marilette's musings on womanhood and pop culture at www.MariletteSanchez.com.