Happy Birthday, Daddy! We think about you with warm, bright thoughts.

Today, April 10, 2022, marks as the 1st year of Daddy’s passing and I’m Forever thankful for his life. He was a prayerful soul and diligent to the very end. That last few moments we were all with him in the hospital or watching on video call saying our goodbyes and singing songs like Amazing Grace I’m sure gave each of us courage to move on. His quiet life always was deeply anchored in prayer. To this very day as we remember him, May we be blessed.

Dad’s 40th day of passing. We love you, Daddy.

"Chance favors those who are best prepared."

This was the mantra that Daddy imposed to me during my high school days. Back then, he made me undergo a rigorous study camp during the summer break between my 3rd and 4th year of high school. This was to prepare me for college entrance examinations. Our routine was to wake up at 5 AM; do some aerobic exercises; eat; and then study from 8 until 5 in the afternoon.

All his efforts paid off, as I did pass all of the exams. Weekly, he would tell me that mantra. He always believed that there is no such thing as 'swerte.' But if there was such a thing, he said that my luck will pan out if I did more preparations.

As a child, everyone's father will always be the smartest person they know. But as time progresses, their children always outsmart their dad. In our case, he always remained as the smartest person in the room. He was diligent in his continuous pursue of knowledge. Be it from engineering, his specialty, or baking. Not to mention his extensive knowledge on planting and farming, among others. He believed that being old is not an excuse to not study.

Daddy always went out of his way to help his family and other people. Our relatives and neighbors can testify as to how supportive and kind our father was.

Daddy, you have showered everyone in this room with your wisdom, guidance, and love. Me and Hazel, Mommy, my 'ates', your grandchildren, Everyone, will remember and love you, always. If and when I have children of my own, I will inspire the your life lessons to them and tell them how great a person their grandfather was.

"I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss. I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy. I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

Mahal na mahal ka namin, Daddy.

lolo thank u for everything you've done to us for the guidance,support and for the advice everytime we sit together and talk about the future 'coz I've learned a lot from those words of u..we love u lolo ador thank u also for ur sincere love, may God give u a peaceful rest in heaven..

We are trully sorry loosing you uncle ador.the loss of someone like you is never easy.
While im writting this message ,i was so touched tears around my eyes was fallin.i remember the days that you give me advice like working abroad is not easy,sacrifice,patience,to be brave for all the trials, all of this words from you was still on my mind and never forget.
We my family wants to thank you very much for all the help and advice to us.memories you share with us will stay and wont even forgotten.
And now your leaving all of us who love and care for you,yet you may be gone from our sight but you never be gone from our heart.
In Gods arms no more pain and you gently rest in peace.

A brilliant man who inspires industry, That is what my father-in-law is. Dad Ador is a man on his seventies and never stops innovating. He maintained his garden plot and others as well at the Community garden with unconventional ways. He was well sought by his colleagues because he taught them do composting.
He believes knowledge is power and always trying to learn some more things by reading. I would sometimes drop him off to the City Library and often would tell me what are good books to read.
Dad always inspires me how to be innovative and reminds me that an engineer always have alternative plans when one fails. 
We will surely miss you, Dad! Love you always!

Dad was my rock. He was not expressive with words, but he showed it by his actions. He instilled the value of education, of being deliberate about one’s tasks, and doing them very well. He saw value in training both the mind and body. I remember him leaving at four a.m. to run, coming home by six a.m. and then doing calisthenics and lifting weights on a daily basis. He wanted me to run with him, too, but I could never wake up that early. At home, he loved listening to band music, like Glen Miller’s, to Nana Mouskourri, other singers in the 50's, 60's, 70's, and to the symphony. He was also endlessly reading books. Even to the days close to the end, he was still talking about how much there is to learn. He said with pride, “Mabuti na lang, madaling magising and utak ko” (The good thing is, my mind is quite easy to rouse). He was making a reference to dealing with chemo brain.

When I was young, I remember seeing his blue prints spread out on one of our long tables. He never wanted to wear glasses, even when he needed them. Instead, he got by with a magnifying glass. He sat poring over those blue prints until the wee hours of the night and maybe morning. He worked long hours, whether inside the house or in the construction sites. I remember those big 30° x 60° and 45° triangles. He taught me how to use them to make straight lines on the Cartolina paper for my reports at school. He taught me precision, which I remember resenting because I just wanted to get things done quickly. His advice was, “’Wag padalus-dalos. Kailangan may sistema.” And he embodied this. You don’t see him rush through things, whether it was working on his job, baking his favorite fruit cake, or teaching me how to solve a math problem.

I grew up with daddy being overseas since I was two years old until my late elementary years. My first memory of him was when he had to come back home for an emergency situation. My older brother Noel was rushed to the hospital due to an arteriovenous malformation in the brain. Suddenly, there was a stranger in our house offering me a big shiny apple. Soon after, I found out he was my dad. The next events were a blur of hospital stays, sadness from learning that my brother’s surgery was unsuccessful, my brother’s funeral, and my family moving on from that time. Dad, making up for lost time, tried to prioritize my education. He was concerned I was growing up like a batang kalye (a child of the streets). I remember when he taught me how to write legibly. He had one of the best handwriting in the world. Aside from handwriting lessons, he chose the books I were to read, quizzed me on them, had me memorize poems, memorize multiplication tables, solve math problems and work on my math textbooks like I was in an intensive Kumon center. When dad was home from the Middle East, I had to quickly read my books of choice and then study his assigned chapters before he came home from the office. When I became an adult, I told him how I dreaded those years, though I am grateful at the same time. His answer was that he was actually more laid back compared to his father. At least, I didn’t get smacked for every wrong answer!

My admiration for him grew deeper when I was in late elementary. I saw it at the time when he had to stop working in the Middle East due to the Gulf War. He had no current assignment, but he had to find a way to support his family. He said, “Kahit maging magbobote ako, gagawin ko, basta marangal na trabaho.” He took on a market stall that my mom started and sold rice. He bought sacks of rice in Bulacan, loading them in his pick-up truck, and unloaded each one in his stall in Mayon Market, Quezon City. Sometimes he took me with him to the rice mills and I always looked forward to eating puto bought locally in the area. He worked hard and long. This time it was managing the store and sorting out rice husks and dirt from the rice grains he sold. He was probably the best rice seller in the market.

Dad had individual outings with us, his children. My outings with him were usually going to the carnival in Cubao, then eating lunch at Shakey’s. He always ordered a Manager’s size pizza and a mug of rootbeer, while I got a slice of that pizza and a milkshake. We’d be there for over an hour because that’s how long it took me to finish a slice. Sometimes, we attended the piano recitals and concerts at Paco Park, Manila. At other times we would go to the music stores in Quiapo to buy piano books. He was my number one fan in my piano studies and recitals.

When I was in college, our regular outings became going to the University of the Philippines, Diliman, also his alma mater, to pay for my tuition. We waited in endless lines just to reach the cashier (we used to also call our school, University of Pila). After endless hours in the long queue, we got to eat somewhere. At some point, it became Chocolate Kiss Café at Bahay ng Alumni. It was a treat, because I wouldn’t have been able to eat there without him.

He valued and respected his sisters. His father had said, as their brother, it was his responsibility to protect and care for them. My dad looked up to them so much. Whatever Auntie Meding said was gold. “Makinig ka kay Auntie Meding”, he would say. In fact, when I visited the United States in 1998, part of it was for me to be lectured by her because I wasn’t doing well in school. When he talked about Auntie Auring, he bursts with genuine pride. He shared that he also wanted to be a doctor, but his family couldn’t afford the tuition. Auntie Auring, on the other hand, due to academic excellence, got a scholarship to medical school in University of Santo Tomas. It’s as if it were his own life story when he shares how Auntie Auring’s memory is so excellent, memorizing book chapters so easily, that she even corrected her teachers and, eventually, medical school professors. I have always viewed my dad as an authoritarian, but when he was around his sisters, it was somewhat pleasurable to see him change into their little brother. “Ador, stand up straight!,” my Auntie Meding would bark, and he did, immediately. He often thought about Auntie Cening, too, living so far away by herself, and initiated visiting her in Pennsylvania in 2018.

When my dad retired, he pursued various endeavors with intellectual curiosity. He enlisted in classes. He learned how to make soap (the papaya soap stung), wine (I remember but never tasted chico and atis wine), mold chocolates (that was our favorite project of his), vinegar, raise chickens (I remember Henrietta), nata de coco, graft plants and I may have forgotten others. His one constant passion was planting trees. He said trees were his legacy. In the place where he retired, he had mango, chico, langka, santol, kamias and avocado trees, to name a few. I miss the pickled mangoes and santol he made. His backyard became an experiment of plants and trees. When he moved to the United States, the community garden in Alhambra became his new office. He went to this office early in the morning and came home at night. When you visit him there, he’ll proudly show you his grape vines, berries, kamote, Kale and other “Let’s see if this grows” crops. His plots were not aesthetically pleasing, but his plants thrived and his harvest was bountiful. He loved working in the dirt with his hands. It loved him back.

Dad was not someone who announced his benevolence and charity. However, I eventually learned he sponsored a few to finish school. I remember us even attending “Ate” Noemi’s college graduation and celebrating afterwards. Additionally, in the Philippines, he had to deal with people who illegally built homes in his plot of land. Instead of fighting them, he initiated a way for them to own a piece of it in a legal and compassionate way. My father never wished ill of anyone, even if he had the right.

It was natural that, of all places where he could volunteer, he volunteered at the public community library. He enjoyed talking to people of different races and cultures, and he felt at home at a place that afforded him free access to books. During one of our Friday afternoon conversations, he said that after the lockdown due to the COVID-19 pandemic, he would much rather go back to the library to research. There is so much to study, he said. He expressed exasperation, but with resignation, that there are so many great scientists he hadn’t known about, but there’s so little time to learn.

My dad had a strong will to live. Upon getting the thyroid cancer diagnosis of the anaplastic kind, he advocated to get all the possible treatments he could get to prolong his life. He disliked the feeling of helplessness, and it was heartbreaking to see the effects of those treatments on his mind and body. Yet he persevered and fought to reclaim the dignity of having control over his body, such as being able to go to the bathroom with privacy and independence. He started picking up books again to “waken” his brain. Such was where he was when the cancerous mass, compressing against his throat, came back a year later. It was hard not to be able to talk to him again. Dad had to be sedated and put on mechanical ventilation.

I will miss Fridays with you, Dad. I could have had another Friday with you if I had known you didn’t go to speech therapy that day. It breaks my heart that you were waiting for my video call. It breaks my heart that the next time I got to be with you was in the ICU.

Dad, although you were not expressive with your words, your presence was strong. It held the family together through the storms, literally and figuratively. When I’m with you, I felt secure. You supported my plans, whether you approved or not. When I faced the consequences of my unwise decisions, you never said, “I told you so.” You patiently listened to my stories and ramblings of life. You were not one to give heart-stirring and eloquent talk, but you were quick to give affirmations that I’m loved and I’m smart. When I try to recreate myself and start over, you provided support, though I know you secretly prayed and worried on your own.

I’ve always felt like life is fine because he was around. I’ve seen him grow more stooped and wrinkled through the years, but he always seemed invincible. His mind had always been sharp, even when he was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Sadly, even tall ancestral trees die. Similarly, dad’s life has reached its end. However, his legacy lives on. It lives in the trees that he has planted. It lives in people’s lives that he has touched.

It’s a privilege to be one of his children. I have been raised by a noble man. I have been raised by a gentleman. I have been raised by the best father God could ever fashion for me. Thank you, dad. I have forgotten most poems you had me memorize. I am still not very good in Math. I will never overcome stage fright in piano performances. But I will continue to honor you because you’re engraved in my heart. When someone tells me, in a good way, “How did you learn that?”, “You’re such a hard worker!” or “That was so kind of you”, I will proudly say, “I learned that from my dad.”