writing 30 for my father

i was off for a week. my father died. and our family deeply grieved his passing. my father was a "jack of all trades".
he was a boy scout. a radio announcer. a journalist. a tennis player. an administrator. a friend. a boss. a shoulder to cry on. a good provider. kind. norturing. frank. funny. a brother. a layman. an educator. a traveller. a soldier. a loving son. a loyal husband. he, together with mama, struggled to raise us eight (8) children. and we deeply appreciated their efforts.
as a child, i fell guilty for not being with him on his last days. he celebrated his birthday last march and a week after he died. i felt that i did not gave my best to alleviate his pain despite what he did to me, to us. i felt so inadequate. though, he was bedridden (so is mama), every now and then my other siblings made it a point to visit them. but me, i was away from home and if ever had the time dropped by the house and visited them. though he says, he understands us, that we have our own family and facing another life to live.
my father was a prominent figure in my life. in a way, i was like him - i became a radio announcer. i wrote for a newspaper. i was involved in media every now and then. forever, i am grateful to him. and we are missing him. his life was worth emulating. as we say in the media it is not the end, but only writing 30.