Christopher Scalia, son of the late US Supreme Court Justice Antonin Gregory Scalia, wrote this about his father's death.
I also learned about his childhood. Although he had shared stories about playing stickball in Queens, he never went into much detail about the different ways he and his neighborhood friends entertained themselves. Perhaps, like me, you'll see these scenes play out in black and white, like something from a classic film. And perhaps, like me, you'll find his tributes to departed friends especially powerful. In those, my father conveys what he admired in other people and what he most appreciated in personal relationships. His sorrow at the death of one friend particularly moved me, as my father expresses regret at "not...say[ing] goodbye. But I have the sure hope that I will see him again where old friends will have an eternity to catch up and make amends." These words mirror my own feelings after the death of the man who wrote them.
I teared up in the early morning train ride as I read this. Tatay, too, regaled us with stories about his own childhood, growing up in Esperanza, Sultan Kudarat, before relocating to Polomolok, South Cotabato, where my cousins still reside. I missed Tatay because I imagined his personality--fun-loving, gregarious, jocular--was similar to Justice Scalia's. My father wasn't quite as articulate, of course--he asked me to draft his speeches for him, usually for weddings where he was requested to be a ninong--but he, too, was full of joie de vivre, still smiling during his final moments of consciousness.
Memories come like floods, washing over me, an incomparable feeling of sorrow, longing, and joy that perhaps only people who had lost precious people in this life would know. My hope is that, when the Lord takes me home, I'll see my father again, feel his embrace, and hear his warm laughter.
Meanwhile, I return to Scalia Speaks, a collection of Justice Scalia's speeches on topics such as the meaning of being an American, faith, and friends.