My beautiful father, Juan Domingo Bonet, lost his ability to live on his own, a fact a daughter never wishes to see. I'd been fearing the worst since April, when I was trying very hard to stay happy during the production of The Sound of Music. On May 15, my father underwent a medical and mental deterioration that placed his life in danger, and as much as it hurt me to do it, he could no longer remain in our family home.
My father always was a stoic, proud man of militaristic discipline and strength; a lawyer, a social worker, a teacher, an agronomist, a Korean veteran, an activist and freedom fighter. During his lifetime he served different roles and generated incredible memories. He loved his wife, my mother, very dearly and cared for her until the end of her life. He built an incredible home for us, where we never, ever went without anything. He loved to paint and I remember him painting the walls of our house different colours at least once a year. Machete in hand, he'd spend hours in the backyard, sorting the patio. On Sundays, he would mow the lawn. I remember the way he'd come to the window every now and then and talk to my mother or say some lame joke over the window bars. Then, he'd come in to read his newspaper, listen to the news and to "talk back" radio on a portable radio, and drink his coffee before retiring for one of his incredibly long and habitual naps.
An easy going man, he loved walking the streets of our city, Mayaguez, and chatting to strangers on the street. I remember my father standing by the taxi depot, chatting away with the taxi men and the local lotto vendors. He'd been waiting while his family went to a dental appointment and, as was his fashion, he'd wandered away to walk in the city and to talk to people. He could never truly sit still somewhere, a fact he ironically criticized on me. Cigarette in hand, he'd venture away into the city, into his house's patio, and he'd return later with a calm face and a quiet word. The man loved to walk, often traveling on foot to places when others would drive.
My father was a hero to me, despite the fact that he disciplined very hard. I specially bore the brunt of it, because I was the oldest girl and I "should know better." He expected a lot from me, and from all of his children, a fact that drove me to push myself hard and towards leadership. Throughout his lifetime, he remained a hero to me. He believed in me, encouraged me, reminded me of my inner strength, and celebrated my achievements. He always made sure I never lacked anything, often giving me things he himself went without. I'm glad I've been lucky enough to enjoy a father like the one my father was. During the past few days, sadly, he's lost his independence. He shall never return to the home so fervently loved and he will never walk along the streets of his city. His possessions are now left behind, left wherever he last placed them on the final day he spent at his home.
You cannot imagine the amount of tears I've shed during these last few days. As my father moves away into a nursing home, I loose the ability to call him in the mornings and chat away as long as I want. I loose the ability to write to him and send him the programs of my shows. I also loose my childhood home. Left to dust and time, it will begin to decay and its contents will begin to fade. I know this is a process we all undergo, but that doesn't make it any less painful. No matter where I'd be in the world, my house still remained in Uroyan P-33, Alturas de Mayaguez. My room remained the same, just as I'd left it before I moved away. My things would be there, and my family's things would be there. It was the epicentre of time and space, a constant within an ever changing lifetime.
I find it interesting that the rain has not stopped for days, as if the skies know how my heart and soul feel, and wish to mimic the sorrow.
Yet, within all of that rain, I find my sisters, my friends, and great opportunities. People are so kind. They meet me for brunch, buy me a coffee, listen to my fears, encourage my resolve, and alleviate my burden. This weekend, I shall enjoy a wonderful solo opportunity in the Songs of the Sea concert with the Murray Conservatorium Choir. Last night, I received notification that I'd been cast in the upcoming production of Grease. My father loved Grease, a movie we watched over and over, and he would be proud and happy to know that I am in the show. My efforts as part of the production team of Aladdin are coming together to bear fruit as the show begins to gain strength. New opportunities open new roads for me, leading me to endless possibilities.
Slowly, slivers of sunlight trickle from within the clouds of rain. I am grateful.
