This morning I visited my father's grave. Since I have Friday nights off, I decided to go there a day early of the "Undas" pilgrimage. It did take me 2 hours to get there. A truck had an accident on the Concepcion-Magalang road. It caused a monster traffic jam.

When I eventually got there, there were no crowds. Just a few people doing some last-minute painting. I lit candles for my father and 2 brothers. It had been a couple of years since I last visited. I felt a little guilty that I hadn't visited. I kept trying to shut out that part of my life, the memory of their death. I've dealt with reality of it, but I'd rather not think about it.

After I said my prayers I took a pair of cigarrettes from my shirt pocket. I had quit 10 months ago due to gastric problems. I lit one of them. It was my first cigarrette in 10 months. It tasted familiar, albeit awful. Each draw was comforting, though. It was almost relaxing. I took the other cigarrette and placed it on my father's gravestone. I then whispered, "One last draw, Dad. One last draw. You've always wanted one, up until the day that you died. I prayed for the day that I could stop smoking myself. The day has come. I don't want to put the same burden on my son."

"I'm sorry that we could'nt get along all the time. I'm sorry I couldn't be the perfect son that you hoped for. I'm sorry that I didn't have the courage to tell you why I did what I did. That would've made it easier for you to understand your son. I'm sorry I was as proud as you were. So proud that I couldn't admit when you were the one who was right."

"Let's make our peace, Dad. I need to live a better life, for my son. Let's make our peace and be done with it. One last draw, like you always wanted. It ends here."

Having said that, I threw away my last cigarrette.