Juanito Gabule Undag, a Biography

         December 6, 1999, was an uneventful Sunday until Mama called at around eight o’clock that night. She calmly but with hidden anxiety said that Papa was missing. She went down to the ground floor of Mar Vista Senior Apartments to ask if anyone had seen him walk out the door. Nobody did.



         Mama came home from attending the worship service at Community Christian Fellowship as she usually did. Papa has been staying home now because his weakness has progressed to the point where he would stop and sit down every ten to fifteen steps. His ambulatory capacities have diminished and he has a mild case of dementia.



         I grabbed my long winter coat to cover my pajama, jumped in the van, and took off. When I arrived, my sister, Hannie, and brother Deo were already there. We went down to the Manager’s Office to ask for assistance. The “On Duty” staff was not very pleasant when he opened the door.



         “What do you want us to do?” The manager asked.



         “Of course, you realize that my father is 85 years old and he has difficulty walking,” I said.



         “Well, I don’t know what we can do,” he replied.



         “Perhaps, you can call the Police Dept. for help for starters,” I said, now agitated.



         We went back upstairs to Mama and Papa’s quarters to figure out what to do. In a matter of minutes, there was a knock and when I opened the door, two Police Officers stood, escorted by the On-Duty Staff.



         He took a report and suggested that we go out to look.



         “Well, we’ve been to the bus station already. It’s kind of scary out there. There are shady characters milling around. We inquired from the Greyhound Office for their passenger list perchance Papa took the bus to Los Angeles. He has been talking about going back to the Philippines for a visit again,” I explained.



         When the Officer was finished taking his report, he concluded there was nothing they could do if a man leaves on his own accord. After all, this is still a free country.



         I wanted to argue then that this is an 85-year-old man who may not be able to remember landmarks and directions, but, what’s the point? I thanked him for his time and he left.



         Meanwhile, we tried to examine what items were missing that he might have taken with him. He wore his shoes. His backpack was gone and his blue jacket was missing also. That’s a good sign. At least, he will be warm with his jacket. His wallet was missing as well. What about his passport? Mama checked. Hallelujah! The passport was there. That means he cannot go too far. He has to be between here and LA, we surmised. That’s a vast area, but, at least, we know that he cannot get a boarding pass at the airport.



         At any rate, we still decided to drive to Los Angeles to check the Greyhound Station and LAX. Jun Credito and Pastor Tito Sanchez willingly accompanied Hannie, Deo, and me that night. Driving in downtown LA around midnight was an experience in itself. It felt like entering the twilight zone. It was totally eerie and haunting. We saw street people – some idling around, some curled in their sleeping bags, and some picking up food from garbage dumpsters. What a wonderful relief to head out of that zone as soon as we could. Then, we headed to LAX. There, we examined every individual taking a catnap and slumped on those benches in the waiting areas.



         No sign of Papa. We left LA disappointed but not necessarily in despair. Pastor Sanchez offered a prayer to calm down our spirits before heading back home.



         It was five in the morning when we got back to Oceanside. I slipped into bed quietly and woke up two hours later. I called my supervisor, June, to tell her I would not be in because of what happened the night before and I hadn’t had enough sleep. Moreover, we have not found Papa yet. June understood and she allowed me to stay out that Monday.



         Half-awake and half-asleep, I washed up and prepared flyers to hand out around town. I called Hannie and told her that I was on my way back to Mama’s place. She has not had her sleep either. She needed to take a little snooze before she can start her day.



         On my way to pick Mama up, I stopped at the Post Office and handed flyers to passersby. Then, Mama and I went distributing flyers at the train/bus station and down the streets of Oceanside.



         It was a Monday and parking was not allowed off Topeka Street between 10 am-2 pm. At first, I parked at the bank’s parking lot and then because I thought that it was only going to take a minute to get Mama, I parked off-street. But Mama asserted that LuAnn Makahele, the Office Manager, wanted to see us, to follow up on the Police Report that we made the night before. So, Mama and I went to the Office. LuAnn suggested that we wait a while for the Oceanside Police Detective to come in to take another report. We were told that there was no report filed the night before, and the Officer stating said the report was not complete.



         I was disgusted with that statement. I had given the Police Officer all the information he needed. I answered all his questions. So, what information was missing? I was miffed. All I knew was my father was missing and he must be shivering from the cold if he has been exposed all night. It was so disheartening to experience doors slammed in our faces. We felt so defeated, helpless, and isolated. Where do we turn for help? Who will help? I was close to hyperventilating. More so, because at Mama’s last count, Papa had $800 in his wallet. Then, Mama mentioned that she gave him another $300 the previous week when their money came in. What a scary thought: I can picture an old man being mugged down the street and left injured, or worst, dead.



         I was with Mama at the office for some fifteen minutes when it dawned on me that I was parked at the No Parking Zone. Hurriedly, I got up and I told LuAnn that I have to move my van, otherwise, I would get a parking ticket: that would cost me an arm and a leg! She suggested I park at the bank’s parking lot across the street, which I did earlier. By the time I got back to the van, a ticket was issued already, clipped to my windshield, as if waving proudly, taunting me. Just what I needed…that will cost me $32 that I don’t have. Oh, well, God loves me for giving me hurdles along the way. So I dismissed it as just another headache on top of the other that I can shake off easily.



         It took me another thirty minutes to get back to the office after I moved the van. As I walked into the office, guess who was stepping in as well? A Police Officer walked in and behind him was Papa. What an instant relief from a high fever that lifted me as I said, “It’s Papa. Where have you been?



         Instead of responding to me, he turns to the Police Officer and announced, “This is my oldest daughter.”



         The Police Officer led Papa inside the office as I followed them. Inside was Mama smiling from ear to ear, although a sense of trepidation and foreboding showed in her countenance also.



         “Where were you last night?” I repeated.



         “I was lost. It’s tough getting old,” was his long-winded and belabored reply.



         My heart danced to see him back alive, but it also ached as I looked at his aged face and frail body. My poor father. If I could only turn the tide and start all over again. I would have no qualms in spending all my life savings and topping off my credit cards in exchange for a renewed mental faculty and reenergized body for him.



         Wouldn’t that be glorious? I jolted and reminded myself that this physical body is temporal. God has promised us a glorious body in the heavenly places. Not here. Our hope and destiny is to live in a heavenly mansion prepared by our Master and Maker in his eternal abode. There’s my consolation. Now, I must get real and deal with the challenges facing me today.



         Three weeks later, while attending the New Year’s Eve family get-together at my house, Papa collapsed when he took a couple of steps from the couch to the dining table. I dialed 911; paramedics came and took him to Tri-City Hospital on a gurney.



         On New Year’s Day, he woke up with Mama and me at his bedside. Opening his eyes, I exclaimed, “Papa, you woke up to see Y2K!”

         “Hallelujah, Praise the Lord!” he responded with equal excitement, though, with less intensity.



         The specialist explained to us that Papa is suffering from acute pancreatic ulcers, is under close watch, and may undergo open surgery. This ailment recently surfaced to complicate his progressive dementia and bipolar disorder.



         Although by God’s grace, Papa escaped open surgery, since then, Papa has not regained his youthful energy. He has gone downhill even after recovery and coming home. Because of my concerns about his deteriorating health and longevity, I started thinking about writing his biography.