Toto Utama Budi Santoso was a man who wore many hats, but he was always known as a figure with a heart to spare for others. During World Social Work Day on March 16, Toto was named Indonesia's Father of Social Work by the Indonesian Professional Social Workers Association (IPSPI). But he never got to acknowledge the recognition as he had drawn his last breath two months previously, on Jan. 28, three weeks after catching COVID-19 at the age of 60.

Toto dedicated his waking hours to helping people less fortunate than himself. His presence was very impactful on those in need, especially during his time as secretary-general of the Social Affairs Ministry from 2010 to 2015. He is survived by his wife Budi Hartati, and three children Andito Jati Kusumo, 30, Prasetyo Budi Utomo, 26, and their youngest Nabila Kaulika, 23.

Toto's only daughter Nabila remembers her father as a hardworking man with an inquiring mind and a persistent spirit.

Toto juggled various businesses, from a cloth-printing business to a poultry farm in pursuit of filling his cup of curiosity.

"I think my dad got this far in life not because he was the type of person who was extremely smart, but because he was a fighter. He always showed up and never compromised on his values," said Nabila, who works in the fashion and creative industry.

Father-daughter bond

Nabila's earliest memory of Toto was as “daddy's little girl.” When she was in elementary school, her dad was rarely at home due to his job requiring Toto to go back and forth from Jakarta to Bandung in West Java.

Whenever Toto came home, which was once every two weeks, father and daughter would make the best of it. Nabila would follow her dad around wherever he went, whenever possible. Once in a while, Toto would lift little Nabila and carry her on his shoulders. She remembers it as her favorite place to be.

As Nabila grew up, the dynamic of their dad-and-daughter relationship might have changed, yet it did not stop Toto from communicating his love for his daughter, in a show-don't-tell manner.

Nabila recalled, "We didn't exchange life updates or articulate our feelings for one another, but I remember I was very caught up with my university project last year. I stayed up all night for two or three days in a row at a cafe downstairs [of my house]. My father slept there with me while I was finishing my task." It was another of Nabila's fondest memories of her dad.

Loved by many

Catur Dieng Surahadi, 29, is a close friend of Toto's eldest son, who eventually grew close to Toto. Catur even looked up to Toto as a father figure. Catur called him ayah (dad).

"The late ayah Toto was a very beloved figure for me personally and probably for everyone who knew him well. He held social values in high regard, and this has influenced my work ethic. I think it was the very reason that made him well respected even after he retired," said Catur, who was entrusted with running one of Toto's businesses in Sidoarjo, East Java, alongside Toto’s two sons.

Catur also often accompanied Toto to work meetings and events, but their relationship was more than colleagues. Sometimes, Catur also joined Toto's leisure family trips.

One particular kernel of Toto's wisdom has stuck with Catur. "I remember when we were on our way to attend meetings, ayah Toto advised me not to over-calculate in life because God never calculates His grace and mercy for us. I promised myself I would carry forward that wisdom."

Last days

It was Toto's third week of resting at home due to the COVID-19 infection. No severe symptoms were apparent, but Toto finally opted for treatment in the hospital without having his nearest and dearest by his side as moral support, in order to comply with health protocols.

After only a few days in the hospital, his condition deteriorated with his oxygen level dropping significantly. He was brought to the ICU and put on a ventilator to support his lungs.

“Then it all happened so fast,” recalls Nabila.

According to Nabila's story, Toto's heart stopped once but health workers managed to get it working again. After that, everything became a whirlwind, said Nabilla, who found the experience too traumatic to keep track of. Like many COVID-19 victims, Toto passed away without his family being able to say their final goodbyes.

Nabila feels the virus robbed her of the right to process her feelings, and her father of the respect he deserved. "We didn't get to see my dad's body, we only witnessed his coffin being buried in the ground from afar. My brother even had to attend his funeral from the car because they both had tested positive at the time," said Nabila.

A few friends and colleagues came to Toto's funeral, but Nabila believed that many other people would have wanted to give her dad a proper send-off, but could not.

Nabilla says that the hurt continues to linger, and the pandemic has made grieving collectively, impossible. Those who did go to the funeral were unable even to hug each other.

"My family couldn't receive what we needed most during this grieving process - which is comfort from our friends. The fact that COVID-19 is still around, I feel like I keep being reminded of my dad's passing."

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