Tatay (My Dad) turned 61 on a Tuesday. Two weeks later,
again on a Tuesday, I rushed him to the hospital. When we needed to transfer
him to the hospital in the city, his last night was on a Tuesday. When he was
advised to be “home-cared”, his last night in the hospital was on a Tuesday.
And finally, after 25 days of staying at home, on a Tuesday afternoon, he
finally rested in peace.
My prayers have evolved from:
1.
Please do not take him away from us yet.
2.
Please give us a chance to take care of him.
3.
Dear Lord, your will be done. We trust in you.
Two years ago, I don’t know what made me move back home. I have a life, my own apartment, a career and total freedom in the city. At 25, I have owned my life and call all the shots in my life and declared independence. Two years ago, I moved back home and surrendered under parental guidance. It was not easy having to go by the rules of my parents after living on my own for 10 years.
When I moved back home, he told me “ You left when you were
16, now at 26 you’re back. You were gone for 10 years. I counted.” That was all
he said. He never brought up why I moved back home, nor had an impression that
I failed in whatever career I was
pursuing that time. He was happy I pursued graduate school, even if he knows
that I only took it only out of a whim, because I don’t know yet what I want to
do. It was his idea that I take up Development Communication, so it was a lot
of adjustment because it’s social science and I have “Arts” as grounding.
He looks happy when I take my had out to ask for allowance
(something that it took me a whole lot of pride to swallow). He supports my
projects, whether it’s promoting reading habits for children, or driving me and
my friends on Saturdays for our class in
College of Public Affairs. He even lets me drive the car for short distances
drive, like when I have my zumba class every afternoon. If he needs the car, he
drives and picked me up from UP’s country club. I was 28, but felt like 18.
It’s overwhelming and nice to know that I don’t really know
my father that well. We’ve had random encounter with strangers telling us how
my Tatay saved their lives, when they had a stroke, a heart attack,
hypertension, when they encountered a blast. My Dad was with me when we also
rushed my friend in grad school to the hospital when she had an emergency cyst
operation.
I remember how we were having Sunday brunch years ago at
McDonald’s and he suddenly stood up. I thought he walked out but he rushed to the counter because he saw a
mentally-challenged beggar asking for food at the cashier’s counter. He paid
for the the beggar’s meal, (of course he never got a thank you) and went back
to our table like nothing happened. Like it was the most natural thing to do.
Four months ago, I was contemplating and asking my self what
made me move back home. I am not exactly
a Daddy’s girl and God knows how much arguments, clash we’ve had trying to meet
our points. I’ve had my own personal resentment towards him but when you see
your father in his deathbed, all my resentments were gone and sometimes you
even negotiate with God that you’re willing for forgive and forget everything
just to have his normal self back. When I rushed him to the hospital, I was
able to tell him at the Emergency Room that we love him, while he was still
conscious. And the first hour he fell into a coma, I told him what I wanted to
tell him, and before I know it, I emptied out a box of tissue. With this memory that I have, he taught me how to
forgive.
He was very patient in waiting, from the slumber parties my
sister and I attended, from taking me to Manila when I did not know how to
commute, and time when he waited patiently waited for us during our doctor’s
appointment. On his deathbed, he waited til I was able to finally register the
car for this year and he waited til my sister came home from her 10 day trip in
Batanes. I asked if he can wait til I get my Master’s degree because I will
take my compre exam this semester but I know that’s asking for too much. I was
planning on working on my thesis last summer but went out of focus because of
his medical condition. He decided to leave before school starts, because if he
leaves mid semester, I will, for sure, be out of focus again.
My Dad made me do some of the things that I don’t want to
do:
·
I do not
want to rush someone to the hospital, especially a family member , because I
have rusty driving skills. – Before I know it, I already rushed him to the
hospital on the day he fell into a coma.
·
I don’t like waking up too early in the morning .
– I used to wake up very slowly at 6:30
am, now I can wake up at 5:30am to feed the dogs without qualms.
·
I don’t like cleaning after our dogs poop.
Because they tend to jump on me and I get paw prints all over. – Before I know
it, I am already cleaning and feeding our dogs and have incorporated it in my
system.
·
I don’t want to see him take his last breath.
Because it would always be my last memory of him. – Last Tuesday, I went to
Robinson’s to get rechargeable batteries for his oxymeter so that we don’t have
to keep on buying. The sales attendant that I spoke with was not there, so the
process of me getting the pre-ordered batteries took some time. When I finally
got it, I contemplated on whether I should go to my friend Lyle’s house for a
quick hello, or go to the church infront
of Robinson’s mall for a quick prayer. I decided to light up a purple
candle and breathe a scripted prayer to God and took the jeepney. During those
time, I don’t know what to pray for anymore. And on my way home, I get a text
and several missed calls asking me to go home immediately. And there, my father
lay, all pale and thin, not struggling for his last breath. His oxymeter says
his oxygen is 54, the lowest I’ve seen. I held his hand and told him that I
finally have the batteries for his oxymeter. I saw how his oxymeter fell from 54-47-41-37.
I stopped looking at the oxymeter on his finger and kissed his forehead. Then
there were two dashes, indicating he is gone.
I know how people realize how important and good a person is
when they’re gone. I am lucky that at least for two years, I have gotten to know
and spend time with my father, up to the last minute that he was alive. I am
just glad that he held on for two months and three days to prepare us
emotionally. And I know, even when he is gone, he is still with me. Sometimes,
literally. Like I was looking for his birth certificate and camisa de chino (which
is not exactly a fun thing to do), I don’t know the contents of his closet so I
asked him if he can show it to me because I am running after a schedule and
whithin 30 seconds he showed it to me.
He made it convenient for me. First night he was laid to rest, I swear I heard
his breathing, exactly the one that I usually hear when it was my duty look
after him. He is still the same father that likes to play tricks on his family,
because he squeezed Aprille’s feet while she was sleeping, the exact same way
Aprille did to him when he was lying in bed to see any response from him.
Now I know why I went home two years ago and I am thankful why sometimes you can’t
argue with the force of the universe to shake you to the core. Not only this
entire experience is humbling, it is empowering as well. You know when you
experience this massive amount of support, blessing and help, you can’t help but have
this so much passion to help out, not only give back but pay forward, several times over.
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