A year ago, my mom was in Europe. For the first time in my entire life she left me and my dad to fend for ourselves. For three whole months she let me pay for the bills and worry about our day to day living. I was happy to have had the time off from her constant na-----, erm, I mean, reminding. I was happy that she finally had time for herself. I never thought it was meant to prepare for the future.
A year ago, my dad was complaining about a constant fever, about not feeling well. I thought it was just the stress of having had to worry about my grandfather's demise and all the goings-on in the province. I thought it was just a fever, that's all. I was even annoyed that he couldn't take care of himself. Up to this day, I still feel guilty for not having paid more attention.
October 5, 2008 my dad told me he was vomitting blood. I was at work. Getting ready for the weekend, when I received a message from my father, I had to bring him to the hospital. He was feeling worse. I was angry. For some inesplicable reason, I was angry at the inconvenience. I was angry because I had no money to spare for the inevitable hospital bill. I was selfish.
We got to the hospital, the doctors didn't know what ws wrong with him. My dad was yellow and they thought it was jaundice. They asked all these questions, all this history. I was thinking to myself, they should just get on with it - Start making him well already! My mom called, I had to tell her where we were. They talked on the phone but I don't think they were really hearing each other but knowing the other was on the phone was enough. She was coming home. In 18 hours they would be together again.
Fear was slowly creeping in.
That night, I saw my father go from sick to deathly. At around two AM of October 6, he started bleeding from every orifice. I hate blood. The sight of it makes me heave. I had to leave the room. He was my father but I could not watch. I refused to watch him deteriorate. The doctors said his blood pressure was too low and the transfusions were not helping.
The panic was making me choke.
I had my niece MC with me. She was so brave. She didn't understand what was happening but she could watch her lolo more than I could. She was inside the room when they cleaned him up. I was outside shaking like a loon. Nani, a trusted helper, was there. He took care of Papa. He cleaned him up. He did what my body and hands couldn't do. I called Adrian, my then fiance, to please come. I called Tita Susan, my Papa's sister. I wanted to call on everyone I knew. I've never felt so alone.
At ten AM of October 6, I went home to change and drop of MC. I needed the time away from the reality. My Papa was not well at all. He was not talking to us anymore. He couldn't squeeze my hand.
When I came back to the hospital, I watched them try to resuscitate. I watched in horror as they pumped his heart for over an hour. I was begging him to fight. I was begging him to hold on until my mom arrived. I was shouting at him not to dare leave me. He still had to walk me down the aisle!
Then I saw him turn gray. I saw him expire. In less than 24 hours, I lost Papa.
I was hysterical. I could hear this distant wailing, like someone was in torturous pain. It took me a while to realize it was my crying. In the same time I was losing my mind, I felt detached. It was the disbelief in what was happening. He was really gone. The insistent beep of a flatline was evidence.
That night I had to tell my mom, five minutes after fetching her from the airport, that Papa was gone. I never heard my mom as vunerable as she did when she weeped that night. I pray I never have to hear her go throught that horror again.
The next days until my father's burial were a blur of faces and condolences. Amidst all the people who came to support and mourn with us, I still felt alone. In death of a loved one, you get all the encouragement from family and friends and yet you really mourn alone.
It's been a year. It took all this time for me not to cringe at the thought of having lost my Papa. It has taken the year to make me smile, even chuckle, when I remember him. It took a year for me to forgive him for leaving us, for not walking me down the aisle, for not being there.
Mama and I, we survived. We're okay now. I pray, wherever Papa is, he's happy too.
A year ago, my dad was complaining about a constant fever, about not feeling well. I thought it was just the stress of having had to worry about my grandfather's demise and all the goings-on in the province. I thought it was just a fever, that's all. I was even annoyed that he couldn't take care of himself. Up to this day, I still feel guilty for not having paid more attention.
October 5, 2008 my dad told me he was vomitting blood. I was at work. Getting ready for the weekend, when I received a message from my father, I had to bring him to the hospital. He was feeling worse. I was angry. For some inesplicable reason, I was angry at the inconvenience. I was angry because I had no money to spare for the inevitable hospital bill. I was selfish.
We got to the hospital, the doctors didn't know what ws wrong with him. My dad was yellow and they thought it was jaundice. They asked all these questions, all this history. I was thinking to myself, they should just get on with it - Start making him well already! My mom called, I had to tell her where we were. They talked on the phone but I don't think they were really hearing each other but knowing the other was on the phone was enough. She was coming home. In 18 hours they would be together again.
Fear was slowly creeping in.
That night, I saw my father go from sick to deathly. At around two AM of October 6, he started bleeding from every orifice. I hate blood. The sight of it makes me heave. I had to leave the room. He was my father but I could not watch. I refused to watch him deteriorate. The doctors said his blood pressure was too low and the transfusions were not helping.
The panic was making me choke.
I had my niece MC with me. She was so brave. She didn't understand what was happening but she could watch her lolo more than I could. She was inside the room when they cleaned him up. I was outside shaking like a loon. Nani, a trusted helper, was there. He took care of Papa. He cleaned him up. He did what my body and hands couldn't do. I called Adrian, my then fiance, to please come. I called Tita Susan, my Papa's sister. I wanted to call on everyone I knew. I've never felt so alone.
At ten AM of October 6, I went home to change and drop of MC. I needed the time away from the reality. My Papa was not well at all. He was not talking to us anymore. He couldn't squeeze my hand.
When I came back to the hospital, I watched them try to resuscitate. I watched in horror as they pumped his heart for over an hour. I was begging him to fight. I was begging him to hold on until my mom arrived. I was shouting at him not to dare leave me. He still had to walk me down the aisle!
Then I saw him turn gray. I saw him expire. In less than 24 hours, I lost Papa.
I was hysterical. I could hear this distant wailing, like someone was in torturous pain. It took me a while to realize it was my crying. In the same time I was losing my mind, I felt detached. It was the disbelief in what was happening. He was really gone. The insistent beep of a flatline was evidence.
That night I had to tell my mom, five minutes after fetching her from the airport, that Papa was gone. I never heard my mom as vunerable as she did when she weeped that night. I pray I never have to hear her go throught that horror again.
The next days until my father's burial were a blur of faces and condolences. Amidst all the people who came to support and mourn with us, I still felt alone. In death of a loved one, you get all the encouragement from family and friends and yet you really mourn alone.
It's been a year. It took all this time for me not to cringe at the thought of having lost my Papa. It has taken the year to make me smile, even chuckle, when I remember him. It took a year for me to forgive him for leaving us, for not walking me down the aisle, for not being there.
Mama and I, we survived. We're okay now. I pray, wherever Papa is, he's happy too.
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