A True Story

This is a true story.

 A story which every time I remember becomes a nightmare already. A story that’s always haunting me. This is about my father who died four years ago where I spent my few days with him in the hospital, when he was suffering in the ICU. Not a good story isn’t it?

Somehow our story together is not real good. I remember that we had a fight nine months before it all happened where I got so mad that I left home staying at my sister’s house. Nothing was fixed even before I left the city to go back to my real life in Manila. I was mad. But I was also sad. But I remain strong thinking that I can handle myself even without him. I’m independent, anyway. That’s how I think. I am fine. But of course, I am not fine.  I remain brave. Letting myself believe that I am hard as a rock and nothing can hit me to make me weak or small or vulnerable. Big thinking, huh?! But that kind of thinking now is as big of how I am missing him, always.

He had an accident when it was three in the morning. He had a seizure and fell hitting the floor that causes his forehead to crack and the main reason why he is sent to the ICU for cure. Now, the real nightmare starts here. Everything happened so fast. I went home. Everyone went home. But not like the old days when I am coming home I will meet him at the house waiting for my appearance, or sometimes he will wait for me at the road as I step down from that bus and carries all my luggage. I miss that so much. I remember when he used to say that I already have my own mineral water at the kitchen, that he cleaned the house because I am coming home, that he cooked delicious foods, and he will let me sleep in his air conditioned room so I could get enough sleep while he will just take the sofa. Then various questions being asked about how my life was, how my life is, and what are my plans. I  remember when he used to asked me when I am getting married, and I used to answer him that marrying is not my priority that I will just spend my life living at the home for the agent when I get old. He’s mad with my answers. He said he will not be at peace if I will not get married even when he is already dead. Sounds weird, though.

I spend few days at the hospital, outside the ICU room. I found myself out there so desperate waiting for him to wake up. But I fail. My Mama and siblings wants me to let go of him now. But I refused of all to let him down. They want me to accept that he will no longer wake up, that we need to let him go at peace, to heaven. But I remain strong and keeping my faith to God that everything will still be fine and will go normal that way things were used to be. But I was wrong. I feel weak. I prayed.

     style="display:block; text-align:center;"
     data-ad-format="fluid"
     data-ad-layout="in-article"
     data-ad-client="ca-pub-0390647436369789"
     data-ad-slot="3033551606">


The doctor talked to us. He will not make it. We need to accept it. But I really can’t do it. I’m still hoping. Hoping. Hoping. But they don’t want me to have that HOPE, that he can still make it in due time.  They said, we need to let loose. Let go. But my head is saying NO! His condition is not simply as a fever or any serious disease that can be cure easily, even in due time. He had a crack in the forehead, seriously which brought him into comma causing hydrocephalus and much blood in the head. Kidney failure follows, then pneumonia. Complications! Yes, it’s very complicated. Complicated in some ways that I don’t even know how I am really feeling for that.

It’s going to be Christmas Eve. Yes, Christmas is coming that time and I am losing my father. What do you think would be the factual feeling for this time? I hate it so much. So much!

The sound of the ambulance is ringing as we took him home. A forty five minutes drive to our hometown. But the doctors told us that he will only live for two hours if all the machines will be taken out from him. We are all in a hurry. We wanted him to be home. Home for Christmas with us. The family is lucky indeed that he was still with us the next day but after one of his closest friends visited him, he left us.

The saddest Christmas I ever had in my entire life. That sucks! At Twelve O’clock in the morning while bells in the church are ringing, he was gone.

photo via google

Eldest child take over. That’s me. We brought him to the funeral homes with my brothers, bought him expensive coffin, we had the nicest clean white clothes and shoes during the funeral, white balloons are everywhere and flowers and candles, friends and relatives are coming over to grieve with us and here comes the hardest part of all, the true letting go. The real meaning of letting go.

********

I thought I was fine. I thought I was okay. I thought I already let go. I thought I already accepted it. But why is it all coming back in the head and the way it feels was just like it happened yesterday. Every time a one single scene comes back into my mind, I am crying. Every time I close my eyes I can still see clearly his face, the way he looks when he is suffering with those machines in his mouth and needles stuck on his hands, I always shed tears. I pity him. The first time I saw my papa like that, suffering on a hospital bed and he can’t do anything. He can’t even talk to me or even glanced at me. Every single moment I last had with him is haunting me. The time I was there beside his bed was the moment I once talked to him. I greeted him, kissed him. Saying and feeling sorry for all the things happened between us, and the not so easy thing to say for me is to promise him that I will get married in time, the only thing he always asked from me for he’s always telling me that he want to make sure that someone will take care of me and that I will be with someone when I grow old.

Those past 9 months of silence between us, no hi and hellos even from our phones but the only thing that makes me went home was when he told mama to let me go home for Christmas. Who would think it were his last days? Or who would think that it was his last wish? And who would think that it was our last Christmas together? Why so coincidence that our family is complete during that time?  Was it God’s plan? Then God was so good to us. He makes us one to make us strong.

*****

There are times when things suddenly sink, memories of him and as I close my eyes I can hear sirens of the ambulance inside my head and it’s killing me. I can see the picture of us inside that car, me and my siblings crying and uttering our last words to our father. I can clearly see us and hear that sound which makes me cry, again and again. It’s even traumatic when I hear real sirens of the ambulance, then everything flashes back as if they are still real and tears are coming.

These memories are haunting me and still it’s hurting me. I’m thinking that maybe I still have unfinished business, or maybe It was not enough that I have showed loved to papa when he was still alive and maybe regrets? Or maybe I still have that eagerness to show how I loved him but I can never do that again. I’m always seeing him in my dreams. Good dreams. Happy dreams. He is smiling at me and sometimes he is talking to me. Sometimes when I wake up I am wishing that those dreams was real, that I can still turn back the time to be with him. Though memories of our fighting are not really good, that was us. On the other hand of that, I know he really loves me. But now, I can only love him in my mind, in my heart.

In exchange of him, was my son. I was known pregnant on the third day of his wake. Now the hugging and kissing for my daddy is given for my only boy.

Reincarnation?

This is me. Writing and crying, and these are my true stories.


     style="display:block; text-align:center;"
     data-ad-format="fluid"
     data-ad-layout="in-article"
     data-ad-client="ca-pub-0390647436369789"
     data-ad-slot="3033551606">