"My Dad Has Always Been Sick!" - In Loving Memory of My Father

  I've always known my dad as firm and someone who enforces discipline. He might have high standards and strong principles but I know his intentions come from a place of love and concern for his children's well-being and future success. Between my mom and dad's way of disciplining, I'm absolutely terrified when my dad gets mad. His words cut deep, and when he resorts to physical discipline, you know you are doomed.  I remember being slapped with his thick ass slipper right across my face coz I snuck out to buy a toy when I was in elementary school leaving my younger brother in the house. - That was fucking reckless but I was just a stubborn child then and if I was in his place I'd be horrified too. 

My dad would often blast soft rock music every Sunday at our house. He likes Kenny Rogers, Engelbert Humperdinck, Air Supply, Queen, and The Beatles. He once told me that he would play "Hey Jude" on his way home because the song was exactly as long as it took him to walk from his workplace to home. He was never a fan of singing, and it surprised me that someone who loved music so much couldn’t sing a note. I always thought a deep appreciation for music naturally came with a voice to match, but he showed me otherwise. That bothered me as a kid and so I asked him, "Why don't you sing?", and he simply said because he couldn't. He said he was the opposite of Mom who sang literally every love song that came out. And so the little me just thought, "Oh, maybe he wasn't as talented in music as I thought he was". 

He may not be musically inclined but he was gifted in arts! I would always have a bombass art project in school because he would take it seriously! He took up Architecture in College, and he was a self-supporting student, working while studying. There were 8 of them in the family so the pressure to get a degree was high. He drew so well and the materials he used were expensive. That's how I knew his passion for the arts. We had multiple blueprints and house drawings at home. He even created a realistic flower using the "Paint" application on our computer. I was so amazed coz he did it in one sitting without any prior knowledge of using it. Sucks that I didn't get any art juices from him. 

The reality of my future dawned on me when I was in my 4th year of high school. He wouldn't stop suggesting that I should take up Commerce as my College course and despite not following his reco, I never once heard a single shit when I told him I'm taking up a business course instead which was a huge relief! But as a child of a low-income family, my mom almost asked me to stop school during my 2nd year in College, because we could no longer afford it but my dad didn't like the idea. He told mom once I had a taste of earning my own money, there was no way I was going back to school to continue. He valued our education more than anything. 

As far as I remember, he didn't bat an eye too much about our personal life while studying. I guess he didn't care as long as we were getting our shit done and passing the tests. He didn't comment much, he may be firm but he became pretty laid back as we grew. It was Mom who would be so freaked out at the sight of a boy in our house every time there was a group project. He was able to attend my graduation like the proud father that he was!

But above all of the memories I've had growing up, the one that really stuck with me was that

 HE WAS SICK. 

All my life, I've known he was. When he picked me up at school in 4th grade on a one rainy day, he fell down the slippery wet stairs while carrying my school bag, and wouldn't have known anything was wrong if it hadn't been for his faint voice calling out for me to wait. The sound of his struggle made my heart drop, and I turned back to see what had happened. There he was on his butt, picking himself up. I could tell he was embarrassed, angry, and hurt.

Back then, I didn't know he was already sick until my mom told me that he had Diabetes and even then, I had no idea how severe or deadly it was. I was just a clueless kid and he seemed pretty fine to me. Not until high school when I come home to find out he was rushed to the hospital due to a clogged artery in his heart. He, fortunately, survived it but was put in ICU for days. I remember him crying when he first saw us, I couldn't process my emotions back then but I wept so hard at school, and all my classmates were surprised because it was so sudden and out of nowhere. I only thought I couldn't show him weakness, so I kept it together. 

He made a full recovery and was sent home. However though, he was on a lot of maintenance due to his Diabetes, I experienced injecting him with his insulin in between meals. It was terrifying coz he would get mad whenever it bled. He also started feeling some pain in his legs and I would often massage it before he sleeps. I knew that it was one of the complications of Diabetes and a reminder that he wasn't doing any good. we noticed that the distance he could walk became shorter and shorter. That's the time when my mom stepped up to take care of him. She poured all his time, and energy into making sure my dad kept his sugar low and in good health. She passed away while taking care of my father. It was such a shock to us, as we never expected Mom to go first. Losing her felt like a sudden, heavy blow, and it left us reeling.

Shortly after we moved to Taguig and at the onset of the pandemic, my youngest brother suddenly passed away from a heart attack. It was hard enough losing one of your family members now my brother too, and I got to take care of my sick dad. He was only 19. By this time my dad had become weaker and he could only walk to the store next door to buy his cigarettes. He never went out much. Passed on family trips and gatherings unless it was held in our home.  It was a gradual change, but it became increasingly evident that his health was declining. It was taking a toll on him and he became like a grumpy old man. We would often get into arguments, and someone once mentioned that my mom had spilled the tea crying about his anger management issues. I was taken aback by this revelation, wondering, "Has he always been like this?" or "Did I ever really know the true him?"  

Recently, I found out that he had a wound on his left foot but convinced us that it was okay and healing. It got worse when he fell from the bunk bed and inflicted an impact on the wound. I remember the very first time he asked for an adult diaper. He felt embarrassed, but I could tell he was beginning to understand that this was the start of his decline. Shortly after, he was admitted to the hospital and then had to undergo an amputation to save his life. Everything happened so fast. During his recovery, we noticed that his behavior had also changed. My sister and I wondered why he was still acting differently when the anesthesia should have worn off by then (that was over a week!) It was concerning to see him so disoriented and unsteady. When I asked him if he remembered me or any of us, he would shake his head. The recovery of the wound was okay opposing to his overall condition. 

He was always sleeping and would sometimes be put in an oxygen mask to help him breathe. At one random doctor visit, the doctor tried speaking to him to ask how he was doing but there was no response. He tried calling out his name, I tried too, but he just wouldn't wake up. The doctor tried different medical methods of waking a patient but to no avail. That was the moment I was asked whether we should intubate or revive him. I firmly said no, but then they handed me a consent form to sign. When my mom was on her deathbed, my dad was the one who signed the same consent form, he also rejected the idea to intubate. I could only imagine what he was feeling signing those. I found myself crying as I wrote my name, talking to my aunt on the phone as we both wept together. 

 

After 14 hours of sleep, he miraculously woke up. I was beside him and the nurse even said "Thank you, Lord!". with a sigh of relief. It was a false alarm. But he was put on a lot of machines, like a catheter, NGT, and a cardiac monitor. It felt eerie similar to the first time I visited him in ICU. It was like a Deja vu. When he was awake, he couldn't talk anymore and would slur his words. We found out that there was a swelling in this brain and that could be a potential tumor. It was probably the reason he was asleep for that long. His intestines also have some problems, he had a hard time pooping, he got bed sores from being bedridden for weeks, and lastly, he contracted pneumonia from all the lung problems he's had due to his smoking. It was one thing after another and we were just so surprised at how his body was handling all these complications at the same time. "Have you been THIS SICK ALL THIS TIME? kept ringing in my ear as I stared at his almost lifeless body. I recalled the times when he was still delirious but able to speak, and he would often tell me to "let him have a rest" but I would just try to downplay it and tell him to go back to sleep. We all knew that's not what he meant. 

That weekend was spent watching the cardiac monitor lines go up and down telling him how much I loved him and that it was okay to let go if he was really tired. On the few times that I saw him conscious, in between the deafening sounds of the machines and staring endlessly at the wall, I often wondered what was going through his mind. "Was he aware that he was dying?", "Was he really seeing our departed loved ones like Mom and Brother?", "Did he really not remember us at all?", "Had he, in his mind, already accepted his tragic fate?", those are just at the top of my head. 

Back at home, his typical night routine involved listening to old songs, so I took out my earphones and we listened to "Through the Years," "Let It Be," "Hey Jude"—his favorite—and some more Beatles songs. In the middle of the jam, I asked him if he wanted to continue or head to bed since it was almost midnight. He nodded in agreement to keep going, so I resumed playing. He would tap his fingers from time to time, and I held his hand as I wiped a tear in my eye. We shared an unforgettable moment, just the two of us, enjoying the rest of the playlist I had often heard him play from his phone before.

The next day, during the shift change with my sister, I said goodbye to him while he was sleeping soundly. I gently tapped his chest a few times and whispered, "I love you" in his ear. That was the last time I saw him alive. I didn't want to leave him, but I had to go to work, and even then I had a sense that it could be our final moment together. His blood pressure would drop to zero from time to time and the doctor told me that he was nearing his death. We held onto our decision not to intubate or revive him. I know he would've wanted it anyway. 

At around 4 a.m., I got a message from my sister saying that my dad's heart rate was starting to weaken. There was barely any activity registering in the cardiac monitor.

Slowly, the line faintly went up and down

until it didn't.

Time of death: 6:01am

I was on a video call with my sister all the while, and I couldn't help but cry my heart out as I watched as he slowly lose his life. It was something I really wish I could forget. Rushed to the hospital in hopes of saying my last farewell before they took him to the morgue but the traffic was so bad. The next time we saw him was at the chapel, wearing the barong I had bought for him. He lay there, looking so peaceful yet undeniably still. 

Even when I've already bid my heartfelt goodbyes multiple times, it still felt unsaid. 

I found myself wishing for at least one more moment, even for just a minute. 

If I could just let him know how much I love him, 

then I will be okay. 

There was indeed a certain sense of numbness after losing 2 of my family members.

It was kind of an "ahh here we go again". 

But tonight until God knows when, I will be grieving. 

Because I'm officially an orphan.