I have two "events" to remember at this date.
For Tatay...
First was of a tragic event. Yes. It's been half a year since my father passed away. I'm still not used to it, I mean, I haven't fully recovered from the wound that it gave me. I am still on the process of "moving on", but not to the full extent yet. Well, of course I'll never forget it. But a least, I can take that thought out of my mind for quarter of a second.
I'd been thinking of writing something about my relationship with my "Tatay". How I want to make a tribute for him, even in one of my writings. But time and time again, I can't make up my ideas and emotions at the same time. Too many memories are flying inside my head, yet, I can't describe them in a single word. Maybe this is how it goes when you're writing/talking about someone who has a great influence to you.
...
I hate to admit it but my relationship with my Tatay is not that healthy. When it comes to him, I am becoming a black sheep, a rebellious son who would always want to argue instead of listen. I insist of my own ideas, always wanting to choose MY decisions over his suggestions. I thought of myself to be capable enough to follow what I want. I am hard-headed. I don't listen to him, easily irritated of him, and almost everything. I haven't shown him the respect due to a father. I am evil. Yes I am.
...
I never had the chance to say I'm sorry for being a foolish son. I never even granted his last requests (because I thought that those were not the "lasts" and I'm just stupid for not listening to him).
I was there at the night before "it" happened. I was busy chatting (phone) with some friends. I can't forget that time span. From 12 o'clock midnight until the next 10 hours. My father complained of a terrible headache. I was just by his side, my mother on the other. My mother uttered soothing words, while i stay there doing nothing. With my mother's request, I went to the nurse station to ask for assistance. My father (I noticed) was quite out of himself already. He's like a child. He's starving. The doctors advised not to feed him anything, and so we refrain from doing so even he's dying to ask for food. We can only give him some drops of water (when we wipe his lips with wet cotton), which he sips as possibly as he can. He complained of the dextrose to run off so slowly. He's already delirious, which I haven't noticed until then.
Around 1:00 am, I'm already sleepy. Then, his first of the two "lasts" requests. He wants me to sleep by his side. Too stubborn of me, I refused to and instead, I just slept in the chair with my head leaning towards his feet. Though uncomfortable, that's the way I wanted to sleep so I'll be awake anytime something comes up. I also thought that it would look shameful If I will sleep by his side cause the bed is so small. I never really fell asleep, I'm half awake all the time. Instead, it's my mother who slept by him. They talked the whole night, I'm just not sure of everything they talked about. Apparently, those were about us, his family, his children.
Hours ago, we were full of ourselves because my cousins (the closest to tatay) visited him. We're laughing out loud, my father was joking back then. No signs of weakness, he even seated just to enjoy the moment. I believed that we will pass through this, seeing how my father moves. He's so active, oftentimes he tried to stand and walk alone. He doesn't want to be assisted. Maybe that's the heart of a soldier for you. I assured myself that he will immediately recover from this attack, cause the first attack that he had (mild stroke) was much graver than what I've seen.
...
I was fully awake. My parents were both sleeping. I waited for them to wake up, went back to the nurse station for another dextrose. Waking up, still my father complained of hunger.
Again, we've let him sip through the cotton ball, and that's all. He's been talking out of his sense ( i thought so). Then, his second request. He wanted to borrow my slippers and invited me for a stroll at the grounds. Knowing his condition, I refused, saying that he's not that healthy enough to go and walk outside. That's the only moment I have seen "My Father". He's doing what a father should do for his son. He wants me to enjoy the moment with him, cause we really had a few moments together (countless actually, but I can't remember all those.) Our last chance to walk together was gone.
Hours passed. My mother and I took our breakfast. He turned his back on us, knowing that he will be tempted by the food we eat. Sunlight's entering the room. Yeah, it's daytime. At around 9;00am, the doctor's had a round visit of the patients (It's Monday). My mother asked me to go out of the room for a while because the doctors are coming. I walked and seated near the stairs heading to the ground floor, quite a short walk away from the ward. With my earphones plugged in ears, I enjoyed chatting once more. A few minutes later, the relative of the patient next to my father fetched me, saying that my father had an attack and that my father was looking for me.
... ... ...
I was speechless, cold running through my veins. Half running my way back to the room, the doctors surrounding my unconscious father, that green cloth serving as the division to the other patients and all those apparatus around, I've seen my mother already crying at one side. I went near my father first, held on to his feet, seeing the doctors trying to bring back air to his lungs. I was helpless, with my eyes fixed to him and my feet leading to my mother, I embraced her...
Remembering that scene kills me...
...
I lead my mother outside the room. We can't see this happening. It hurts like hell. I tried to soothe her but to no avail. I tried not to cry cause I want her to see that I'm strong. For her to be strong as well. But deep inside, I'm already crying out loud. I tried not to show it, to bring back hope. To believe that we will pass through this. To see him smiling again...
The worst scene of my life so far.. Seeing him in that deathbed. Being covered by the blanket as if he was nothing. Tying his arms so as not to get loose.
I gave up. The first and the last time I gave him a tight hug... while crying.. holding my school rosary.. was a few minutes late...
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Even worse, the night when his remains were brought to our home and the day before our "final" goodbye killed me. With all the people looking at us, as his body was entered in our home, and all our relatives crying, I guess nothing could be more painful than that scene. Hours before the burial, the one of the few moments when my sister mother and I had a private talk since that happened, all the emotions poured. That is the only time that we've been so together as one. Patting their backs while crying, we are about to say "farewell" to Tatay.
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Now, I've just realized all the caring he had given me, those that are known and unknown to me. How he always check me while I'm sleeping (or half asleep) and cover me with my blanket, how he shed a tear during our college graduation ceremony, and how he cried once more when I was about to leave our home to work and stay in a far place away, knowing that we will not be together everyday. He cared for me so much as his son. I cared for him less for a father. I really am evil.
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- I wish you could see me now. I want to show you what I have been. You are one of the reasons why I am here.
-I want to say sorry for all the trouble I brought you. Sorry for not being a good son. Sorry for disobeying you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
-I want to thank you for everything you have done for me. Thank you for being my father. I thank God for being your son.
-Can you see me now?
-Watch me, Tatay.
--- I'll be alright, I'll be okay. I will be good learning all the way. All from the heart. These things I do. I'll make you proud because I love you. I'll be alright, I'll be okay. I will be fine and I'll be good all the way. All from the heart. These things I do. I'll make you proud because I do. I love you so...---
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