three months later
It's been three months on and off road and I am finally back in my davao home! Yesterday, I heard a pretty strange sound coming out from the car's pump. I thought, let me call dad and ask his opinion! If only there is a telephone line to heaven....
In June, dad had a stroke, he was hospitalized and then God finally called him home to heaven after 19 days (and that was on a Father's Day). It was probably the most difficult 19 days of my life, a really trying time. Losing a father is one of the most difficult things in the world to deal with especially if you have a very strong connection. I had to stay strong for others and I really didn't have the time to deal with my grief - and three months later, here I am, I feel it more than ever.
Almost everything reminds me of my dad. He's always the one i call when I need advice on things like fixing a bulb, painting a wall, fixing the car, hanging a painting etc. How we used to drive together, talk incessantly along the way, how we used to listen to music together, talk about farming and agriculture, about life philisophies, discuss religion and politics... how he used to just accomodate all little and big requests i make...
My dad lost his speech after his stroke and the days leading to his death, I was only able to communicate with him through hand pressing. I horribly ached to hear his voice... I was so desperate to get any reaction from him, as a sign, that he heared me and understood me. I watched his face closely for grimaces, for smiles, for acknowledgements. It pains me to no end that I couldn't hear his voice while he was at the hospital bed until he passed away.
And now that he is gone, I keep rewinding conversations we had - his laughter, his jokes, pieces of advice, and words of wisdom. He was one of my main supporters - and I am so blessed to have heared him tell me last year how proud he was of me. He started crying, he said they were tears of joy - telling me and how grateful he was to God for blessing me and being a blessing to him. Sometimes I'd have a good cry to make myself feel better, sometimes no matter what I do, sadness stays with me for days. The worst thing is when something triggers my memory of what my dad had to go through at the hospital, I keep thinking, if he was able to talk, what would he say? Was he scared? Did he feel pain? Will he tell me I was doing the right decisions for him?
My only comfort is knowing my dad as good and as well as one could. I know that he is appreciative of the love given to him no matter how small, I know he doesn't want anyone to suffer not even for him, I know dad loves things simple and uncomplicated, I know that dad is grateful for everything and anything given to him, I know dad is simple to please and have simple joys. His hand-pressings were the only comfort I could get from him - an occassional pat on my cheek and a long loving look....
If only i could hear his voice again....
