Until we meet again, Dad
I haven't had the courage to write or work on writing till now. ** TW: Death, grief **
I'm currently in Zambales, Philippines -- visiting my dad with my siblings. But not the way that I anticipated it. We had planned this originally as a vacation at the end of the year -- for the holidays, with sight-seeing and assurance that my dad is settling well into his new life back in the motherland.
Instead, I am here on the worst case scenario. I am seeing his life through the lens of his last year-wedded and now widowed wife, through his stepson, through his in-laws and neighbors and doctors and nurses. I am seeing him through his casket at his wake.
I am seeing remnants of him through his remaining clothes and well-kept sentimental photos and letters, through stories told in English as second language because he was fearful of teaching us Tagalog in America.
His wife said one of his biggest regrets was not teaching his kids Tagalog. I am saddened, because I always of course wanted to speak Tagalog, but never have I wished I could speak more than today. Than this trip to visit him after he died.
I wish I could speak the native tongue to the people who knew my dad here, who saw him every day or every week. Although his wife is interpreting a lot to English, there are nuances -- bits and pieces of dad that is being lost in translation. I want to grasp it all, to reach out and put it in my pocket for later to translate in my private silent time. But everything is moving much too fast and I am overstimulated being in a (foreign to me) country, place, tongue, weather, timezone, people, everything.
Not to mention the whirlwind you go through after over 22 hours of traveling. A grief portal that has transported me out of reality, literally entered into a different space and time.
I wish my dad was here to introduce all of these things to me himself. To make this transition more digestible, more tolerable, by slowly showing us places he loves and teaching us the culture and its ways. I kick myself when I think this, but I'm mad, I'm angry, I'm frustrated that he didn't throw up the bat signal to us kids that he wasn't doing well and that he could pass at any time.
My sister, brother, and I, moved hell and highwater to get here as soon as we found out. They needed same-day passports, I had to fly from Vegas to California, so we could fly all together to the Philippines. We all took time off of work and made it happen to attend his funeral and burial. We would've made it happen sooner if we had been alerted to how serious his health status was. My dad was always one to put on the brave face. His wife kept insisting he tell us he was really sick, that he was recently hospitalized, and he reassured her that he would tell us. He never got the chance to.
Anyways, it can't be changed. Who knows if there was any avoiding it from happening as it did. He had a heart attack and died quickly. Without much suffering or pain. It happened when he was getting up from bed. His wife was helping him up from bed, and he shouted that his chest hurt really badly. Moments later, in the arms of his wife, he took his last breath and went slack. She caught him, as teeny as she was, making sure he didn't slam onto the ground. She screamed for help and their next door neighbor who was a nurse tried to resuscitate him. The nurse was doing chest compressions and she was giving CPR even when vomit was coming out of his mouth.
He was dead upon arrival to the hospital... but they tried to give him two shots to kickstart his heart anyways. It was unsuccessful.
She video called me, wailing and screaming and hugging his lifeless corpse. Something in me shattered. All the plans and expectations of more time together no longer was possible. Everything I had wanted to say to him while alive, I would have to pray and now say to his spirit.
He was only 58 years old. He was too young. I am too young. We're all too young. I have never lost anyone close to me. I was just saying how lucky I am to have all my immediate loved ones still with me. I know it's not my fault, but I still feel guilty, like I jinxed it somehow. I know I didn't. There is no logical reasoning in this scenario and processing grief is something unmanageable. It will take you where it takes you. I know better than to fight it, so I let it move through me.
I am currently sitting on the couch he was sitting on, from one of his most recent pictures. We visited one of his favorite cafes and are eating his favorite foods he wanted us to try. We are staying at the villa he had planned for us to stay at for the holidays. I am meeting the people he spent time with regularly. Everyone has wonderful things to share about him and I know he was happy here -- happier than he was back in the States. His wake has many visitors, many people paying respects, many family and friends surrounding him playing games, sharing meals and laughter, with many kids running around. His wake is lively, full of life. He looks peaceful, almost as if he is smiling while laying in his casket. It looks like he could get up at any moment, like he's just taking a long sleep to wake up refreshed.
My dad lived a hard life and he deserved better. I know all of our family deserved better cards than we were dealt, but even then, I know he always tried his best. He was my father and I love him with my whole heart. No matter the complications or misunderstandings. Human life is messy. Hindsight is 20/20. There are so many things I would've changed if I knew better or if I had more capacity but I'm certain everyone feels that way.
I just wanted to write to let it out. Maybe my dad is reading this from above. He was a Christian and was prepared for death, believing it would send him to Heaven and be brought to eternal peace and fulfillment. I don't know what I am, but I choose to find comfort that he was comforted in that. His wife told us that he wasn't fearful of death -- that he was ready whenever God was ready to call on him. Maybe he already knew his time was coming. I wish he could've prepared us, his kids, that he had his suspicions. Maybe it was his form of fatherly love to protect us from the painful truth. But I love him anyway.
Dad, I have always loved you, will always love you, and will continue growing my love for you. Also, I'm proud of you. I'm proud to call you my dad. I know I'll write a lot more to you but I'm still here in Zambales before your burial tomorrow. So I will go soak it all up while I can and write back soon.
Love you, dad.
Sincerely,
Your first child, your eldest daughter, your Din-Din,
Nadine ♥