Holding My Father's Hand

Last photo with Dad, (August 2015)

My father passed away last September 21, 2015.  Although his death was expected, the shock is still in us.  There are days wherein it was okay, but there are days when I still can't believe that he is gone and I would break down and cry.

The few weeks before his death, I spent a lot of time flying back and forth from Cebu to Manila.  Our family knew that his time is short.  We were told by his doctor a few months ago that he has a few months left, 3 at the most.  This was in July.  It didn't sink in as it should, because I was still hoping that the doctors will be wrong.  He's been battling cancer for 5 years now when they've expected him to last only for 2 years.  Maybe he will beat the odds.  But unfortunately, this time they were right.

My relationship with my dad is not always a pretty one.  Most of the time we would argue with one another, me being the bratty one would be too stubborn to listen.  There would be days when our relationship will be calm and I will be the obedient daughter (because we didn't have to talk about matters which annoyed me talking to him about), but there are days that if we will talk about things, it will end up in arguments, which in turn makes me want to leave home so often.  Even so, I knew that he loves me.

First week of September, Achie (my older sister Samantha), who is a doctor, told me that he's not eating anymore and that I'd better come home.  She hooked him up on IV Nutrition instead of feeding him.  I saw changes that I wasn't prepared for.  He was bone thin except for the bloating from the abdomen down to his feet.  I saw how hard it was for him to move about and stay up.  We would take turns sleeping in my dad's room to be able to attend to him during the night whenever he wakes up.  When we would sit him up to help him while he was vomiting, Nicole would stay behind him so he can have back support whenever he's sitting up.  He was heavy because of the liquid he retains and he would vomit water, gastric juices or whatever liquid intake he's getting orally.  He feels that he's always dehydrated, asking for water, ice, juice or honey syrup and after taking it, he would just vomit it out.  It was a horrible way to live.

We finally got him a hospital bed to try to keep him comfortable and hired more nurses to take care of him round the clock.  We knew we could not handle it knowing we don't have enough medical training to take care of him except for Achie.  Still even with the nurses, we would take turns being in the room just to be there to give a hand whenever needed.  I tried to spend more time with him, trying to make up for the time I've been away.  I would hold his hand, or brush his forehead, or read him the Psalms.  It was the only way I know how I can comfort him.

One night, he was moving about and I knew he was in pain. I asked him, "Pa, what do you need?"  And he answered me, "I want to die."    His suffering is so evident that I could not respond anything else except, "Everything will happen in God's time.  Do not worry, God will help you."  It was the only thing I knew I can say.

The last time I spoke to him, I was preparing to leave for the airport.  It was a pre-dawn flight and I took a peek in his room to see whether he is awake.  I'm glad that he was.  I told him I was leaving and said my goodbyes.  My fear was that he would pass while I was still away.  I was holding back from telling him not to die while I'm not there, that he should wait for me.  But I knew I was being selfish if I asked him that.  Instead, I told him that I love him and I will see him again soon.  The last words he spoke to me was to be careful.

That was Monday, exactly a week before he passed away,

Sunday, September 20, Achie sent me a message in the morning saying that I'd better get ready to fly out anytime.  A few hours later, she called me and told me that I'd better get the first flight out.  I panicked and rushed to the airport.  When I finally got home, my dad was not lucid anymore.  He was sleeping more because of the medicine given to him.  My mom said that he was screaming in pain since yesterday, so they had to increase his pain medication.  I held his hand again, touching it to my face and kissing it, wondering whether this will be the last time.  I vaguely remember if we held hands often or be as affectionate as that.  But I didn't want to miss this chance.  I held on whenever I could.

That evening, we were all preparing for his death.  His blood pressure was getting lower and lower.  We were trying to keep him comfortable as much as we can.  It was a long night waiting.  We stayed in his room, looking through photos of him and telling stories.  At one point he was moving and moaning, we knew he was in pain.  I was hoping he would wake up so that I can still talk to him and tell him I was home.  But he never did.  I watched his breathing, it would be 10 to 12 pulses before he would take another breath.  I started to question God why He's letting my dad keep on suffering?  Is my dad still fighting?  What was the point of keeping him if He is not going to heal my dad?  I prayed silently, asking God all those questions.  Then I realized, that even in death, I need to learn to trust in the Lord, hold on to His promises and be encouraged that His plans are for good.  I leaned down to my dad and whispered to his ear, "Pa, I'm home, I'm here now.   I love you.  You don't have to worry.  It's going to be okay, we're going to be okay.  God is here to help us."

That was the last thing I was able to tell him.  A few hours later, he breathe his last breath.

I praise God for what He has done for the past few days.  Our grief wouldn't have been bearable if we didn't have the hope of Christ.  My dad, even though he's not the perfect dad, I'm am thankful God has given me one who loves me.  On my mind, I was still holding on to this idea that my dad will not die, that he will live a long life, that we will have a better relationship and understand each other more.  That he will be able to watch us grow older, see all his children getting married, have families, provide him grand kids to spoil.  But our Heavenly Father has other plans.  He led my dad home earlier than what I would've wanted.

In many ways, God answered my prayers.  Prayers I've been praying for years.  I saw the change in my father during his illness.  I've been praying that we would stop arguing and that we would be more loving towards one another.  He changed my dad's life so much and gave me a relationship I've been craving for with him even though it was short.  One of the last few conversations we've had, he asked for my forgiveness and that he doesn't want to spend what little time we have left fighting.   I said to him, "Pa, I'm sorry too."  

My father's death led me to remember to trust him, to hold on to God's promises and how He answers our prayers.  Everything will happen in His own time according to His own plan, despite how we want it otherwise.  And even though people are telling me to be strong for my mom's sake, I know I cannot.  God will be my strength, He will be the one who is and will be strong for me.  And despite the pain our family is feeling, I am fully accepting that I won't be able to hold my father's hand anymore while I am still here on earth, but I know that I can always hold on to my Father's hand for all eternity.

"Though the fig tree does not bud

and there are no grapes in the vines,

though the olive crop fails

and the fields produce no food,

though there are no sheep in the pen

and no cattle in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord

I will be joyful in God my Savior.

The Sovereign Lord is my strength;

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,

he enables me to tread on the heights."

                                               Habakkuk 3:17 -19 (NIV)