a worthy sacrifice, a blessing in disguise
Sunday, December 11, 2005
I embraced my mother as she collapsed against me. Tears streamed down my face as a haunting hum rang through the still air of the hospital ward. "Daddy's gone," I whispered. The medicines, the machines. They could not save him. Then I caught the smile that lingered on Daddy's ghostly pale face. Then, I knew that at least I had done all I could for him.
Last December, I was caught up making plans with my friends for quick Christmas escapades. We had plans for Sentosa, where we would get our glorious Hollywood tans. We had plans for sleepovers, filled with gossip, popcorn, laughter and barrels of girly fun. These plans however, were cruelly shattered when the frail, lung cancer-ravaged frame of my father walked into my room one day. My face turned sour. He sat me down on my bed and began to speak slowly, with a slight tremor in his voice. "Alice, you know I only have two months to live. I just want to see my hometown again and I'd like you to go with me." I was momentarily stunned. My father was asking me to leave my friends behind and go with him, a sickly man to a place I had never been to? I was angry. "Daddy, can't mum go with you?" I asked in the most passive, neutral voice I could muster. He shook his bald head. Was it not I who had forewarned him that smoking would get him killed? I turned away. "Alice, please. Mother has to take care of little Justina. I just want some time with you before I go. Could you do just this last favour for me? " Could I say no? That last line touched me deeply. I felt tears well up in my eyes, but I was determined not to show weakness. I simply nodded. Father and daughter embraced for the first time in months.
As I packed my bags on the eve of our departure, I could not help the nagging feeling that I was missing out on so much more fun with my friends. It was difficult, telling them that I would be away, but they helped by encouraging me to go, as they were aware of my father's plight. Mum and little Justina waved us goodbye at the departure hall as I turned by back on Singapore to face the interests of my father. During the flight, I felt conflicting emotions searing through. I was bitter about missing out on an ideal holiday season yet I wanted to do all I could to fulfill my father's final request. When we finally touched down in Manila, a fleeting radiance touched upon his face that had been absent all this time. He was home.
The long bus ride to the province took us through the main districts of Manila where my father excitedly pointed out to me the places where he used to study, and his old haunts. I felt happy for him, that he could see one last time the places and faces that brought him up. Then it dawned on me that this trip meant the world to him, for it would be the last time he would see all this. There would be no repeat visits, it was simply a sense of closure he sought. I realised that I should make the best of the situation and make him happy in his last days.
We finally arrived at the province, and I was amazed at the vibrancy of the atmosphere. The Philippines, being a predominantly Catholic country, celebrated Christmas with great flair and importance for Christ is born, and a new hope is given to mankind. However, I knew that there was no hope for my father, no Christmas miracle this time. We settled in at a quaint hotel decorated tastefully with Christmas lights and a beautiful Christmas tree adorned with an angel in the middle of the lounge. We took a rest that day, for my father was tired out form the flight and the winding bus ride. As he slept, I watched television at a low volume and as the images of Santa and his elves popped up on screen, I knew that this was going to be the most special Christmas ever.
We woke up early on Christmas morning, and dressed warmly. Taking a stroll through the once familiar streets, my father reminisced about his younger days. We had a simple breakfast as he kept up his lively stream of words. Till that day, I never recalled my father laughing ever since he was diagnosed with terminal stage lung cancer. Maybe the spirit of Christmas too played a part in helping me find a special meaning to this Christmas. I realised that I had probably given my father his best Christmas present yet. I had given him the opportunity to spend his last Christmas in his rustic hometown, and a chance to form a bond with his daughter again. My mood perked up tremendously as we headed to mass at a nearby church.
The church was packed, but a kind youth gave up his seat to my father. An angelic chorus sang out melodious Christmas carols in rousing harmony and I felt our spirits lifted in songs of praise. I never attended a more beautiful mass and the priest said in his homily, "Give all you can this Christmas to your love dones." Those words rang in my head as we left the church, perspiring from the heat but feeling spiritually uplifted and fulfilled. OUtside the church, I took my father's hand and said, tears brimming from my eyes, "Merry Christmas Daddy. I love you." He smiled as he gripped my hand firmly. "I know Alice. I love you too. " It was the most poignant, touching moment of my life. At that point, I could care less about what my friends were doing back home. It was worth the while accompanying my father on his way home, eventually to the Father above.
Two weeks later, our world was shattered when my father was rushed to the hospital with breathing difficulties. He could not be saved. Our parish priest administered the Last Rites before Daddy left us, and together with mum and Justina, we said goodbye. It was inevitable, but at least I know, I did my best for my old man. Merry Christmas, Daddy.
Posted by jon at 4:45 AM
inspiration
Here's the first of two edits from school essays. Felt that I expressed myself best in these two.
Inspiration. It came upon me like a resurgent wave, each time stronger than the last. It flooded my mind, washed it clean of any shred of doubt i had of myself. Each ebb and flow pulled me inch by inch further into its stronghold, and i embraced it.
editInspiration. It is lik ea cyclone. It whips you up, tosses you around, strikes fear in you simply bdcause it is so overwhelming. Suddenly, you find yourself in its eye. All is quiet. You know not what to expect because you have never felt this way before. You fear the worst, that inspiration will ravage you and give you and irrational sense of confidence. But inspiration does not come to those who cling to fear. Inspiration is the spirit that frees the hearts of those who can.
editInspiration. I doubted its presence surrounding me. How could I, when it is a passionate fire buring within me? It is constantly spurring me to do more, to do better, to work harder. Sometimes, I feel so tired. It fills me with the longing to do so much but sometimes, when I try, I stumble and fall. It is at these times when I feel low, that I am inspired by those closest to me, my parents, my pillars of strength, to stand up again and rise above the rest.
Posted by jon at 4:36 AM
