On death and courage
My father broke my heart today.
He told me to ask our district’s congressman to help in flying him home when he dies. I was speechless for a moment.
With a brave face, I replied we will fly him home—with or without the politico’s help. My dad never asked for favors from politicians when he was in government. Why would we when he leaves us?
My father and I gave each other a smile after the short exchange. We both knew we felt no joy in that.
Since my father’s first stroke several years ago, I kept thinking I should prepare myself for his death. Several more strokes and near deaths later, I am no more prepared.
Will I ever be?
I do not know why Papa sometimes refuse medication. We have to force him even. He no longer desires to see people he always wanted to see. He no longer likes to visit places he was always eager to go to. He spends his days sleeping.
He’s so thin. His speech is garbled and weak. He moves painfully. He has very little patience with us. But it’s okey. We understand.
I love my father so much. I am deeply sorry for not being obedient enough to achieve the things he dreamt and worked so hard for me. But I have always tried to make him be proud of me.
I wish I could be by his side always these days. But I have errands to make and promises to keep. I struggle to say how much I love him and how grateful we are for our father. I hope I’m not mistaken in assuming he knows.
His had been a hard life. he struggled and conquered all that life has given him. No one can say that he did not succeed though. He won many friends and earned very few enemies, if any.
My father’s parents and four of his dear siblings have gone and left us. He’s seen so many passages in his family. Perhaps Papa feels it’s his time very soon.
In his last days, my father is as brave as ever. It is us, his loved ones and who love him dearly, who are afraid.
When death comes for my father, I wish we will be brave enough for him.
