It was July 2 in Canada around 2 pm when it all happened. After lunch, I was on my way back to work, said goodbye to my sister, and she wailed in pain and I dropped my car keys and my bag and looked at my cellphone. I knew what that meant. But my first instinct was to still look at my phone, and read the email from my dad that began with “CK (he calls us by our initials), brace yourselves, I was in shock. The pain was great, quick, and sudden, like a huge rock fell on top of me. I could see how my sister grimaced in despair, and we cried and held each other for a long time, shaking uncontrollably. How could that have happened? When earlier they said she was doing much better talking to them, eating and then sleeping? Our world collapsed beneath us.
Skype. It was our only way to see her. We saw the same grief in my dad’s and brother’s faces as we made the most painful Skype call we ever did make. We saw her; we talked to her still because we knew she could hear us. It was good that she was home, surrounded by her family. Daddy said it was peaceful, the way she passed. They had lain in bed side by side and he could hear her in deep sleep, and suddenly in labored breathing, almost like deep snoring. He called y brother and together, they held her hand and saw her last breath and kissed her. Why couldn’t we have done the same? We were a hundred million miles away. And we never felt so helpless.
It was just insurmountable. Unbelievable. All I knew was my head felt like it was going to crack open, and my heart was filled with lead. All the water in my body came gushing out of my eyes. I was screaming until I couldn’t make anymore sound and lay there motionless. I have lost the single person I have loved the most in this world, and I couldn’t even hug her one last time. She was there, and I desperately told her all I wanted. They put a phone to her ear and I bade her goodbye. I felt like drowning.
I lay quietly for a while. It was difficult to even breathe. Or move. Or think. Every second, sadness chipped away at me and all I could do was weep. Minutes seemed like hours. Hours seemed like days. I looked out the window and all I saw was a dark shade. How can I even imagine that the feeling became worse and worse the longer my mind recognized that it was real, that it was actually happening? The worst thing that can happen to me happened. It did.
For hours, we helped plan out what was next. We couldn’t eat, we couldn’t do anything. The world has stopped and we passed time just in two ways, crying and resting after crying. And then we prayed. We told ourselves that it was all right. That it had been the better way to go. Not much pain, no struggle, no hard disease bearing down on her body. I just couldn’t let go the regret that I wasn’t there. That I was so far away. I hadn’t seen her in person since October when she went home. I mourn that it was the last time I got to hug her and kiss her and tell her that I loved her in one motion. Though I had many times told her in my emails and in video calls and phone calls, I will never hug her and feel her warmth around me again. I was devastated. She was so young. She was so good. Why do they have to go to heaven so quickly?
I couldn’t even have the strength to inform our relatives or tell my friends. I thought that if I didn’t tell anyone, that it would not turn out to be true. But I told the people at work first, because I had a full calendar for the week, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything after this, especially go back to work. That night, I got the courage to email my close friends and let the hurt out a little bit, to get it off my chest. It felt better. One friend said the right word for the pain I was experiencing. Debilitating. It was exactly that. Every time I read or hear a word of condolence or encouragement, I felt crying. Whatever I do, I felt like crying. We turned to prayer, and through our tears, we were able to light a candle and say a novena. We ate some dinner but we couldn’t taste anything. Everything was lost. Taste, sense, sound and feeling. My sister and I huddled in bed and couldn’t sleep but our bodies were exhausted. I passed out at 4am and woke up at 6am, and the pain was still there.
Next day felt a little better, only because the memorial service at home was done and setup just 3 hours after she passed. We helped my brother pick out a dress and took care of the arrangements. Everything was done through Skype. I am just grateful to this technology that is available now, that we could support each other still, without being in the same room. The outpouring of help from my mom’s dear friends, our neighbors and our relatives made us feel a little better. We couldn’t bear to look at our dad, who seemed to carry the most pain of all. The love of his life and reason for being has died in his arms. Our grief now goes towards him than ourselves.
Maybe that’s why I felt a little bit of lightness on the morning of July 4 when we talked to our Dad and he was being very positive. He said for us to stop crying. We talked about the happy memories we shared in the past year. He told us that mom always said that it was the happiest she’s ever been in her life, those 6 months we cared for her in Canada. We made sure of that. We gave her everything she needed, wanted and more. My sister, my brother-in-law and I are proud to say wee really did cherish her and filled her bags with happiness and memories. And we have 4000 pictures and videos and emails, that we have of her, having the time of her life. My dad, my brother and nephew spent the months after that nurturing her too because they missed her too for 6 months. They showered her with love and affection. All throughout this time, there was no disease, no pain. She had sometimes, although very rarely, had that acid pain in her stomach but we never thought that she was in danger or even had the symptoms of the big C, if ever she did have it. We still don’t know now.
What happened was she had felt sick the weeks after our big home project was done. She was stressed and tired from helping demolish our old house, and empty and organize its contents. She was feeling sick, and since it wouldn’t go away, we let her get checked. At first her doctor sent her back home because her blood test was clear, and she was given medication for her hypertension that she had for a long time. I wasn’t convinced of that diagnosis. She was hard of breathing so we suggested to have her lungs checked. True enough, she was diagnosed with pneumonia. We were relieved to know the root cause of the problem and with hospitalization and antibiotic treatment, she was cleared and she went home. The only problem that we saw arise was that she lost appetite and couldn’t eat. She also had trouble sleeping. She was home and she was inundated with lots of medication including the ones for sleep, to no avail. Apart from that she was alright, she even was happy she was out of the hospital and that her friends visited her while she as there and she was thankful that she was cleared by the doctor. She told us it was her 2nd life because she got scared about it. Ever since the stomach diagnosis, she was always wary and scared that the big C was just lurking around a corner. We didn’t think so because we knew she suffered pneumonia and was cured. Then days later she said she was feeling headaches this time, back to the hospital she went. This time was a lot worse because she couldn’t eat, she had difficulty breathing, and was vomiting constantly. We had everything checked, her blood, her heart, and her head. All the tests came back clear, and no problem. We worried she had a nervous breakdown of some sort and that the fear of sickness and being hospitalized made her stressed and worried too much. After almost a week of trying to get better, the doctors looking after her gave the all clear and sent her home. She was at home but we knew she would get better care. We talked to her on Skype and she said, “I’ll be better in 3 days”. 3 days later she passed away. Maybe that’s what she meant. My Dad always said that God favored her because she has a low threshold for pain and that God only gave her what she can handle. God didn’t let her suffer years, or months, not even weeks with the disease. Only days. We never ever thought it would be fatal, because the last thing we know of her was she was eating and doing better and that reassurance that she said “I’ll get better”. The shock was the most painful to bear. If I had known she was ear death, even the remote possibility, we would have all flown sooner and cared for her. We didn’t have a chance. In 3 days form better to worst, it was so soon. I just felt sorry I wasn’t there for her. That is the toughest cross to bear.
In the end though, what’s most important is she died peacefully. She didn’t struggle so much. She was with people who loved her most, including us, who although miles away, always cared for her and loved her and thought about her constantly. She didn’t have to fight the big C, if she did have it. We’ll never know now. It doesn’t matter what it was. We just knew that it was short, a bit painful, but we did everything that we could for her. Maybe she didn’t want us to suffer. Maybe sweet and short is the best alternative for her. We are at peace that she left with lots of happiness in her heart, bags of memories to cherish, friends, relatives and family who regard her with much respect and care and love.
This morning we decided to stop the tears and try as best as we can to focus on the positive, to celebrate her life, to remember our happy memories with her. Dad is right. This is the time for us to be brave and be united and be happy for her and let go. There are a lot of people that love her and every day we hear these stories. These stories that show what a kind and loving and thoughtful person she was, cherished by all.
This is my story of her. This is my best effort to put all these feelings I have into words. Because this is all I have. I will write them down in this longest trip ever. Aboard the plane, in between airports, until I see her again one last time before I finally say goodbye.
k.
At Vancouver airport. Waiting for my next flight. 151pm central time.
No comments:
Post a Comment