(Note: I first wrote this a month after my father's death but it was too painful for me to finish it and it was left untouched in the draft box until today.)
A year ago today, my family and I, along with our closest relatives, took turns keeping vigil over my father, who was then fighting his final battle. A couple of days before this day, he went through several episodes wherein his blood pressure went down as low as 70/40 mmHg and his heart rate went up as high as 150 beats/minute. His temperature was up too at 40 degrees Celsius most of the time. We could feel the heat from his body every time we leaned in to kiss him or greet him hello or even just to hold his hands or feet. Doctors came in to give him medicines and titrated/regulated them until his vital signs returned to almost normal values. At first he could still respond, either verbally or by facial or hand gestures. But his responses became weaker and lesser as the hours and days passed by. By this time. we as a family prayed more often inside his hospital room. We said the rosary as a group or individually. We would quote psalms or short prayers as we whispered into his ears. For my part, I kept taking his hand and placing it over my head like he would normally do every time I lean against him during Sunday mass. Oh how we tried not to cry every time he showed signs of going, but of course we failed miserably. For days, it felt like he was was waiting for someone. When he was still able to, he kept looking at his watch as if counting the hours of that some one's arrival. At first we thought he was just waiting for my youngest brother, Josemaria, who was then hurrying his way home from the US. But still he kept checking his watch even when Josemaria was already here. Then, on March 25, 2012, a Sunday. which marked the Feast of Annunciation, my Dad, who had a very endearing devotion to Mama Mary, took his last breath at 6:44 pm, and his heart stopped beating at 7:01 pm. Finally, he went home.
His funeral lasted one week, as he instructed my older sister during one of her visits a month or so before his final hospitalization. Even during his last few days, after he told us that he wanted to "go home", he gave instructions like he would when we plan for parties or a get together with close relatives. A friend of mine even commented when she came to pay her respects that this was the only funeral she came to that had the feel of celebration in the air. Yes, this too my Dad planned for. He didn't want us to be sad when he left. He didn't even want us to wear black. He wanted us to celebrate his life and not mourn for his death.
In that one week, beloved relatives and friends came pouring in, a testimony of how much my Dad was loved by the people he encountered in his life time. It was heartwarming to see all the people who paid their last respect to the man that is my father. It was just recently when we: me, mom, my brother and sister-in-law, talked about the funeral procession and how long the line of cars was that followed us to the cemetery. As usual, we had tears in our eyes as we recounted our stories of that day. My Mom says that Dad planned everything in advance even before he knew of his sickness. He bought a family plot not far from our house, a mere 10-minute drive. So now it is easy for us to go visit him anytime we want to.
We still miss you a whole lot, Daddy. Not a day passes when we don't think of you. I find it impossible not to think of you when everything I do with my life has the mark of your influence. A year has passed since you went home but it feels like it was just yesterday when you were here with us. No matter what, you will always be number one in our hearts. Love you Dad!
