Tag Archives: Father

Fire and Rain

27 April 2012

5 Comments

The past several weeks has been a roller coaster ride of emotions for me and my family. First was shock. Followed by joy. Next came more shock. Then grief. (see previous post)

In the few days that followed after our painful loss, a friend of mine asked me if we should cancel the camping for the boys that has been planned for a while, before all the unexpected turn of events had happened. He told me that maybe our family needs to spend time alone in our mourning.

So I asked my wife about this, but she was quick and firm to say that the plans for the boy’s outing should push through. She added that she will be fine while I am away. Besides, my son, who was really looking forward to this trip will be very disappointed if the camping will be postponed.

Yes we grieve for our loss, but we should also continue to celebrate life. For life should go on. No, life MUST go on. I tell you that life can be like butterfly wings: beautiful, yet can be delicate and fragile. But there’s nothing more resilient and tenacious than the human spirit.

Thus me and my son, together with our friends – another father and son team, headed to a lake-side camp and spent two days in the wild. Well it was not really the wild, for we slept in a cabin, that has heat, air-conditioning and even a refrigerator. There were two bunk beds, spacious enough for the four of us. By the way, this trip was only for the boys, but in a few weeks, our whole family, together with other families, will go for a “real” camping, that is sleeping in tents.

One of the main activity in the camp was building a fire. We enjoyed gathering firewood and sticks and starting our own fire like skilled boy scouts. OK, OK, we cheated. We brought lighter and wood fire starter, so it was no sweat at all. We spent hours and hours sitting around the campfire and staring at the fire. We burned woods, sticks, barks, leaves, paper, plastic, paper plates – basically anything we can find to burn. A little open fire brings out the pyromaniac in anybody.

Of course we cooked our meal too in the fire: hotdogs and marshmallows! What is camping without hotdogs and s’mores? We could have sung “Kumbaya” as well, but we’re too busy munching on our “perfectly” cooked food. Well for assurance, just in case we cannot start a fire, my wife did not let us leave without bringing chicken adobo and cooked rice. So we are not really left alone in the wild to fend for ourselves and survive without provisions.

During the early evening, angry rain clouds with gutsy winds came over. Rain fell over our campgrounds . But the rain did not extinguish our fire nor did it dampen our spirits. The rainfall did not spoil our fun, it just made the night more interesting. My son and his friend grab the umbrellas (yes, we even had umbrellas!) and frolic and dance around the fire. It was a mix of Native American fire dance and Gene Kelly’s Singin’ in the Rain. Minutes later, the clouds rolled away, and the twinkling stars appeared up in the sky.

This experience just reminded me that in life, even when the winds blow and rain pours, if we just hold on for a little longer and keep our flame burning, we will make it through, and we will see the stars again.

We also spent at least a couple of hours biking (we did hauled our bikes along) around the lake which has a nice bike trail, a loop of about 6-7 miles. Along the trail there was a covered bridge, an old round barn, farmlands, parks, beautiful lake-side houses, and of course the lake. It was certainly a scenic bike ride. Halfway through the trail, there was even a cozy diner that serve breakfast, lunch and dinner. So we were far from starving at all!

We did not do any water activity like fishing, kayaking or swimming as it was still too cold for the season. There are many pictures hanging on the wall of the cozy diner exhibiting photos of people showing off their prized catch from the lake, indicating that this place is a prime location for fishing. Maybe we will do that when we return some other time, so we will have big fish stories to brag about. Or should I say “fishy” stories.

As we were going home, I asked my son if he enjoyed our trip. He gave me a wide grin. I don’t need to ask more.

Life indeed continues.

Son’s Regret

18 June 2011

2 Comments

In our church this weekend, the pastor asked the congregation how many still have their fathers with them. Several hands rose up. He then told them that they are very fortunate, for there are many people in this world who have no more dads or never knew their dads. He further admonished us, as he slightly choked-up in tears, to appreciate our dads while we still can. I don’t know what our pastors’ regret, but I also did choked up in tears in my seat as I listened to him.

Do not get me wrong, my father and I had a good relationship. We spent much time together as a family. And I love my father very much. But I regret, that I have not been much expressive in letting him know that, or letting him hear my appreciation of him, while he was still living.

Men, more so than women, usually are not good in expressing their feelings. We don’t let our loved ones know our appreciation of them, at least in words.

When my father got sick, and after he underwent a second brain surgery for a deep-seated brain tumor, he never recovered to speak again. And in one of his last nights in the hospital, I stood there by his bedside, and I struggled to tell him how much I am grateful and appreciative of him. But it was a monologue…….for my father was almost comatose.

Shortly after my father died, a song by Mike and the Mechanics, titled “The Living Years” became popular. And this song up to this day, bring tears to my eyes, as it expressed my regret exactly:

I wasn’t there that morning

When my father passed away,

I didn’t get to tell him

All the things I had to say.

I think I caught his spirit

Later that same year,

I’m sure I heard his echo

In my baby’s newborn tears

I just wish I could have told him in the living years.

Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye.

I know I have written a few articles as a tribute to my father, and I hope my life is a living tribute to his legacy. But I still wish I could have told him that I really love him, in his living years.

For all of you who still have your fathers with you, tell him how you appreciate him………. while you still can.

Happy Father’s Day.

I’m a Father of a Teenager

15 March 2011

Leave a comment

It seems like yesterday…….

When you arrived into our world and I held you for the first time, in a hospital room that overlooks the New York’s Central Park.

When I danced with you in the middle of the night, as you would not sleep, while the Number 7 train roars from a distant track.

When I pushed you on a swing, in a crowded playground in the middle of hustle and bustle of upper Manhattan.

In our New York Apartment (Number 7 train in the distance)

Was it only yesterday…….

When you ran in your swimsuit on the grass, with the sprinkler on, as you gleefully soaked in water under Florida sun.

When you played and dug in the dirt beside our apartment, with the nearby fragrant orange groves in sight.

When I pushed your stroller as we walked in Downtown Disney, to watch the fireworks in the humid Orlando night.

It was like yesterday……

When you first stomped on the freshly fallen snow and scooped it up with your bare hands, in the dead of Des Moines winter.

When you roamed in our yard picking dandelions, while the distant fields of corn swayed in the breeze of Midwest summer.

When I held and steadied your bike as you first learn to ride, in the driveway of our home here in Iowa.

me and my daughter in our backyard, here in Iowa

It was like yesterday, that you came into my life, and I became a father.

Where did time go? Now, I am a father of a teenager.

Yes, a teenager! But’s that’s not a bad thing, in fact, it is a wonderful thing.

My baby, is now a young lady. And I’m looking forward to more happiness you will bring.

A Father Till the End

13 March 2011

3 Comments

It was 2 o’clock in the morning. I was on-call that night. I had to come back emergently to the hospital, and my medical resident and I had been working on this patient for the past 3 hours, trying to stabilize him. However, in spite of all the efforts, it seems like we were just spinning our wheels, without gaining traction.

In the past couple of hours we had (re)placed on him 2 central venous catheter, one in the neck (jugular vein) and one the groin (femoral vein) for  intravenous access and for dialysis access. We also inserted a tube in the side of his chest as his left lung did collapse (pneumothorax). We tried to restart his continuous dialysis after we replaced the catheter (the previous one malfunctioned), but we were met with hemodynamic problems. I added several intravenous drips to his already multiple ongoing medications (his bedside looks like an intricate web of  inverted bottles, tubings, poles, and catheters) to increase his blood pressure and regularize his heart rate, but it remained erratic. I played with different modes on the mechanical ventilator to keep his oxygenation half decent, but failed. In other words, he remained very unstable.

I really thought he would go, on my watch……

*****

He is a 41-year-old man. A father of 2 boys, and a good father at that, according to his wife. He had no previous medical history, in fact, he had never been to a doctor since his childhood days. However, he started not feeling well for more than a month, but he thought he just had a bad case of flu. And when he finally went to see a doctor, he was deemed very sick and got admitted to the hospital the same day. After a flurry of work-ups, he was diagnosed with acute lymphoma — a cancer involving cells of the immune system .

He was promptly started on chemotherapy. After a few days in the Oncology floor, he was moved to the ICU as his conditioned worsened. In his fourth day in the ICU, he deteriorated further as he developed pneumonia and went into respiratory failure, requiring intubation and mechanical ventilation. He then also went into septic shock (a grave condition from overwhelming infection causing life threatening low blood pressure). His condition became so serious, that I had a somber discussion with his wife, and told her that he may not survive this.

But that discussion was more than three weeks ago.

Since then, he continued to battle for his life. Different life-support machines had been added to his ICU room (mechanical ventilator, dialysis machine, stand-by external pacemaker and defibrillator). In his almost month-long stay in the ICU, one after another, his organs failed: lungs, heart, kidneys, liver, bone marrow, and gastrointestinal tract. He was poorly responsive, deeply jaundiced, swollen all over, and overall plainly looked awful. All of the different specialists involved on his case knew it was improbable that he would pull through this.

But he hanged on. Even with almost every organ system failing, the only thing that keeps on going was his will to survive. Somehow it tells us that he was still fighting. Still fighting for something. Yet, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Or in his case, the flesh is almost dead.

*****

That brings us to the night I was on-call.

After working on him furiously that night, I called his wife at 2 in the morning, and updated her of the situation. She knew it was time. She had seen him suffer enough. She was ready to let him go.

However, for some reason he still survived that night.

The following morning, the wife brought their 2 sons into the ICU to say their final goodbye. She had made up her mind to withdraw the life support, a decision that she was dreading to make for days, but had to eventually.

Their sons were 9 and 4 years old. The older one was obviously distressed and loudly crying. The younger one appeared lost, not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. The wife was as expected looked distraught, but trying to be strong for the sake of their 2 boys.

With his parents in the room, she leaned over to him and said: “I will take care of our boys, you can let go now.” Not long after that, his blood pressure dropped further. His heart rate slowed down gradually and finally stopped. We did not even have to turn off any of his life support. He went, on his own.

I wanted to believe that those boys were always on his mind. Yes, even in his cloudy mind (made by his illness and medications). He was just waiting for the reassurance that they will be alright. And then he let go.

He was a father till the end.

I can't let you go.

(picture from here)

 

 

Hunch and Punch

14 November 2010

Leave a comment

Boxing is not my cup of tea. I don’t take any pleasure in watching two hapless men beat each other up and turned their faces into hamburger. However, with history unfolding in front of my eyes, and with many experts claiming he is the greatest fighter of my time (or all time for that matter as others will argue), and him being my countryman, I just cannot pass this up. So I was one of the millions who watched Pacquiao vs Margarito last night, even if I have to shell out almost $60 to see it on my TV.

As I was watching Pacquiao pound his much larger opponent at will, my mind fluttered to another era…….

It was the era when my father was still around. He was a big fan, and is fond of boxing. He had stories that when he was a kid, he and his friends will wrap sackcloth in their fists and box. He even had stories refereeing his younger brothers boxing each other (they were 9, with 5 boys). I guess, there was no basketball court in their rice fields yet. He will tell us stories about great Filipino boxers of his time like Flash Elorde. His world would stop , as he would drop everything, to see Ali, or Frazier fight. And even though he made a rule in our house that we cannot eat our meal in front of the TV, he himself will break this rule so he could watch a televised boxing match.

(While I was watching the Pacquiao’s fight, my wife also told me that her late father was a big boxing fan too and even had his own street fistfights during his younger years. It is hard to believe that this 2 peace-loving men have such an appetite for such a savage sport like boxing.)

Though boxing is just a sports, to my father, perhaps boxing may have deeper meaning: to fight against the bigger adversaries of life. Being only a shade above five feet, not because of his short stature but due to a deformed back from severe spinal kyphosis (hunchback), he have faced more than his share of challenges.

I can just imagine the ridicule of other kids when he was young. He also had to work, or more aptly, fight his way to get a decent education due to the circumstances their family had. But he rose up to succeed against the unfair battle that life had thrown him. My father even remained in tip-top condition as he took up running to keep healthy despite his impairment. In fact, we had overlooked his deformity, for to us it was a perfect imperfection. Until a much tougher opponent, a brain tumor, decimated him. But I will say, he did not go without a fight………

When the boxing fight was over, and Pacquiao was officially announced as the winner, I was really happy for him and for all my countrymen. And knowing Pacquiao’s humble beginnings just made it more sweet. He definitely made us proud.

As I witnessed a good fight and perhaps boxing history, I just have one regret. I wished my father had witnessed it too.

Lessons From My Father (Tribute to My Late Dad): Part 2

19 June 2010

2 Comments

(The original article was published a year ago in Sampaloc Times, a newsletter of my beloved home church where I grew up.)

Value for Education

At a very young age, my father already cultivated in us the importance of a good education. I remember us kids doing multiplication exercises with him while we’re riding home from school. I also remember him tutoring me in my difficult subjects, especially when it involves math. He told us that he may not leave us much material inheritance, but if we get a decent education, this will give us enough to have a chance of changing the course of our lives.

My father did not have a master’s degree or a doctorate degree. He came from a family of farmers, and in fact he was the first one in their clan to finish college. His family did not have the means for a higher education, but my father worked his way through college. He had these stories of working odd jobs so just he can finish college.

Many years later, I learned that it was his dream to become a doctor, but because of the circumstances given him, going to medical school is out of his reach. So he took up Accounting instead and eventually became a CPA, an occupation he performed diligently and with integrity. And his dream of being a doctor? He passed it on to me. Sadly he did not live long enough to witness it into fruition.

He value education that he gave the opportunity to get a decent education, not only to his children but to others outside his family. I later learned that he helped a few other people get through college. I am not sure where these people are today, but I am sure they are grateful to him for the opportunity given them.

And for me? I owe my father the education I got and where it led me. If only he can see me now………….I hope I made him proud.

Alma Mater

Unfailing Faith

I think it is safe to say that my father is a man of faith. He preached it and he lived it. I fondly remember him sponsoring several evangelistic efforts. There was one place that even involve a 7-kilometer hike up a mountain, and another place that can only be reached by crossing a river through wading in the waist-deep water, and another in an inner city slums. And the neat part is he brought as along to these efforts. I witnessed it first hand his burning desire to share the truth he had found.

His faith did not falter even to the bleakest of situations. I remember vividly when he was lying in a hospital bed during the last few months of his life. His doctor just told him that he had a tumor in his brain, and unless he be operated on, he had no chance of living; but even with the surgery, it was no guarantee. To this he said that he was not afraid to die, for his trust is in God.

Here was a man who had fearlessly accepted his mortality and placed his utmost trust to the only One who can give us immortality. My father’s unfailing faith let him see beyond the uncertainty of this life; yes, even when facing death. A few months later, he died. But his faith lives…………in me.

passing the flame

As I lovingly embraced this faith that was passed on to me, I am hoping that I may I also passed it on to my children, and my children’s children.

To all the fathers in this world, Happy Father’s Day!

Lessons From My Father (Tribute to My Late Dad): Part 1

18 June 2010

4 Comments

(The original article was published a year ago in Sampaloc Times, a newsletter of my beloved home church where I grew up.)

In the tradition of the upcoming Father’s Day, I would like to remember my dad, and the life lessons I learned from him. He did not live long, as he passed away when he was just 50 years old (scary, that’s only 7 years from how old I am now), but he left me with a good legacy and equipped me enough to tackle the world.

Love of Running

My father loves to run. Three times a week, long before the sun rises, he was already jogging around our neighborhood. He had the discipline to conquer his self and the world.

I remember when he took me running at a very early age, I believe I was still in elementary.  We would be weaving our way in the dark streets of Manila that are sparsely lit by a few street lamps, while most of the neighborhood were still snoring in their beds. He told me that I do not have to worry about muggers and robbers as by this time of the day, they were gone, and the only people on the streets on this hour, were good and hard-working people who were trying to have a lead start in the day.

Sure enough we will pass vendors arranging their goods, newspaper boys already making their delivery, and a few busy people scuttling their way to work. We also would pass by bakeries that were already open (the only stores open in our locale this early), and would get a whiff of the “pandesal” that they were baking in their ovens. My father told me that all I have to watch for are a few stray dogs that may chase us, but he believes I am fast enough anyway to outrun them.

My father continued running until the time he started having dizzy spells, causing him to stumble and fall. He initially thought that he was just pushing himself too hard; so he continued to run. Only later on will we find out that the dizziness was caused by a growing tumor in his brain. Only then did he stop running; not because his love for it waned, but because his strength and ability waned.

In his last days, he was reduced to a wheelchair. I painfully remember as I helped him stand – I was supporting the once strong hands that held me up to make my first steps, but now I’m propping up, to take his last.

I continued where he left off, for I kept on running. I still enjoy the wind in my face, the sweat in my brows, and feeling the steady rhythm of my fast heart beat. Last fall, I ran my first half marathon, and hopefully someday I’ll do a full one.

Yes, I have my father to thank for this healthy habit I developed. But more so, I believed this instilled in me the drive and the endurance to do things that many people think cannot be done, and gave me a head start while the rest of the world still slumbers.