I love you. I’m grateful for the life you have given me. I came back to the motherland to be with you and say goodbye. It was hard to see you sick. And it was not easy to spend time with you in your various states of distress in your dying state. I felt like I died a hundred times.
On your 77th birthday, you were quite down and depressed. You gathered us around your bed. FV, EV, LO, JO and me. You asked each one of us if we wanted you to live. I was in tears. You were dying. No one wanted to acknowledge it. I had no words just tears, streams and streams of tears.
Do you remember when you asked LO? She replied affirmatively like everyone else. "Of course, uncle," she said. And then quickly diverted to Nurse M to get his opinion. Do you remember your response to what he said?
You commented, "He has a vested interest in my continuation to live." And you disregarded his statement. Because as long as you were alive, he had a job. I saw what you were doing. I saw your heart then. I see your heart now. I understood that you wanted us to connect with our primary emotions. To face the reality of death through you. To come to terms with our own mortality.
One afternoon, during my visit with you, you said to me, "Your brother is not ready for me to go." I knew then there was nothing else for me to do. Death happens in its own time. Yet, I was scared to take action and live my life. A month after your birthday, you sensed I was contemplating plans to return to the States. You even asked Nurse G if she knew what date I was leaving. "Is Che leaving on the 22nd?" you asked her.
When you asked me directly, I told you I wasn’t sure because I was scared to leave you (even though I had checked for flights for that date). You told me, "You should go; they need you there."
There — the land of the free, the home of the brave — was crumbling and falling apart. Where was my place there? So I stayed for another four months. And it was extremely hard. All the trips to the hospital. To the drug stores for endless medical supplies and drugs to sustain you. Despite all that, I did not expect to connect to the motherland in such a profound way for 7 months.
Thank you for the unexpected way you brought me home. So I could root into myself in a new way to find my sovereignty. I acknowledge the life you chose to live. It was not easy and you paid the price. And I’m ready to face my future and do it differently.
MABUHAY. I’m happy dad. The sun is shining. And the birds are singing. There is so much possibilities here.
MABUHAY. I am opening the door to enter a new facet of love. To shine in this world like I have never before. With my feet on the ground, I stand tall firmly rooted, with my chest open.
MABUHAY. I bid you farewell. I walk towards my future that has been eagerly awaiting me. I step into this portal of potentiality and greet the life that is meant for me.
With great courage. With great heart. With great joy. I see your heart. I love you.
with great love,
your daughter
C xx
This was written March 2022 (6 weeks after my grandmother died and 4 months prior to my dad's death). He was intubated and no longer verbally communicating.