22 long years and it still hurts. Images of my dad in his hospital bed in the MICU of the Philippine Heart Center for Asia. The doctors called us all in, saying he would not make it through the day. We sat around his bedside, holding him, just feeling his pain. And then it happened. Right before my eyes, I saw my father convulse and die.
It was the darkest day in my life. I was struck by disbelief. This man who was my real life hero succumbed to such a rapidly progressing disease. My dad was a doctor and did not expect this to happen to him.
All this time, I have slowly learned to accept that Daddy is gone. I am comforted by the thought that he has moved on to a better place where there is no more pain.
Accepting does not mean forgetting. I keep my father's memory alive in my mind. I tell my children stories of fun times I had with my Dad and how he would have enjoyed seeing his grandchildren. It gives me joy in my heart to relive those times. Every time I look up at the night sky and see the vast expanse of the stars and the universe, I know my Daddy is up there in Heaven with God and all his angels.
On this day of remembering, I pray that God would hold Daddy and tell him how much we love and miss him. I would ask God to tell Daddy that we are okay and not to worry about us. I pray that God would give him a big bear hug for me, and I will give thanks to God for blessing us with a man whom we lovingly call "Daddy."