"For what is it to die
but to stand naked in the wind
and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing,
but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand
and seek God unencumbered?"
- Kahlil Gibran
My father was dying in front of me. Technology (video call) has made that possible as I watched him struggle with his breathing through rapid respiratory cycles in a minute with irregularity. As a nurse, I have read articles about death, dying and palliative care but the practise of profession to your very own flesh and blood... a seemingly insurmountable challenge on its own was already proving to be an understatement. Then there's the nearly 7000 miles distance between my dad and myself with video clarity mangled by dodgy internet connection in Manila. The grief of seeing my father through the last stages of life was expansive where all I could do was scream through my phone to the invisible waves of cyberspace through to my nephew's phone and finally, my father's waning auditory perception.
I bawled like a child muttering "I love you Papa" a million times in split second hoping the incessant plea would be heard even once to help appease his suffering. I always believe that my critical acuity in nursing care is sharp but at that moment, I was my father's son hoping that my love for him would be enough to apprise him of my desire to be with him in perhaps the scariest moment of parting. But my voice no matter how sincere with longing was betrayed by the mere fact that I wasn't there to hold his hands, kiss him on his forehead and reassure him that he's not alone.
I am surrounded by beliefs, debates and arguments about the afterlife. At this point, there are two things I want him to know: that I love him and that I don't have to look far to seek for him. I will always have that major part of him within me. The priest during the mass said, "Death is not goodbye". I agree that it must be true because I won't be able to say goodbye to the very being that I am now that reflects my own father.
