A burning heart

And no matter what anybody says about grief and about time healing all wounds, the truth is, there are sorrows that never fade away until the heart stops beating and the last breath is taken.

It’s been more than 3 months now since my dad left us, but when I recall his last 3 days with me in the hospital, I couldn’t help but to cry silently. I hide my tears because I have to. I have to be stronger in front of my mom and brother. Although I smile and seem carefree, the pain is just the same. I still see his teardrops silently rolling down his cheeks, trying to communicate but he couldn’t anymore.

The heartbreaking part was to hide the pain and struggles from my mom and brother, and stay composed in front of the family after each cardiac arrest I had witnessed. 3 sleepless nights felt like an endless year to me, hoping that each time the doctors and nurses would come to me, they’d bring the good news that every family member would love to hear, that “he’s out of danger”. But that was never the case. In every consent I had to sign, it killed my strength and hope. But I saw him fought for his life, so who I was not to?
The day when his attending doctor advised me to slowly tell my mom about dad’s real medical condition, was the same day when I lifted it all up to Him. I knew it was going to happen. So I also told my brother to go ahead and finalized his flight schedule ASAP. Too bad he did’t see him still breathing, for the last time. When that happened, I was lucky my cousins and few relatives were around, whom I have asked to break the news to my mom, which was the hardest part because we were also worried about her condition. 2 hours later, after dad drawn his last breath, I had the courage to call my brother who was already in EDSA, that dad has finally gave up. That was the hardest part!

“I know, in time, these tears will softly turn into tears of remembrance. The day will come when the grieving will become an interrupted time of joy, and all I have do is reminisce the good memories we had together.

I will always look up to you. I will never forget those trying times, when you stood by us with no complains and traces of hopelessness up until your last breath. I still miss you everyday, daddy… Have a Merry Christmas in heaven!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Blogger since 2007 | Home-based Marketing Assistant | WAHM | Ex-OFW | Music enthusiast | Cactus and Succulent Hobbyist | A 41 y/o mom of two lovely girls sharing her adventures as she walks through motherhood and having to do most things on her own while her Indian national husband works miles away from home.

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8 Comments

  1. I’ve traveled this road 6 years ago. The first holidays are the toughest: first Christmas, first birthday, etc.

    Soon, it gets easier, and what’s left are fond memories of the great times that were shared.

    [Reply]

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