TIME ENOUGH FOR TEARS

This week has been the toughest I’ve ever faced, as I have attended two funerals of my beloved ones. First, my dad, and then, 6 days later, my colleague Eva.

And as I stood there watching their final seconds on earth, I could not help wishing my tears had been of a phoenix, so they would have not been so powerless to do anything for them. Thankfully both died peacefully, but the memories can be more painful than any sharp knife. There’s nothing I can say or do that can take away the pain of losing them.

Of course I am grateful to have been able beside my dad during his final days, talking to him, letting him know how much he meant to me and how I loved him, listening to him singing my favorite childhood song despite his struggle for air, while I rested my head beside his, and the pillow became wet with my tears because my heart had no room except for sorrow and fears. I still wanted to do a lot more for him, and I always wished he would be there on my wedding someday. But upon seeing his condition, I realized I had been so selfish to demand that from him—he had been always there for me. So I changed my prayers—I prayed that I would be there when he needed me, when he breathed the last (it was granted).

Still, it was killing me to see him suffer, and I learned to understand why the Father turned His face away as His only Son suffered the death, cos I felt the same too. I wanted to run away, hide myself somewhere, so I did not have to see him slumped in the hospital bed, skin and bones, with swollen legs and pale face. I‘d never seen him so weak and old like that before, and all I could do was just holding his hand crying, wanting to help but was unable to.

And all he was worried about was me, whether I got bored staying all day long with him at the hospital room, whether I had spent a lot on his medical care, whether I would get fired if I kept staying with him and skipped work too long. He was he, the best father I could have ever asked for. A simple man who only knew how to work hard and sacrifice for his family, the one who loved my mom unconditionally, and would’ve been more than willing to die for his children should’ve it been necessary. And, as if he had known my secret fears, he kept showing us a confirmation after another of his true faith, making us sure where he is now. He’s home and he’s free. And like always, he is waiting for me there with his assuring smile—until I too am called home when my time comes. And what he has now is far greater than anything I could give him here.

But I still cry over him, especially when I’m alone with the memories.

However, I knew my life had to go on, so three days after the funeral I came back to work, received the condolences, and even could laugh and trade teasing glances with my colleague Eva—and all I could think of was how pretty she looked that day—who would have thought, it was her last smile to me, cos the following morning, she became a victim of a hit and run accident, banged her head hard, had a fatal hemorrhage, and lost her consciousness. It was heart-wrenching to see the doctor take off all the sustaining machines and let her die, leaving a mother, a husband, and three kids who wailed for her, and a lot more people who would miss her so much. Gone is my motherly friend, who always helped me and stood up for me, encouraged me to pursue my dreams, took a good care of me as if I had been her family—she even secretly planned to cook for my oncoming birthday, wanting to cheer me up after the loss of my father. I don’t remember ever getting upset with her, not even once during the 6 months of working together everyday, side by side.

I wish this week were just a dream, a nightmare, and I could wake up the next morning still having them around. But it is not, cos bad things also happen to good people. Even so, I still can say, God gives, God takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.