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Showing posts with label Missives of a Hopeful Heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Missives of a Hopeful Heart. Show all posts

07 September 2010

To Where You Are

Photosource




To Where You Are
by Josh Groban


Who can say for certain
Maybe you’re still here
I feel you all around me
Your memories so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You’re still an inspiration
Can it be (? )
That you are my
beloved dad
And you are watching over me from up above

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you’re there
A breath away’s not far
To where you are

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn’t faith believing
All power can’t be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
’cause you are my
beloved dad
Watching me from up above

And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave

Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you’re there
A breath away’s not far
To where you are

I know you’re there
A breath away’s not far
To where you are


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIAQCiMIEEQ

11 July 2010

On Your Birthday


This is how I felt yesterday. Because I missed you, and I wish I could spend the day with you. I love you, Dad. :) Happy birthday!

Truth is, this was me on your birthday because I spent the day studying for an upcoming exam.

29 April 2010

A Distant Memory


It's a distant memory of you and I walking by the sea shore, as you air out some of your frustrations in life. It was a starless night, and the moon was full and bright. We walked around to be acquainted with the place a little, knowing that we were there just to pass the night. I wanted to walk around and see the place, and I forced you to walk with me. You were being sentimental, as I was being happily naive with my own concerns.

You're my dad. Back then, I didn't really have that concept of being close with you because I was in the bubble of my adolescence. Little did I know that losing you would actually make me appreciate better those significant moments I had with you. How you trusted me with these thoughts back then, how you actually thought of expressing your sentiments to me back then. It's about time that you hear mine, as if we're walking by the sea shore in the starless night again. Talk to you later.

04 April 2010

Beautiful End


They say there are no coincidences, that the amusing circumstances where two events take place at the same time or one after another is a meaningful design. It may not be easily understood, but it's something one could appreciate after some thought.


Today is Easter Sunday, and so is my Dad's 2nd death anniversary. It's not very easy for me to integrate these two important events of the day in a blog entry, but here goes...
-----------

Soon as the visitors left, I went to sit on your bed. I got my exam reviewers back, and had a futile attempt to review. I could not understand anything from what I was reading because it had already been a tiring night. But I held on with my review as I also held on to your hand. It was the perfect excuse to stay up late. Truth was I had no intention of sleeping that night. But my exhaustion got the better of me, my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep still holding your hand.

That was our last moment together. I would have wanted my memory to end there, but like in most instances in life, we wait to experience some bitterness in order to let a beautiful end to flourish.

I was awakened by your hand shaking. You were already having seizure. Immediately I looked at the time, it was around 4 in the morning. And from that time on, your vital signs slowly declined. Even as your eyes were closed, and still having seizure, tears fell from your eyes. Then your head tilted as if to give in to sleep,  and soon enough you were no longer struggling, but looked very much like a child peacefully sleeping. Songs of prayers resounded in the room. It was around 8am when you expired. The beautiful end was to see you die in peace. You made it, Dad.

I have long understood the meaning of death, and I have accepted well enough your death, Dad. But this understanding and acceptance has not exempted me from helplessly missing you. I still find myself asking from time to time, 'Are you still here, Dad? Or are you just at work / abroad, and that very soon I will welcome you by the door as you get home?' But truth never fails to dawn on me with the bittersweet thought, I can only go as far as keeping you in my heart.

The bitter part is already done, and the beautiful end has already unfolded. God had not died only to end things in bitter grief. He has resurrected in order to give Life, and this is the very reason why each of us has a chance to have our own beautiful end.

11 December 2009

To Dad, on Christmas



Hi Dad! Christmas is nearing already, and you know what that means. You used to fear of the expenses made on this season, but not this year. You used to watch us hurry our preparation for Christmas, but maybe not so this year. This is not the first Christmas without you, and I don't think I can keep on counting the next of it without you. You know I never stopped missing you, it's just that, Christmas is a perfect excuse to voice out how much I miss you.

Anyway, may this year be as special as the ones we spent together. At the same time, may this year's Christmas be special in a way that it's uniquely ours, not just spent on reminiscing, but creating new memories together as a family.

This year's Christmas will be different because of the whole lot of new people I met, and with the few which I'll be happy to spend and wish a good Christmas with. And this year will be the first Christmas we'll spend away from home --- new sights, new taste, and a different Christmas breeze. The thought of it excites me already, but more than that, it's cherishing our being together as a family.

I know, I know. There really is no point trying to make you feel envious of what our Christmas celebration will be. I'm pretty sure yours is grand and utterly joyful. I guess all I want to say is, no matter how much we try spending Christmas differently, you will always take part in it, and you will always keep the family together.

We won't be home for Christmas... but so will you. I'll still wait for you, though.

Love you, Dad.

Your daughter,
Karen

P.S. I still have a Christmas wishlist to give to you. :)

02 October 2009

will you play the piano for me?

I could almost hear you saying those lines to me. or maybe, i'm just hoping i hear those words from you. Dad, can i play the piano for you? Will you pause for a while from watching CNN news, and hear me play the piano?

will you let me tell you the story of the book i'm currently reading?
will you read again the articles or poems I write?
will you review with me my previous exam and see where i went wrong?
will you take me to dinner after you pick me up from school?
will you let me become your little girl again? unreasonable at times, but always wanting to make you happy.

10 July 2009

Birthday!

I'm not going to greet you today,
because you're not here.
You'd have to be here before I greet you.
hah. I'm just kidding, and don't even
attempt to scare me with your presence.

Happy birthday, Dad!
I don't want any drama today, ok?
Let's be happy on your birthday.
(hey that rhymes).

*wish*


26 June 2009

Untold Conversations

If my dad were still here and working, I would have told him these things:


1

Dad, what does it mean if it's acute viral infection/disease?

What is the difference between Hepa A and Hepa B?


2

A professor doctor asked me about you, I think he's one batch lower than you. Asked me if you're still working in Lung Center of the Philippines.

I said yes. Haha kidding.


3

Dad, do you know Dr. Jaime Galvez-Tan? He's one batch higher than you, and I think I remember you mentioning his name.


4

You know what, I have a classmate who had her undergrad studies in Harvard University


5

Dad, let's have yogurt ice cream. And I'll tell you all about these things. :)


01 June 2009

Social Scripts

When I was in grade three, I remember having the lesson on how to introduce yourself, how to introduce a friend to someone older or to someone in authority, how to introduce a woman to a man, as well as how to introduce your friends to each other. These are social scripts taught to us when we were younger. I wish there was also a script taught to us concerning death.

Sorry Ma'am, my dad passed away a year ago. i'm saying this to you as a matter of fact simply because you need to know.

I wish there were an easier way to say such personal things in a semi-public conversation, to a non-personal friend, who's not even an acquaintance, but who needs to know the fact that my dad died. I wish they also knew better of how to respond to such statements, without making me repeat again and again who died and when he died in a semi-loud voice because she couldn't hear. I wish they knew how to respond to such without the need to see or feel the hurt in the person, but with an objective concern for the person and an objective detachment from the statement given. I'm not asking for special treatment, but just the basic respect and acknowledgment that death is never an easy circumstance to cope with. I wish it was easier for me to say it with much objectivity for the sake of academic transactions - void of emotions, but just the simple and plain truth.

Hi Dad. I tried to be strong throughout the year since your death. But today was especially difficult to hold in the thought that I wish you were still here. I never tried to forget the fact that you passed away, but hoped to go through each day with your pseudo presence. I'm half dreading the start of school and being in PGH, because I fear that by the time it has started already, I'll be wishing even further that you're still here.

I love you, Dad. So much so that it should be a comforting thought to remember that you're so much happier than ever. I'm sorry for being selfish at times.

14 March 2009

burger! burger! burger!

"AYEN!!!!!!!!!! You made it!!! CONGRATS dear!" -ais

I've been waiting for this moment when I'd be able to blog about this.


i am officially part of UP College of Medicine 2014. :)

Results came out a day earlier. In the middle of our chem31 experiment, two of my classmates were already shouting because they got a text message saying they passed UPCM. I could not concentrate on the experiment anymore because i had not received any text message yet. it was already making my knees weak, and my insides were already shouting. I had to ask a favor from a friend to know if I passed or not, and her reply was the one quoted above. i wanted to shout, but I couldn't. suddenly i felt my tears coming out, and they were joyous tears.

Yes, Dad. I passed! :) I passed, Dad. I couldn't help it. I think I cried upon finding out because I imagined how you'd be so proud of me if you were here. I almost called you at your work to tell you I passed, only to remember you're not at work anymore. But I would have called, and we would have celebrated together even if the rest of the family couldn't be with us yet. I wish I could tell you personally that I passed UPCM. I imagine you shaking my hand, acting like we're on stage, and me just hugging you back because I'm just so happy. It's to see your face and that same look you gave me during my debut. Any only daughter would know how priceless it is to be looked upon with pride by her dad.

Dad, I passed!!! :)

25 January 2009

Memories in Music


I miss playing the piano. When I was a kid, i hated my piano lessons just as how any kid disrupted from playing would feel. My piano teacher would come by Saturday afternoon when all the kids in my street would be out playing. I remember I'd go out earlier than usual so I would have more time to play, but the thing is, all the rest of my playmates were not yet around. In school, I was not in a regular music class. I would leave the class when it's Music already and I'd go to the music center to have my piano lessons. I never took my piano lessons seriously. I was too lazy to practice my scales, and was always in a hurry when I'm practicing my pieces. I'd go on a recital all dressed up, but without really giving it much thought until I'm about to go up the stage already. I hated recitals, and how I'd have to bow to the audience every after piece, and how I needed to practice the raising of my arms before and after a piece. 

...but my dad among the audience would always look pleased when I'm on stage playing the piano. I'd make a lot of mistakes in my playing, but he wouldn't know because he doesn't play the piano, and he'd still be so proud of me. He was salways happy to see and hear me play the piano. My dad is my biggest fan as a pianist, in fact, he's my only fan.

When my dad was still around, and everytime he's not at work, he'd be watching news on TV, always eager to know what's happening around the world. No one likes to watch with him because we don't really enjoy watching BBC, CNN, nor FoxNews (well in the latter part I enjoyed watching FoxNews with him). It's seldom that we get to persuade him to watch other channels such as HBO, and other movie channels. Most often than not, he sleeps as he watches, but he wakes up at the slightest change of channel. Watching TV was his way of resting from working the whole week, getting an average of 3 hours of sleep everyday. This is why his weekends are always precious to him. Well, I must say, no one gets to disturb him when he's watching/sleeping. But I know how... 

I'd play the piano, and he would turn off the TV, and would listen to whatever I play. He'd lie on the couch, close his eyes, and just listen. At times when he does not fall asleep from listening, you'd hear him clap every after I play. He's always happy when I get to play the piano, even if it's a melancholic piece I played. 

My dad has always wanted to play the piano. About 3 years ago, he asked me to teach him to play the piano. And i thought it would be hard to teach him at this point because his hands weren't as flexible as it should be. But he was insistent, and for the sake of giving him that sense of fulfillment, I agreed to give him short classes. It was timely that at that time, he had a patient who's a piano teacher, and he would ask that patient things about reading the notes, finger movements, etc. One time, he asked me to draw the keyboard out of illustration board so he could bring it to the hospital and be able to practice finger movements there. haha it was funny, because at times he'd go home and proudly tell me he's learned the finger movements of an octave already. At times he'd ask me to stop studying for a while so I could give him piano lessons. Well, his piano lesson had to end as he got busier at work, but I'm proud he's able to play even just the do-re-mi.

I'm pretty sure you still listen everytime I play the piano. And I'm more pressured to do well, because by now you probably know when I make mistakes. For all i know, you could be playing the piano from where you are. Do they have piano there, Dad? 'cause if they do, maybe now's the perfect time for you to learn playing the piano. :) 

As for me, I'm learning new pieces for you to listen to.. I hope you like them. :)

19 January 2009

Thoughts of Missing.

A friend asked me, what do I do when I miss you. I said, i tell you, "Dad, I miss you." and that's just about how I feel at present. I miss you, Dad! I have not gone to your garden in a while, but even so, I'd be missing you just the same.

I just had my chem exam last Saturday, and to whom do I better talk about such things if not with you. For some reason, that geekiness in us brought a lot of bonding moments between us. I remember when you were still at the hospital, and we were both answering my physics exam, we were trying to see where I went wrong. You've forgotten most of the concepts, but you knew well the right questions to ask. golly, you were always that smart. You told me that for the most part, I know what I'm doing, but that my carelessness leads me to committing a lot of mistakes. I don't think I'd ever forget that, but I hope it gets into my consciousness to really shake that carelessness off me.

And then, what else? I had a tutorial session a while ago. Goodness, Dad! It was utterly exhausting! There were only three of us to give the review to 3 sections. We were all not used to teaching both girls and boys at the same time, and it was simply a riot. Ahh... patience is indeed a virtue.

Lastly, I was at your workplace last Friday. We had a benefit concert held there for DMMC, the foundation that gives music therapy for children with autism and other disabilities. It went great! I really thought at start that it was going to be a flop project. I'd like to think your presence somehow urged others to support the event. When I had to sell raffle tickets for a project, you were most willing to buy all the tickets from me. When I had to handle a Christmas Party for the kids, you were most willing to shoulder our expenses. You were always that supportive to my projects. And well, your support has never stopped, but was even strengthened because you're near Him.

Finding myself still doing this, I feel like your old little girl --- how I try to make you proud, and how it makes me happy everytime I'm able to make you happy. I hope to see you smile at me, and see in your eyes that you're proud of me. And i hope to see it someday... someday.

Everyday is a new beginning, Dad. Sometimes it feels like a deja vu, because sometimes it's as if I'm faced with the same struggles every time, but then, realizations kick in, resolutions surface and I find myself pushing more and more to effect the change that's always needed --- always aiming to go beyond (mostly beyond my comforts and beyond my selfishness).

How about you, Dad? How's it been there?

19 December 2008

I'll Be Home for Christmas

This is what i hope my dad would tell me this Christmas.

"I'll be home for Christmas"

A friend just told me it's okay to feel a little sad, as long as i don't dwell on it. I'm keeping true to my word. I'm not going to dwell on it, but this may be a little melancholic.

This will be the first Christmas without my dad. And yes, it feels a little different. The previous Christmas year already felt a little different. Dad was still here, and he went home for Christmas from the hospital. The hospital allowed patients to go home for Christmas, then come back the day after. My dad did that, along with the rest of the family. I could still vividly remember how that night went (and yes, these things i will never forget no matter how forgetful or lola i get). My dad was on a wheel chair, saying goodbye to all the nurses and medical staff that attended to him, greeting them a Merry Christmas because he was about to go home and celebrate just that. There was happiness on his face, much like a kid anticipating the coming of Santa Claus that Christmas Eve.

Remembering that moment, I'd like to spend Christmas the way he did with his last. And i feel that already. As the cool breeze pull Christmas day closer, I get more and more excited. The colorful lights that glimmer every night, Christmas songs playing in the background, plus plus Christmas wrappers! i love seeing Christmas wrappers :) especially those already torn and crumpled ones. Their lovely designs, and how it was carefully folded, but in the end they end up torn and crumpled. Isn't that selfless? haha!

Ahh, but no matter how excited I get for Christmas, a thought lingers in my head.. I hope he'd be home for Christmas.

As I was praying in the mass a while ago, I realized he is home for Christmas. And maybe as he heard me praying, he would have told me what a big celebration it would be where he is. And maybe this hoping is more of wanting to spend Christmas with him in where he is right now.

Merry Christmas, Dad!

30 August 2008

guiding memories

Hi dad. How are you? I wonder what crazy antics you've been doing there. Have you tried cooking your favorite food? Have you tried cooking an artichoke just as you learned from cooking shows?

Well, life here's pretty much the same. only everyday that i wake up, i realize life gets harder and harder, yet it gets more fulfilling to live. There's probably no need to tell you what's been going on here, but there's this satisfaction of being able to share these things with you, hoping i could really tell these things before you.

We have a new dog! Tobi's his name (from toblerone). you're probably going to hate him more than you hated Hershey, because he's extremely playful and there's no doubt you're bound to step on him since he's so small. and you'll probably kick him aside when he gets in the way. Nonetheless, he'll take it as you playing with him, and he'll even love you for that. Aww dad, i know you secretly loved hershey when you were here. telling us that when all of us were already asleep as you come home, hershey comes running to you, standing on her two hindlimbs, trying to get your attention. I knew how much you appreciated those moments. well, here's another dog to welcome you home, only you're already home and won't need these dogs.

for the past days, i've been thinking about you more than usual. when life seems to get tougher, i imagine how you were able to go through your own struggles. i imagine what you would have told me if i tell these things to you. i imagine what you would have done yourself if you were in my position. i remember during the times that you yourself went against the grain, and how you simply went on it without hesitation because you knew well you were fighting for what's right, and what's true. i wish i were as strong as you were.

i miss you, dad. sometimes i wish you were still around, because having you around meant i don't have to push myself to be stronger. because with you, i'm still someone's little girl, and i get the license to be dependent on you. i remember how you once told me, "19 years old ka na? hindi ba 16 ka lang?" aww dad, it's like you forget that you danced with me during my debut. i guess it's natural for an only girl to be her dad's little girl forever, even until the point you should have walked me down the aisle.

in any case, dad, you know i'm doing great. you know how you're still very much part of my everyday life. your memory has led me to a lot of good and right decisions, and i intend to continue living with the same guiding thoughts.

yes, i promise to study really really well, to be on guard when commuting, and not to lose hope when life seems to tell me i'm not for med. haha dad, you would have to convince harder than that.

14 April 2008

good mourning

I have never mourned in my life, until my dad gave me a reason to do so. Being the unemotional person that i am, i didn't know how exactly to face such experiences, but even so, this heart knows after all, what it means to grieve.

Before my dad admitted himself to the hospital, he briefed us about his illness, and right then and there i understood what his condition implicated. He was so sure of his nearing death, but the slightest hope he got was enough for him to fight for life, enough for him to still hope for a better life. He went on with his days hoping, but at the same time preparing for his Meeting with the Lord. He prepared like a diligent student would prepare for an examination. He showed no sign of cramming, because the Good Lord has given him enough time to prepare for this; the whole of his lifetime and the few months left to review his final paper. I must say, indeed he was very blessed with the amount of time given to him.

And what about us he's left behind? We tried preparing with him as he was doing his own preparation. I have accepted everything and the fact that he was going to die soon, but even with much expectation and anticipation, death still comes like a sudden gust of the wind. Even with much acceptance of his fate, I still find myself hoping I'd wake up and realize this is just a bad dream, but then, every arrow points to reality, leaving me no choice but to accept everything as it is.

Had I known back then that this was bound to happen, would i have acted differently towards him? Sometimes i try to imagine, if during those times we spent together i already knew he was going to die this soon, what i would have done, and what i would have told him. I always had the notion he was going to die old, helping in rearing his grandchildren and already resting from a lifetime of work. But God had a better plan than the blueprint i had in mind.

It wasn't long before I got used to talking with him in my prayers. This made me feel that he's still very much alive, but in a different dimension; in a much better place. It was much easier now to come to him in times of struggle. I still find myself saying "Daddy o, si kuya..." of course, i don't hear him reprimanding him, but then his presence is enough to console me. I asked for his guidance as i was answering my NMAT (national medical admission test). I strongly felt his existence, and how he too couldn't answer the 2nd part of the test. And I assured him, he will never be forgotten, not ever in my life.

Like the sudden gust of the wind, death passes by quickly, but the world would never stop for whoever journeys on to the next life, not even for such a great life lived on earth. Life simply goes on, and whoever wishes to go with life, must keep up with its fast-paced movement. It's not that life leaves no time for mourning, but that mourning is but an expression of a much valued love, and of missing a person whom I won't be seeing after a long long while --- but that in life, it's actually possible to mourn while moving on with this nonchalant life.

good mourning, it is.

08 April 2008

letter for my dad: a eulogy

eulogy for my dad.

Good morning. Please do allow me to be able to have this short time to talk with my dad.

Hi dad, I have a letter for you. i miss you a lot, dad. Out of all the letters i wrote for you, this is probably the hardest one to write. it doesn't feel right to be giving a eulogy this soon, since i still feel your presence... very much alive --- from your pictures, and most especially from what our relatives and your friends tell me about you. anyway, i'm keeping myself strong...

More than a year ago, you asked me to write a eulogy for lola mamang, and now i'm doing a eulogy for you. it feels a bit odd, because now, I don't know how to express all my thoughts in a coherent and organized manner. i was hoping i wouldn't have to do this since i know now you could see right through my heart. *sigh* but the grieving heart somehow needs to let out a few thoughts and emotions, and hopefully by saying these things aloud to you, maybe you'd understand better the cluttered thoughts in my head, and the mixed emotions i have in my heart.

Now, i hope you don't mind having other people hear what i wish to say to you. After all, they're your family and your friends. ('wag ka nang mahiya. hehe! hindi kita ilalaglag) Anyway, have you seen the many people that visited you over the past days? It was overwhelming, daddy. You never told me you have this much of friends... these are people from all walks of life whom you have touched dearly in your own special way -- each has a story to tell of your goodness. I got to meet a few of your classmates from elementary, your high school and college batchmates, and of course your colleagues since med school until present. I also met some of our relatives whom I’ve never seen before, as well as your patients and their families. Every chat i get to have with your friends, i'd always feel elated. It's amazing to see who you are from different angles, and to see your consistent personality of being just yourself --- that introvert, quiet type, but always had something interesting to share. I always thought i knew you better, but hearing from these people, it's like being able to complete a big puzzle of your whole being. I learned so much from them, and they were all affirmation to how i knew you, as if the bits and snippets of what i know about you were little by little connected with each other, forming a bigger picture of you. Dad, i had no idea you were making this much influence on other people. i had no idea that you were making such significant marks to their lives. Because when you see my friends, you'd always tell me, you never had that lot of friends. (Eto ba 'yung sinasabi mong wala kang kaibigan? Eh halos hindi na magkasya yung flowers sa room) I learned a lot from them, daddy. You have such wonderful friends!

I'm not sure if i were able to get this across to you when you were here, but i'm just so proud to be your daughter, so proud that you're my dad. Not because of the tv and radio appearances you had, nor for being the physician of the month before --- these are but surface reasons to be proud of you, but mostly because i know you to be a very principled man. i remember, in one of our short-car-ride-bondings, you told me that there are only two things i should keep in mind. and these are 1. integrity, and 2. punctuality. of course i believed your sincerity when you said these things, but the second one's a bit hard to believe (as some of you may know, my dad is always fashionably late, even to his last events with you, on his wake, he also came late. he was scheduled 7pm, he got here by 8:30pm.) Anyway, it was not hard to believe the first thing you said, because, indeed, you lived a life with integrity. You had that distinct way of seeing things in all fairness, always fighting for righteousness.

I am proud of you because I know you lived a fulfilled life. You worked, not just for the sake of working, but you worked with passion. How you would always say, “Kung gusto mong yumaman, ‘wag kang magdoctor.” You are such a big inspiration to me, dad, your whole life --- from birth until death!

*sigh* How are you doing there daddy? It doesn't feel like you're gone. It's like you just left for a conference abroad, and that soon, very soon, you'll be coming home. You remember the welcome home banners we used to make when we were kids? The ones with oddly drawn airplane, and of you getting off the plane with all the pasalubong for us. Of course i always get the big one, since i'm the favorite. haha.

There's just so much to tell! so many memories to cling to, but so little time to be able to share the whole of it. Just like the life we're given, so many dreams to achieve, as if it's such a long long way to happiness, and yet every year that passes by could not prolong this life as much as we want to. With death, we are always reminded of how short life really is, and yet we would always need such reminder for we often forget.

i love you, dad. i could only close my eyes and remember the happy times we had together. back when we were both younger, back when things seemed simpler than it is now. back when we'd go to Ateneo or UP so we could jog, back when we'd go to your "restaurant of the month" every Sunday, back when you would pick me up so late from school. if only i could pick a time frame and choose to live there longer, i would.

On your last week, when you were breathing so fast, i wanted to tell you, "Dad, slow down... not too soon, please?" i wanted to show you pictures of the past, because then maybe you'd take your time a little slower, because then maybe you'd get the chance to look back, and maybe would wish to stay there longer, too. You were breathing as if to count the days left. And the faster you breathed, the more that I was losing my time with you.

But you went ahead without dilly dallying. Like a true servant of God, you fulfilled His will down to your last breath. While for the rest of us, it was so easy to breathe, at that time, it was the hardest thing to do for you. And yet, like a true servant of God, every breath was offered to God, every struggle and pain you encountered were lifted up to God. Your whole life is a living witness to a life of struggle that we are all called to. My whole life, daddy, I’ve known you to be the big man I look up to, but as you lay your head to rest, you were like a child, a child of God, who slept upon hearing songs of God.

Alam mo, dad, may webcamera sila dito, so the people from abroad could see what's happening in your wake. I bet 'yung signal sa heaven mas maganda... to the point that you could see clearly through our hearts. Could you see the flowers you have here? They’re so beautiful… I bet landscape in heaven is even better. Well you have gone ahead of us, and hopefully there you’d be able to pave the way for us. As you leave your position as Dr. Montevirgen, I will work my way to that position, with passion and with love. I guess it’s time to put up the sign “The Doctor is Out”. You’re home now.

This is my dad's favorite bible passage, and probably favorite church song, too.

As The Deer


As the deer panteth for the water
So my soul longeth after Thee
You alone are my heart's desire
And I long to worship Thee

(Chorus)
You alone are my strength, my shield
To You alone may my spirit yield
You alone are my heart's desire
And I long to worship Thee

You're my friend and You are my brother
Even though You are a king
I love You more than any other
So much more than anything

Chorus

I want You more than gold or silver
Only You can satisfy
You alone are the real joy giver
And the apple of my eye

Chorus

31 March 2008

undo

i love you, dad. i could only close my eyes and remember the happy times we had together. back when we were both younger, back when things seemed simpler than it is now. back when we'd go to UP and jog, back when we'd go to your "restaurant of the month" every Sunday, back when you would pick me up from school. you have no idea of how much i'm missing you right now. if only i could pick a time frame and choose to live there longer, i would.

sometimes when i see you breathe so fast, i just want to tell you, "Dad, slow down... not too soon, please?" i wanted to show you pictures of the past, because then maybe you'd take your time a little slower, because then maybe you'd get the chance to look back, and maybe wish to stay there longer, too. you breathe as if to count the days left. and the faster you breathe, the more that i'm losing my time with you.

24 December 2007

Missives of a Hopeful Heart

A few months back, my dad was diagnosed to have a liver cancer. He got a liver transplant, and got back home after his one month recovery. Then he got confined again because he was getting dehydrated because of an unstoppable diarrhea. Last week, the doctor said my dad has more or less 2 months to live. It seemed too sudden, but it was not surprising either. Until now, I can hardly believe what he said, because my dad has never had a healthier disposition after he was diagnosed with liver cancer. My dad's home right now, watching Mission Impossible 3. He's out of the hospital just so he could spend Christmas at home, tomorrow we'll be back in the hospital again.

Whatever truth there was on the doctor's news, I'm not wasting any time as I try to cherish every moment I could have with him.

23 December 2007

i love you, too.

I kissed my dad on his head just as i always do, but this time i told him that I love him.
He was silent until I said:
Dad's too shy to say I love you, too.
And then he said:
I love you, too.
Mom said: I love you, daddy.
Dad said: I love you, too.
Kuya Oliver said: We love you, daddy!
Dad said: I love you, too.

and then it seemed he was never getting tired of saying I love you.

hindi naman namin siya inuto diba? :p

22 December 2007

Complete Family

We were complete as a family a while ago. It was joyous to see us all together in a room. This has got to be one of the happiest days...


Thank You, Lord, for the wonderful memories :)
oh i just know my dad's smiling... :p