Lately – at least for two weeks now – I have been wearing that smile again, the kind that shows clarity in my countenance. In fact, according to my friends, I am laughing again like a hyena, so loud that at some point I think I contribute a great degree to noise pollution.
For more than half a month of September, I was a muted time bomb of emotional uncertainties. Anything that affects my family affects me more. But as always, I get by with little and big help from my friends. And the biggest help came from my biggest friend: God.
My father – the only mortal man for whom I have the greatest love for – had a massive heart attack early morning of Sept. 14, the very day he turned 71. When we rushed him to the ICU of St. James Hospital in Sta. Rosa, Laguna, he was almost lifeless. His burnt farmer’s skin was ashen; his nails, gray; his closed eyes seemed to see oblivion, a far away place that no one among us could fathom or reach. His small frame appeared smaller. His mouth was oozing with white foamy saliva that my mother managed to wipe with her Good Morning towel all the time. When the door of the ICU was shut, reality set in: his imminent date with his Creator.
An hour passed – an hour that saw my family and I in deep conversation with God.
"We were able to revive him. But he’s still in a very, very critical condition. He had a massive cardiac arrest. On top of that, he has pneumonia. We’re doing the best possible we can," Dr. Venus Seron, my father’s internist, told my family. She added a cardiologist, a pulmonologist and a neurologist were also attending to my father.
It was very clear to us that the situation looked very bad. We were afraid at first but we were not cowed. In my mind I was praying to God, "Please, we need a miracle right here, right now."
So we kept the faith. In my heart I knew, our faith would keep Tatay alive. I sent a text message to almost everybody in my mobile directory to please storm the gates of heaven so my father would have a new chance on life. In an instant, with my friends also texting their friends and families to pray for my father, a positive house of prayers was built in the air.
When we were finally allowed to see him at the ICU, my heart was crumpled, beyond recognition, just like the face of Tatay whose mouth and nose became the planting ground of big and small tubes. My mother was just beside my father’s bed, whispering to him sweet nothings from "Happy birthday, ‘Syo" to "I love you" while her fingers ran through my father’s salt and pepper hair. There were tears in our eyes. In our silence we prayed.
In the middle of our vulnerability, I chose to hold the fort, hoping that with my strength I would be able to salvage everyone in my family from the looming emotional debacle.
Towards the end of the day, my father’s condition had not progressed. But he looked at peace after a priest – I was the one who asked the approval of my entire family to get a priest – performed on him the sacrament of anointing of the sick.
In any event that he would go, I told my brothers, we should all be prepared. In the department of preparedness, I went a notch higher but not without informing the rest of my family of my plan of actions. On that day, I went to the cemetery to buy a lot. I even had the courage to go to the nearest funeral parlor to choose a casket. It was hard to do those two things without shedding tears. But that instance, the Guy Up There gave me the grace to perform my duties of being prepared.
Back in the hospital, the news was still bleak. The night had passed and we woke up to another sad news: Tatay had his second attack. Sure it jolted us but God had his way of cushioning us from the bad news. In our hearts, we were thankful he was still waging a battle. God, perhaps, was telling us that everything would be okay. And we knew everything would be fine and dandy in His time, even if, after five days in the ICU, my father had to battle with four attacks all in all.
Despite the odds, despite the preparedness, all of us continued to keep the faith. After all, faith sweeps the cobwebs of the mind. With faith, everything becomes possible. With faith, on Tatay’s sixth day in the ICU, the impossible became a reality. My Tatay became very coherent, he responded very well with his medication. He was on his way to recovery. On the succeeding days, he was weaned from his respirator. On the 10th day, he was transferred from the ICU to a private room to recuperate. After 15 days in the hospital, he came home.
Last week, before I left Laguna for Manila, I saw him walking around the house with his ubiquitous stainless-steel cane. His burnt farmer’s skin is back to golden brown again. He sometimes stoops when he walks but he seems to be taller now than what he really is. His grasp of things happening around him is fantastic. Everybody in the neighborhood is simply amazed.
"May misyon pa ako (I still have a mission to fulfill)," he always tells his friends who pay him a visit at home. His friends are amazed how he can now laugh, the kind that is so pure it brings tears to my eyes.
Today, as everybody in my family break bread together, we will again laugh as we share our weird sense of humor. The most trying time we all experienced brought us much closer to each other, and yes, much closer to God.
Miracles do come true. My father and my whole family are recipients of this grace. As my family and I continue to celebrate the many gifts of God, we bear in mind that those who keep the faith keep the key to the miracles of life.
(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. I thank all those who prayed and continue to pray for my father. I also thank the caring staff of St. James Hospital in Sta. Rosa, Laguna and the battery of excellent doctors – Dr. Venus Seron, Dr. Jose Santiago Jr., Dr. Ariel Boongaling, Dr. Rey Murillo and Dr. Rene Librojo – who made sure that they would do their best for my father. Have a blessed Sunday!)