Last Dance With You
The Phone Call
September 3,2020, 10 am
I was busily hackling off my laptop with the clicky tick-tack of my keyboard just when I heard my phone ring. I held it off for a moment and ignored the person since I was on the verge of rushing my work to meet the deadline. The caller was persistent and after a few minutes, I gave in and answered it. It was a call from my father.
Swiping my phone to receive the call, but still I continued to work while I talked with him. I greeted him with “Happy Birthday” half-heartedly. Taking a mental note to return the call to greet him properly but I was not able to do it so. I know from my mind I can get to do it in the next few days since my sister’s birthday is next week.
“Oh you’re working Niknik, let’s drop the call and don’t disturb her Neng ( he used to call my mother). Love you Ga” said my father as he ended the call.
Little did I know that this would be the last conversation I would have with him.
Surprising Departure
September 7, 2020, 4 am
I woke up with an uneasy feeling and a troubled stomach but still, time is of the essence with all the piling work and deadlines on my platter.
The morning passed by with a blur and I called my husband and daughter so that we would have our early lunch. My setup was to work from home so I had the luxury to eat anytime I want. As my husband and I were conversing, I felt an uneasiness that never went away. My phone was constantly ringing but I left it in my office room. When I got the chance to check it, I saw missed calls from my brother who was not the type of guy who would call.
And below at it, a deafening message that I dreaded the most:
" Niks, daddy passed away"
I was not able to control my emotions, sobbing like a child. My husband rushed to my side and he asked me what happened. I can't answer immediately. With all the excruciating cries coming from me, my phone rang again in which my husband answered for me. He then learned the surprising departure of my father from us.
Calling my boss to leave a message and file a leave of absence, I hurriedly went to the hospital where my father was rushed. Apparently, he had a heart attack while on his way to the bank.
My mother said that Daddy left home around 9:30 in the morning. She was tending her plants when she received the news. On her way to the hospital, she called my brother.
I felt numb that day and all of us were shocked. We didn't know if we could give him a burial because of the pandemic that limits the interaction of people. It was almost night when they were able to decide what we were going to do with his body. Cremation was the only option and deep in my heart, I didn't want this. But we didn't have any choice.
My mother thought she could take one last look at my father's body. I thought I could see him one last time. I thought I could see his face. I thought I could say goodbye.
Because of the lingering protocols and regulations, the hospital forbade us to do so. My heart sank at the bottom. The administration informed us that the body would be taken to the crematorium and we could acquire the ashes after it.
As the car progressed to our destination, I kept the tears at bay. I prayed for strength for my sibling and for my mother. But when I saw how they dragged my father's body like it was a dairy meat product in the market waiting to be burnt, I felt a raging madness. How could they not respect him? Is he just a piece of garbage? Is he just a gum stuck to the brim? I cried so hard for the last departure of my father's body. I can accept the pain and death but I can't accept how they treated the last remains of him.
Black smoke came out of the chimney, it was the same color that night. It was the same color as my grieving heart. His ashes would be given to us the next day, with nothing to do, we went back home.
To commemorate his life, we huddled around and uttered the last words that we wanted to say to him. The next morning, we retrieved his ashes and planned a two-day wake for his siblings to bid their last farewell.
It was not a simple feat for us. But we have to move on and accept the fact that he embarked on his journey on the other side.
Coping Up.
September 14, - Sept 24 2020, 4 am
It was weeks after my father passed away, I was waking up constantly crying in my sleep. My dreams were consistent. Memories, images, and emotions swirling around my subconscious in which I was suppressing when I'm awake.
I am always an avid reader. Reading is my escape to the emotions that I would like to bury down the hatchet. Novels that could let me imagine and laugh out loud. This was my therapy.
I remember the last dream that I had of my father.
" You don't have to worry, I'm okay, please tell your mom," my father said while hugging me.
"Your husband is still there. "
"But you're not here anymore", I said back to him crying out loud.
I jolted up instantly, waking from my reverie. With trembling emotions, I called my mother early in the morning to tell her about the dream. It felt like he gave his last goodbye because the following night, I didn't see him anymore.
Healing Marks
June 19, 2021
It was almost nine months, eleven days, and 5 hours since my father sailed from the vastness of the universe. Every 7th day of the month, I was constantly reminded of that spiraling incident that happened in our lives.
At my core, I knew that there would be a permanent mark. Coping up was not as brisk as the wind nor as a nimble bee. It was a sedate task, a task that I had to endure.
I perceived that others like me are mentally calculating the hours, minutes, and seconds after a demised loved one parted from us. Embracing the truth was vital for our insanity. For others, it was the belief that the soul would not rest if others haven't moved on.
I'm completely aware of all of these. And believe me, I am a very deep-spirited woman. It's just that, it was my heart that was prudent to heal at its own pace.
Praying helps a lot to relieve the searing pain in my chest. God's voice kept me on my toes. It humbled me that life is not our own. Opening my eyes beyond the horizon that life is not just a mingy thing that you can gamble. It was a gift laid upon us to be taken care of. A book whose pages would be written with our chapters and characters. It would be us who would write the story of our lives but God is our editor, proofreader, and fervent reader.
I was happy that I got to walk with my father on my wedding day, dance with him on the dance floor, and had the last chat on his birthday. On my lonely nights, I've thought that I could have done better but I know that my father is just a simple man with simple wishes. And he would wish that I moved on and just be happy with my life.
I hope I was able to touch some cranny nooks of your heart. You who are as tormented as me but chose to trot the road willingly. I pray for you and for me.
Saving the last dance with my father at the back of my head.
Comments