My Father, finally my dad (revised copy)

Almost at the beginning of this book I wrote briefly about my biological father because I had never before had the privilege and the opportunity to spend real quality time with him and there wasn’t much I could say about him.

Things changed. God never ceases to amaze me and He has never allowed me to have unfinished business in my life. God gave me a gift that no amount of praises can ever match how grateful I am.

My father got ill but we were not sure how long he kept it a secret. I was told close to the end of 2004. He continued to work and drink alcohol as he always did so no one had any idea of how serious it was.

His conditions worsened and on January 10th, 2006, I was called by my sister, his daughter, who was crying on the phone. She said my father had three days to live. I was already planning on going to visit him but this meant that my plans had to be changed.

The only airline ticket I could get was for the thirteenth so I got to Puerto Rico and I wasn’t sure if he had died while I was in midair. I prayed all the way there asking God to allow me to see my father alive reminding him not to allow me to suffer the same experience as with my mother.

It was agony because while I was thinking about my father being in the hospital, all I could see were the images I saw the first time I walked into my mother’s hospital room. I honestly don’t know how I held it together but I know it wasn’t on my own strength.

I walked in my father’s room not knowing what to expect but he was sitting up, surrounded by family he rarely saw. I didn’t really recognize any of them but then again, my focus was only on my father. As soon as he saw me, he flashed this great beautiful smile and I knew right there and then that God was not ready to close that chapter of my life just then.

The doctors decided there was nothing else to do for him and told us to prepare for his death which was expected to happen at any given moment.

We took my father home and I began taking care of him with the fullness of all the love I had for him. I changed my return ticket three times because every time he got better, I made plan to leave but I couldn’t.

At that time I was torn between wanting to be with my maternal sister who was in Washington, dealing with a very painful situation involving her family and wanting to take care of my father. I was scared that he would not get as much attention as he needed because his wife and the rest of the family kept saying they couldn’t deal with seeing him deteriorate.

He too felt that no one wanted to do what it took to help him with all that needed to be done. One of the times when I was planning to leave he said he wished he could come with me and that left me heartbroken because I could see that he really wanted me with him.

At the beginning, he was a little resistant, trying not to be too much of a burden. He felt guilt because he never gave me anything nor did anything for me. My father never paid a cent of child support, he didn’t give me birthday gifts, nor did he make it his business to seek me out. I was the one who initiated most of the contact we ever had. Yet, I was the one who was willing to do all I could to make his last days as comfortable as possible and this bothered him.

I sat down and had a very open conversation with him about how I felt. I explained to him that this was a dream come true for me because I had never been able to show him how much I loved him. I told him that taking care of him was not only a privilege but also a blessing in disguise. He understood and allowed me to take care of him without putting up a fight.

I went with him to every doctor’s appointment, to every cancer treatment and I was there for his surgeries as well. My father’s cancer started in his esophagus and spread to his liver, his throat and finally his lungs.

He lost his voice and also had to undergo two surgeries; a Tracheotomy (a surgery on his neck) to help him breathe and an Endoscopic Gastronomy which simplified the feeding process. Needless to say, dealing with my father’s condition would be extremely challenging for me.

I had to overcome many phobias in order to give my father the care that he needed and deserved. To begin with, I had to get over my fear of dealing with people who were ill. I often refused visiting the hospital or a sick friend because it would literally cause me to feel aches and pain in my body, sometimes causing me to be sick.

My old experiences of cuts and bruises being inflicted on my siblings and myself during our childhood, caused me a level of trauma when faced with wounded people and such. Yet, I can say with much assurance, that there are two emotions that will create in us the strength to do and overcome or die trying. Those emotions are fear and love.

Fear can cause you to react in ways you never imagined possible. You might find yourself in a situation that will push you far enough to react and realized that you are not as limited or at the disadvantage you perceived.

Love will also push you to new limits, especially when it involves the ones you wholeheartedly love. People have died to protect others and not because of bravery but because the power behind the love they feel for that person caused them to react.

My love for my father pushed me, stretched me and at times I thought would even kill me. In the end it helped me overcome many of my fears. I was faced with the choice of becoming an instant nurse to my father or not giving him the care he so needed.

I made a choice but with much fear and trembling. The hospital taught me how to feed him and how to clean and dress the wound in his stomach. They also taught me how to deal with the horrific task of cleaning, disinfecting and suctioning the wound in his neck.

Initially, I trembled like a dry leaf in a wind storm, trying to control my hands not to hurt my father. He often held my hands to stop them from shaking while assuring me that I was doing a good job. There were time when I wanted to puke all over him but understanding the seriousness of avoiding his wounds getting infected, I just had to swallow hard and fast. I learned to keep a hard candy in my mouth while working
on him. Believe me, it helped; a lot.

Slowly, I began mastering every aspect of his care, until it all became like second nature to me. I took care of him during the day and rested at night while he slept but the more he worsened, the less his family got involved in his care. I ended up sleeping in his room and taking care of him all the time.

I didn’t mind it because I truly saw it as a gift God gave me to be there for my father and for me to be able to share his last days.

Boy, you should’ve seen his face, he was so proud of me. With each action I took, the love that was once hindered and caught up in guilt and shame, began to flow out of him. The love that was once kept from me, now emanated to converge with me.

He was fed, showered or bathed, taken care of, and loved everyday until he took his last breath. I spoiled him like he was my own child and he enjoyed and loved every minute of it.

“he finally became my dad”
When he could still whisper, he shared with me so many beautiful things about my mother; things I didn’t know. He also allowed me to know more about him. I was able to see what my mother referred to every time she called me by my his name.

There were so many characteristics I had which I recognized in him. I finally felt like I belonged to him. There was never any doubt but the connection was always one-sided. I was the one always seeking his attention and wanting an expression of love coming from him that didn’t feel standard but birthed from a deep place.

My father died on May 31, 2006 at 1:30 am and I was there with him. That day I looked at him and I knew that something had changed. He had such a peaceful look but at the same time it was like he was keeping a secret from me. It was no use. God had alerted me that this day would be a different day.
I hardly left his side that day. I was sitting on the bed next to him and three times he motioned me to come closer to him. Every time I got close to him, he only looked at me with the most beautifully love-filled expression in his eyes. I asked him if he needed anything but he would shake his head and smile.

That has been one of the most unique and extraordinary moments of my life. It felt like a cape of love had been placed over my shoulders. There was no empty room left in my heart. My father, whom I loved, was finally giving me all the love that he had for me.

It was very overwhelming and yet so delightful for me to experience what I call “the gift.” My father was offering me his all of his love.

That night everybody was getting ready to go to bed and I told my sister that he would not last through the night. I asked her to stay with me in his room but she couldn’t handle it. She went upstairs to her room and I was left alone wondering what to do when the time came.

I was pondering if I should go to sleep because I was afraid of my reaction if he died when I was alone with him but I had promised him that I would be with him every step of the way and I knew that the end was too close for me to let him down.

I lowered his bed, pulled a chair and sat next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and he tried whispering, I read his lips, he said, “thank you.” Then he tried whispering that he loved me very, very much. I said I love him too and began humming a song to him.

About five minutes later, I realized that he was completely soaked. His entire body was wet. I dried him off but it was of no use; it was like he was melting fast. I asked him to hold on while I ran upstairs to get my sister. I don’t think I was too tactful but I was too agitated to choose the right words to say to her. I yelled, “Get up and come with me. Something is wrong! Dad is melting!”

She got up and followed me downstairs. He was still sweating profusely and I instructed her to dry him off while I took his vitals. His pressure was low but his sugar levels were worst (44). I called the nurse on duty and she asked me to give him orange juice and other things but nothing we did was helping. Meanwhile, he was relaxed like nothing was happening.

His sugar levels kept plummeting and according to the nurse he should have been in a coma but he was still responding to my voice. The nurse insisted that he had to be in a coma because his sugar level was now (25). I asked him to wink if he understood what I was saying and he did. Then he closed his eyes and I called out to him again, he slowly opened his eyes and the way he looked at me, I understood that he was on his way out and was ready.

He closed his eyes and I knew that he would not open them again. I still wanted to believe that he could stay a little longer. I asked my sister to check his blood pressure but there was no pressure to check.

He had passed away and the moment was so peaceful that all I could think was to ask God to teach me to die like my father. There was no struggle, no trembles, no noise, no fussing and no resistance on his part. He just let go and rested in peace.

This has been an experience of immeasurable value to me. I drank of the cup of joy and of the cup of sorrow, all at once. This was a bittersweet season where I was blessed beyond what I could ever deserve and even more than I could ever fathom.

My father’s prognosis was that he would not to live past the 13th of January, 2006 but because God is the only one who can decide the day of our departure from this life, my father lived four months, sixteen days and an hour and a half passed the deadline science had set for my him.

God is good and no matter what anybody says, I know that the time my father was given beyond science, was a gift from God just for me. God knew how much I needed to have that time with my father and He set it up so I was available and able to receive the answer to my prayers of many years.

During his funeral I was proud of who my father was in life because of how everyone expressed themselves about him. To sum it all up, he was described as a gentleman, courteous, polite and caring, hard working and a man of his word. I had no idea my father had left behind such a reputation of honor. Throughout my life I had met some of the people and they always spoke highly of him but it was good to see and hear many others express how they felt about him.

I thank God for the opportunity of knowing who my father was and for the privilege of serving him with pleasure, with sincerity and with all my love. He was a Christian so I know I will see him again but until then, I have the most precious memories to keep the fire of my love for him and his love for me alive.

I am also thankful to the medical staff and the team of people that took care of my father at the VA hospital in Puerto Rico. They were excellent and made the journey easier to bear. Their care extended beyond my father’s needs and reached out to me. They showed compassion, patience and sincere concern for both my father and I.

Couple days before his surgeries, I sat him in the living room and the sun was shining bright. He stared at the trees and the many little birds that frequently visited the bird feeder he made for them. He was pensive and I saw the longing in him to be outside.

I jokingly said to him, “Get ready and let’s go to the beach.” I was surprised when he said he’d love to. Now I had to do something because I felt so bad for him.

It so happened that where he lived, the people in management were very fond of him and that day they sent a social worker to check on him and to invite him to one of their functions. They were not fully aware of how much the cancer had advanced.

I spoke to the social worker and mentioned that my father would not be able to make it to their coming activities and in so doing I also mentioned his wanting to go to the beach.

Long story short, that was a Friday and the following Monday, we were at the beach. I sat him comfortable on the sand and he watched us attempt to get in the water. The waves were somewhat strong so he was not sure he wanted to get in the water but it was obvious that he wanted to enjoy the ocean.

I moved him closer to the shore where the waves ended. I stood behind him allowing him to rest on my legs to keep him from being tossed around by the waters. He played with the water and got all wet, like he was a child. Once he had enough of that, I took him back to sit peacefully in the sun.

The social worker who accompanied us had a camera and was taking pictures. He took one of my father that penetrated my spirit when I saw it. The guy was standing behind my father and slightly to the side. My father was facing the waters and looking far beyond the horizon. He looked satisfied and so filled with gratitude. It almost seemed like he could see God calling him and he was answering.

I looked at him an wondered what he could be thinking of but I didn’t intrude. I stayed at a distance watching him enjoy the solemn moment.

I used that picture to create a postcard with a poem I wrote based on my father’s favorite words. When speaking about a tomorrow, the future or anything that involved planning, he always started or ended the sentence with, “God willing or if God permits.” I wrote the poem in Spanish but I will attempt to offer you the essence of the message in it.

God Willing…

The heart conceives ideas, the mind analyzes them
And man realizes them, God willing.

The body decades, sickness and disease consume it,
Death claims it, God willing.

We shall all see death, some before others
But we shall see each other again, God willing.