I received this question from Quora this week, and I will share with you my answer.
“You can go now, Papa. We will miss you a lot, but we want you to be healed from the pain. Please remember that I love you so much.”
My father was a very noble and kind man. He did not finish his education, but he worked for many years just to provide for our family, and just to give us, his children, the best life that we could have. He made money from planting rice and crops, from tending livestock animals, and from providing transportation services. He was a really simple man— always smiling, and known by a lot of people through his friendliness and generosity.
He was my hero, and he always made me laugh especially when I’m sad. He’s the kind of person who had an endless bag of jokes, had a lot of friends, and was admired and respected in the community.
But last year, he was shockingly diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer, and had a prognosis of only a few months to live.
Days before he died, he kept saying to us, “I am sorry, but I have to go home.” This statement confused us a lot because we were currently at our own house that time, so where is this place he was talking about?
A lot more times after that incident, he would look around our house and say, “You have a really nice house. But I apologize, I need to go home.” These statements kept on, until we found out that the cancer he had in his lungs had already reached his brain. The doctor told us that during these moments, his brain will tend to have illusions and imaginary situations.
Two weeks before he died, he suddenly rose from his bed and dragged his frail body towards the door of our house, then he looked at the road and the trees outside and asked me, “who will come to get me?” I looked at him intently and told him we will not go anywhere, and that we will stay here in the house. I was feeling bad because this might be a premonition to his passing. But he frowned and said to me, “I am leaving, the horses are here.” He pointed to the gate, and told me there were so many brown horses waiting for him, and that he was going away.
This always made us think that, perhaps, he was already having visions of his death, and that he may already be seeing the path to where he is going.
A short time after that, the struggle for cancer became too much, and he spent his last few moments in a Lung Center. As I sat at his hospital bed, and brushed his hair, I kept singing to him the song of Psalms 23. It was the only way I could comfort him, as he was on the verge of dying. He was not conscious anymore, but I know he can still hear me.
Ang Panginoon ang aking pastol,
Pinagiginhawa akong lubos.
Handog niyang himlaya’y
Sariwang pastulan
Ang pahingahan ko’y
Payapang batisan
Hatid sa kaluluwa ay kaginhawahan
Sa tumpak na landas,
Siya ang patnubay.
Madilim na lambak man
Ang tatahakin ko
Wala akong sindak, siya’y kasama ko
Ang hawak niyang tungkod
Ang siyang gabay ko
Tangan niya’y pamalo,
Sigla’t tanggulan ko.
(The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley,I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.)
With tears on my eyes, I kissed him on the forehead, and whispered (non-verbatim), “You can go now, Papa. We will miss you a lot, but we want you to be healed from the pain. Please remember that I love you so much.”
That was the last moment I privately had with him. The next morning,as we all wept and prayed incessantly inside his hospital room, his battle with cancer ended. At 4:30 pm of that fateful day, he passed away peacefully.
His death was a real tragedy for me, and the pain of losing him may never subside in my heart, but I promised him that I will try to carry on, and and I will take care of my Mama and my siblings.
