I miss my daddy. Miss him so much. I was daddy’s girl. Miss the fun I had with him, the discipline he enforced on me, the gifts he showered upon me and most importantly, being who he was in my life.
Daddy was a strong warrior who fought hard and well with cancer. He was atheletic and well-built but was half his size when half his stomach was taken from him. Chemotherapy and radiotherapy took him to another level of battle. There was not one word of complain throughout all the medical procedures and treatment. Chemotherapy weakened him further and all he said was that food tasted very strange. Radiotherapy left huge patches of burnt skin on his back and it seemed that my heart ached more than he did when he endured it matter-of-factly. At times his face cringed with pain, even so, he rose above it by being attentive to those around. He treated the nurses and health staff with much kindness and appreciated very help. Even though he struggled so much physically, mentally and emotionally, he chose to enjoy life as much as he could. He learnt different senior citizen sports after the cycles of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. It was strange having daddy at home so often but it was good. I knew his days were numbered. My prayer to God was “do not take him home until He accepts Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior”.
One day he collapsed at home. This time the doctor confirmed that he was not going to last. He was hospitalized for about 2-3 weeks with stronger chemotherapy. Not through the usual IV, but one that was inserted directly to his heart. Yes, he had a plug at his heart. The time came when the doctor alerted me that he only had less than 2 days. I stayed by him in the hospital throughout. He was in coma, not able to respond. I sat beside him and kept singing “Yes, Jesus loves you” tenderly by his left ear. The next day late morning, he woke up. In his weak voice he said, “I want to be baptised”. Our pastor rushed down that very afternoon and baptized my father. After the baptism, he managed to whisper some last instructions to me and a farewell… then he went back into “sleep mode”. His pulse was getting weaker. I continued to sit next to him, and held his hand. When it was almost midnight, I knew within me it was time for him to go. I kept my fingers on his pulse. True enough, not long after his pulse stopped. There was a glorious glow on his face with a smile. I believed he met Jesus. There is no other way to explain the glory reflected on his countenance.
Daddy fought his last 11 months with such grace. He taught me so much about endurance, and the giving of self. I am so thankful that my Father God is a God who answers prayers. He did not allow my daddy to be eternally seperated from Him. I know that although daddy’s presence is taken away from me now but I will meet him in the glorious Kingdom of God after the return of Christ.
Happy Father’s Day, my dearest Daddy! You are dearly missed.
