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Sunday, June 03, 2012

Your Hand in Mine

Dear Daddy,

I took a picture of my little Eana's hand while I held it in mine as I am starting to put together photos of her that I can use for her christening invitations. As I look at the photo, I can't help but get flooded by memories of you while you were at the hospital and about to embark your journey to heaven.

The pain management drugs were doing their job so well that you were hardly ever awake, and if ever you were, only incoherent words came out of your mouth. Due to your inability to verbally communicate to us anymore, we instead resorted to holding your hand while we talk to you and wait for a squeeze as your form of reply.

And so there was a hand holding yours every day. Oftentimes it was Mom as she kept by your side every single day and night; other times it was either me or Darling Sister or Little Sister.

I remember when doctors had to insert a tube on your neck to commence your dialysis and no one in the family was brave enough to stay beside you while the doctors do the procedure. No one except me. The picture of you, in pain but trying to be strong, invades my memory to this very day. I didn't know what to do then except to hold your hand and assure you it will be over soon and you'll be fine. Of course I was lying through my teeth because I knew in my heart we were just prolonging your agony.

I guess holding your hand through that ordeal was my way of reciprocating the many times you held mine through the years. Those hands surely tapped me gently to sleep when I was baby, guided me while I learned to walk, supported me on my first ever bike ride, and squeezed fruits for my dose of fresh juices. Never did those pair of hands touch my skin in anger to physically hurt me.

It's been three years today since you went with the angels and all I could wish is another chance, even for a brief moment, to once again put your hand in mine.

I miss you Dad and I love you.

Your Kikay


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