What if..

I usually have a title up before I write the body of the post. Not today.  I’ve been meaning to write something here the past couple of days, but I haven’t had the chance not for lack of connectivity or opportunity, but simply because the words seem to be stuck somewhere to deep for me to pull them out. 

There has been a deluge of condolences which I would’ve wanted to respond individually to but which I haven’t been able to do because dealing with Dad’s passing is a continuing process for me.  I haven’t quite gotten to that place where I can say I’ve accepted it.

Given the stages of grief, I know I’m in the “anger” part right now where I cannot help but feel pain thinking this was a most unexpected set of circumstances that would have warranted his death.  Twice before, we rushed him to the ICU where the doctors frankly told us he was on the brink of death.  Both times, despite the complications and all, he pulled through.  And yet this third hospitalization where his ailment was nowhere near as serious as the previous ones, he signed a “Do not rescusitate” order and he refused a minor procedure to intubate from the sides to help his lung process his oxygen intake — both conditions which we believe led to that worsening of his situation and eventually his death.  Perhaps it’s more difficult for us to accept his dying because the first two times, my siblings and I were there.  This third time, his second family chose not to call us or contact us until he was already on the throes of death.

I know these are all “what ifs” and mere speculation — but deep in my heart, I know that had we been involved from the start, my father who usually needed someone else to decide for him would have acceded to my brother and sister’s supplications for him to agree to the simple procedure that would help him breathe better.  He would not have worried about the cost of his hospitalization as he knows that we would have found a way.  He would not have signed the DNR form which would have enabled the doctors to save him.  Had he still stuck to his decision despite the support and presence of my siblings, then his death, perhaps, would be easier for me to accept.

The days after Dad’s cremation have been more difficult for me to deal with.  I often get reminded of some thing or other that pinches at my heart.  I find the tears forming and I take a deep breath and close my eyes.  I miss Dad so much.  I guess it’s a feeling I will have to get used to from here on, because I know it will never go away.

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