My Father, My Hero!

This Chinese New Year, I chanced upon the last red packet I received from my father. It has the colour of dusk – glowing red and orange. Although it is now an empty red packet, it is one of the things I treasure most in life. To me, it is simply beyond an empty red packet. It contains unconditional love, uncountable blessings, hopes and expectations from my father. This empty red packet is like a father-figure to me for it drives me to excel every time I feel myself losing control over something. It is nevertheless like a mentor to me.

Today is one of the days I am missing my father again. He used to be the pillar of strength for my family until he had to battle with his end-stage renal failure. It was a series of unfortunate events when my father was first diagnosed with cataract in both of his eyes. Undoubtedly, diabetes and hypertension were the cause for his deteriorating eyesight. There were a number of times where his operation to remove the cataract and internal haemorrhage in his left eye were delayed due to uncontrollable high blood pressure. The anaesthetist was afraid that my father’s high blood pressure would cause him to be in coma during his surgery. It was a surgery to be performed under general anaesthesia.

I was sitting in the waiting room and it was unusually cold around the hospital. It was like death itself is waiting in every corner of the room, claiming its victim. The result of my father’s blood test was finally out. The doctor pronounced that my father was unfortunately suffering from the end-stage of renal failure. The nerve-wrecking news shattered my mom’s heart into a million pieces. It took a lot of courage for her to accept the reality but my mom was surprisingly tough enough to pull herself together. Throughout my life, it did not occur to me that my father would be diagnosed with this fatal disease. I went back home to search for every information I could obtain about end-stage renal failure.

My father could not believe that he was suffering from this fatal disease. When he was discharged from the hospital, he sought for every alternative medicine to declare that he was indeed not suffering from end-stage renal failure. He tried acupuncture to remove the excess water from his body, a condition where it is referred as oedema. The result was great at first but after a while the situation got worse. My father’s body retained more and more water and soon enough it made his feet and his stomach swell.

My father’s immobility due to his complications from renal illness and his deteriorating health depressed my mom. My mom loves my father too much to let him go. She was crying so much that it saddened me too. I was her pillar of strength, a shoulder for her to cry on. Even though, she and my father were used to quarrel quite often, there is this bond layered in their hearts that has never failed to connect them together regardless of their differences in view points.

There was this pastor who told me that God will certainly bless me because I carried greater responsibilities than any other kids at my age. That was true enough. God eventually sent me a companion who was willing to share my heart-cries. However, love is always a two-way-street and it takes two to work things out. I never had the time to care for him and I chose my father over him. Personally, I think a boyfriend is always replaceable but I have only one father in my whole life. I have no regrets on my decision to call it off.

As fated, my father was not recuperating from his illness. He was bed-ridden because of his immobility and this caused him to have a bedsore. When we came to realize there was a bedsore on his back, it was too late. The bedsore had spread itself. To rub the salt on our wounded souls, the doctor told us about my father’s muscle degeneration. It scared us nuts and we cooked lots and lots of meat to help him in his diet. It was a useless attempt. Renal patients tend to vomit whatever food they have consumed.

The doctor assigned a physiotherapist to help my father in his muscle regeneration by going through physiotherapy. It was bad enough that my father’s legs got all crammed up but there was no one there to help him out – not even a single nurse. All those housemen treated their patients not more than a guinea pig. They have never experienced what their patients are going through and hence are not sensitive enough towards their patient’s needs. Medical field is merely a surge of excitement among them.

As usual, I would be sitting outside the dialysis room waiting for my father to finish his haemodialysis. Looking in from the window, I saw how those clinical nurses treated my father. I could not help it and went in to help my father to get into the sofa near the dialysis machine. They would see and talk about how useless my father was but they did not move an inch to help him. Is this how professional people in the medical field should react? Do they smell too much of anesthetics till they are numb towards how others feel?

We discharged my father from the hospital. He passed away three days later and we were glad that we fulfilled his last wish. Till now I can still remember vividly in my mind how our father bid his last goodbye. We held his hand for a moment that seemed like eternity and bid what seemed to be the last farewell. It was a heart-breaking moment. As much as we hated the moment, we were happy for him that he finally found eternal peace within himself. He breathed his last breath and I have never seen my father looking so peaceful for quite a long time. It was the end of his suffering.

You are the music of my heart,
A window to my soul,
You used to be
Just a stone’s throw away.

Now and always,
Another day passes by,
Without your smile,
Your warmth.

Finally I know,
How much it means,
For you to stay
Right here with us.

Now, I finally came to realize that no matter how many pages of essay I write, dedicating my priceless piece of art to my father, it would never ever be enough to bring him back to live. It is recognition day after day that what is lost is irreplaceable. I will not blame him for leaving us. I believe he has tried his best in his battle and he will always be the hero I look up to.

So long men can breathe, eye can see
So long does this gives life to thee.
(Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18)
Like Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, my essay will be a symbol of my father’s immortality.

Life is like a box of chocolates. If you have not experienced bitterness in life, you won’t appreciate the sweetness that comes along. Learn to cherish and love the one who is still there for you. My father once told me that we are lucky enough to be in a family. In our next life, chances are we might not even know each other.