When I was a little girl, my dad was diagnosed with kidney stones.  I remember him going in and out of the hospital.  I had never been to church or even discussed the topic with anyone, but the nights when he would stay at the hospital, I would pray to God to help make him better.  Usually within a day, my dad would return home.  I believe in believing…

Fast forward a decade later, my dad suffered renal failure and was immediately put through an emergency dialysis session.  Since that day, my family became dependent on a machine to filter his blood.  Along with the unwanted waste that collected in his blood, his energy had also been filtered.  His smiles had become scarce and his laughter, harder to conjure.

I went home to visit my family last weekend.  The weeks prior to my visit, my dad had not been feeling well and it was hard for him to keep any foods or liquids down.  He was so skinny.  I massaged his frail body starting with his shoulders and then onto his calves.  When he told me that it “hurt,” I was confused.  He usually would always ask for more pressure during a deep tissue massage.  My dad’s tolerance to pain has always been commendable, but in that moment, I knew that he had grown weary.

I believe that my dad wants to keep fighting.  I believe that he wants to stay with us as long as he can.  But I know that he goes through a lot of pain – a pain that is incomprehensible to us.

In my culture, it is extremely hard for a father to show affection towards his children – in my family, anyway.  Everything is done through actions.  I come from a background where a pat on the head is the strongest sign for endearment; a father’s pride is measured by educational excellence of a child and how well they treat the people surrounding them; in addition, a parent’s anxiety level will lessen when they know that their children are happily settled down.

Before I left, I went to my dad’s room where he was just sitting and basking in the sun by the window and sat down next to him.  I put my right hand on his left hand and said that I’ve always tried to be a good daughter and do what he and my mom asks of me, but sometimes I fall short.  I apologized.   I told him that even though I live further away that it doesn’t mean that I don’t think of him and my mom every day.  I also said that I was selfish and that I wanted him to stay with us for a much longer time  and that I really wish that I could take all his pain away.  He looked up at me and closed his eyes, nodded, and whispered “I know.  I know.”

I have so many words swimming through my mind all the time and I would hate to regret having not said anything before leaving.  All it took was his acknowledgment.  🙂

I believe that actions are tangible, but that words are immeasurable to the human heart.

I love you, dad.