Category: Family

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Forty Days of Night

Forty days ago, my Dad past away. Today, amongst our Filipino-Catholic family and friends, we will be celebrating the 40th day of remembrance.

For those of you that aren’t familiar (or haven’t read this previous post), the 40th day is believed to be the day that a loved one has “finished” visiting his/her loved ones on earth and is ready to ascend into the heavens.

I won’t lie … it has been an incredibly emotional and physically exhausting couple of months. Throw the holidays into the mix and … well, yeah. Let’s just say the hamster on the wheel inside my head has been working overtime.

As I had expected, there are those days where I’m so busy that I don’t have time to think about the loss of my Dad. And then there are those times … usually during the most random moment … where it hits me square in the chest.

My cousin and I, during the initial 9-day Novena period, started to refer to those moments as “Meltdowns.” Something, typically some off-the-wall memory of my Dad, would transform me into a blubbering mess. And although these “meltdowns” don’t happen as readily as they did in the first few weeks, I still wonder when I’ll start to feel a bit better.

I have many stories to share … some of them involving stories of “visits” from my Dad over the past 40 days … yet I feel I’ve got little strength to write by the end of the day. This is obvious, as I haven’t had the inclination to blog over the past few months.

So yeah … this is my sad attempt to start writing again. And maybe when those every-day memories of my Dad don’t hurt so much, I’ll be able to tell you some of those stories.

But for now, just know that I’m around. And I’m reading. And I’m hoping to get back into some sort of “normal” again soon.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Related Posts:

Emily Prays for Nine Days

Emily Hits a Previous 40-Day Mark

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The Whole Nine Yards

Nine days ago, at approximately 7:30 pm that night, a pretty significant hole had formed in my heart. What had been there for the past 38 years of my life was the physical presence of my Dad on this world. And even though (by this time) we had been expecting his “last breath” for a couple of days, it still didn’t help the sudden onset of emptiness I felt in my chest.

I didn’t know what to expect … or how it would feel to lose someone so significant in my life. I didn’t know  that my emotions could swing from one spectrum to another in the blink of an eye. After all, how can I have gone from laughing hysterically about a particularly funny incident involving my Dad … to crying inconsolably about that hole in my heart.

Except now, after nine whole days of gathering with family and friends … of praying the traditional Filipino-Catholic Novena following the departure of a loved one … I can finally say that the hole in my heart has begun to fill. And it’s because of all those family members and friends that have come out in droves to celebrate my Dad’s life.

Although not quite to back to capacity, the emptiness that once occupied that hole is now filled with the memories I have of my Dad … of all those special Daddy-Daughter moments. I know that I can look back at those moments and feel my Dad’s presence enveloping me.

But more importantly, that hole is now filled with all the stories about my Dad that were shared with me these past two weeks. It’s been filled with the incredible support I’ve felt from old friends and even older friends … whether it was driving clear across the State just to spend 5 minutes crying with me minutes before the Funeral Mass. Or making an extra trip to Mickey Dee’s to pick up a sweet iced tea and iced latte for me and Hubby. Or even just being there to hug me; knowing that was exactly what I needed at that moment.

So thank you, all my family and friends … I hope you know how much every single kind word** you’ve said and every single kind gesture you’ve done has meant the world to me.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

** Special thanks to my cousins … from both sides of my family. You’ve been my my saving grace during those dark, dark moments.

*** An extra-special thanks to my incredibly awesome husband. We joke about me having a thing for “The Rock” … but rest assured, you are my one and only Rock. You are my constant in the midst of chaos.

Unforgettable ... That's what you are to me.



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Cloaked in Kindness

Palliative care (from Latin palliare, to cloak) is any form of medical care or treatment that concentrates on reducing the severity of disease symptoms, rather than striving to halt, delay, or reverse progression of the disease itself or provide a cure. The goal is to prevent and relieve suffering and to improve quality of life for people facing serious, complex illness.”

— Definition taken from Wikipedia

It’s just after midnight, early Thursday morning. I have to say that I feel like I’ve aged a whole month over the past few days … and probably three of those “weeks” were as a result of the last 36 hours.

Meeting Emila for the first time … wish it was under better circumstances

First of all, I swear … I think between Hubby & I, we’ve had a combined total of 6 hours of sleep since Sunday night. Pure exhaustion has taken over at this time and auto-pilot mode kicked in by Tuesday evening.

First off, it’s a sad state of affairs when … getting into our car Tuesday evening for a quick jaunt out of the hospital for a much-needed shower and some fresh air … I actually commented that the car seat had been the most comfortable thing I had sat in all day long.

Secondly, squishing yourself (well, actually my big bootie) onto a small cushioned foot stool just so that I can feel as if I was laying horizontally on a bed is not very comfortable. So much for that awesome full-body massage Hubby and I had this past Saturday …

But mostly, I think the sleep deprivation was more because of the constant anxiety of having my Dad in the ICU and not knowing exactly what could happen next. It was the constant worry that Dad’s prognosis was not (ever) going to functionally improve. It was the fear that we wouldn’t know exactly how my Dad wanted us to proceed in his care … especially because he wasn’t “awake” to tell us. And even moreso, because my Dad did not have any Advanced Directives. He had not written down any of his wishes for us.

By Tuesday afternoon Mom, Dr. Bro and I had a very frank discussion about what we all felt should happen next. We discussed, as his immediate next of kins, what we all believed Dad would have wanted us to do. The good thing was that he had had the same discussion with all of us at one time or another. The sad thing was knowing that if we respected his wishes, we would run the risk of losing him sooner than we were ready to let him go.

Holding Little Em for the first time

In the end … and after discussion with the rest of my Dad’s siblings, we decided that we would respect my Dad’s wishes. We would remove the G*d-awful “Breathing Tube” and see how he did without the respirator. We would not … other than provide comfort measures only … perform any extraordinary measures to extend his life.

So today, just before noon, we removed the breathing tube. And the entire family stood around him praying … saying our good-byes to the incredible man we all loved so fiercely. And we waited … and waited.

And as of right now … we’re continuing to wait. Except we’re no longer in the ICU … we’re in the hospital’s Palliative Care/Hospice floor. Which is where we’ll continue to be until Dad’s finally at rest … where I hope his grand-furbaby Rain is waiting patiently to cuddle next to him.

Thank you all for for “cloaking” us with your kind prayers and positive vibes .. it means the world to me and my family.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

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It’s Hard To Be Brave

No More Rain

Deep Breaths

Up In Smoke

Who’s Your Daddy?

The proud Auntie & Uncle … Don’t we ALL look exhausted in this photo?
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It’s Hard To Be Brave

Now and then, Piglet can feel quite anxious. It’s hard to be brave when you’re a very small animal but sometimes being small makes him very useful – and when one’s useful, one forgets to be frightened.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. Hubby & I spent it with both sides of our family in Detroit; lunch with my side and dinner with his side.

We played a little Wii Rock Band with Hubby’s cousin on Thanksgiving. We went to see HP7 (for the second time) with my cousins on Friday. And Saturday started off with a much-needed, looong-overdue couple’s massage followed by Christmas shopping and another trip to the movie theater in the evening for a movie date.

But then we came back to Chicago on Sunday. And as we opened our side door, we noticed our poor Rain sleeping with her head next to her water bowl. That was the first bad sign. The second one was that she wasn’t able to stand for more than a few seconds without wobbling and eventually tumbling onto her side.

So as soon as we could, we took her to the local Pet ER which confirmed what we already knew. And that was that our 20 year-old cat was actively dying. And hence, the reason for my previous post.

Then came Monday morning. I was already settling into grieving for the loss of our beloved furbaby and was finding it difficult to get up out of bed. I had planned for a day of reading up and “studying” for my next presentation for work.

Eventually I managed to drag myself into the shower when I heard our phone ring. In the midst of shampooing my hair, Hubby told me that my Mom had tried calling my cell phone. And later, when I called her back, she had told me that my Dad had fallen sometime in the middle of the night.

After much coercion from all ends of the spectrum, we had finally convinced my Dad to go to the ER to get checked out. After all, he’s been on blood-thinners since his heart surgery close to three years ago.

Amongst other things that happened since yesterday morning, I now find myself back in Detroit (as of yesterday evening), spending my time in the ICU keeping my Dad company.

I’ll be honest and say that I’m quite petrified; especially since my Dad hasn’t “woken” up since being brought to the ER. The prognosis is not good and I’m trying to brace myself for what might be the worse scenario. And on top of that, I’m trying desperately to be both realistic and brave … things that people have told me I am when it comes down to the wire.

Except I may look and act that way on the outside; but internally … I’m more emotional than realistic. And I’m definitely more scared than I am brave.

Please … please keep my Dad in your thoughts and prayers today. And please … please help me find the strength to get me through these days.

After all, I’ve already gone through one loss this week … I don’t know how I would survive another.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Related Posts:

No More Rain

Mended Hearts

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Little Em, Big Em

Dearest Little Em,

Welcome to the world, Emilia Grace!

You certainly took us all by surprise by coming a few days earlier. And you certainly gave Daddy (and not to mention, your Auntie Em) a scare by causing Mommy’s blood pressure to unexpectedly rise … but we’re very happy that both you and Mommy are perfectly healthy.

I may be impartial, but I think you’re the most beautiful baby girl I’ve ever seen. Of course, it doesn’t help that you share the same nose as your Dad and Auntie … not to mention every single one of our first cousins! I cannot wait to meet you in person and hold you in my arms.

I’m not gonna lie, Little Em. The news of your impending arrival back in May threw me for a bit of a loop. After all, your Uncle Apron Strings and I had been trying for over a decade to have a Little One just like you. And although we had resolved our Infertility Journey by deciding to live child-free, I couldn’t help but feel a little off-sorts. This news, as exciting and wonderful as it was, elicited some painful feelings of failure.

And when I mean failure … I’m talking about myself. And only myself. After all, I wasn’t able to make your Mommy & Daddy an Auntie or Uncle. I wasn’t able to give your Gramma & Grampa a grandchild as beautiful as you. And I certainly wasn’t able to make your Uncle Apron Strings a Daddy, just like your Mommy was able to do for your Daddy.

Most of all, I wasn’t able to give you a cousin to play with; to grow up with and share memories with. You see … that’s what *I* had growing up. And today, some of my favorite memories involve those cousins from your Daddy’s side.

So you see, Darling … back in May, I thought that I’ve not only failed every person in my immediate family … but that I’d ultimately fail you as well.

But this past Saturday morning, as I looked over at my phone for news of your arrival … I saw the most beautiful thing in the world. I saw YOU.

And then I just knew that I couldn’t fail you. That I wouldn’t fail you. That I would do everything to make sure that a child that shared the same namesake as myself would be loved and cherished beyond a doubt.

I promise, Little Em … that I will give to you what I would have given my own child. (And I’m not just talking about our noses, either!) I will pass on to you my (as well as your Mom’s) love of reading. I will impart wisdom to you on how to get Gramma & Grampa to give you money. And I will definitely be sharing with you the various ways to push your Dad’s buttons.  And hopefully I can help influence your taste in music as well.

But just remember this, Little Em … I will love you irrevocably and unconditionally forever and ever.

— Your Auntie “Big Em”

Click to play this Smilebox slideshow

November 5, 2010
7 lbs 6 oz, 19 inches