A bucket of blood.

Dad’s in the hospital. This is the third time since last month that we took him to the emergency. This time and the last time, it was me who decided he should be rushed to the hospital. He was shivering today, in the afternoon, at about 2. Shivering and unconscious. And he had these purple semi-circles on his eye-lids. Last time was more difficult. I saw him vomit blood. A bucket of blood.

I think I’m never going to forget the dream I saw that morning. Early Monday morning, the 2nd of February. I saw a lady, a holy lady, one who looked like Mother Teresa in the same adornment. My selfish instinct, I asked her, Will I be fine? She replied, “Oh yes! You’ll be okay.” The next question did surprise me a bit, “Will ma be okay?” She put a divine smile on her face and it glowed, “yes honey, God will take good care of her.” And then came the Big question, “My dad will be alright, na?” And she smiled. I was shouting, “Will he be okay?” She smiled. I shouted again. And then there was darkness. I can never forget that smile, it haunts me sometimes. I woke up with a bang on my door. The bang marked the pandemonium. I then knew he was never going to be the same.

I love my Dad.
It took me a world to type these three words. My dad has been my life support system. No words. Simply no words to describe what he is for me. Never in his life did he tell anyone that he was in pain. By no means, in no way. But I know his suffering had augmented severely since the last month. But he’d never tell. What took all of me was the way he used to look at me. He told me he didn’t want pain no more.

I miss my dad. Now he’s nothing but pain. His pain, my pain, our pain.