Father, You are the Gem of My Heart

I combined my old and new writings about Papa, edited them and here it is:

My father is special.

To me, he is the epitome of Doraemon. His invincible gadgets are his unequalled love and the way in which he cares for me. He infuses me with self-confidence, accepting my weaknesses and propping me up from behind during the lowest points of my life. When I gripe and grumble, he becomes my faithful listener. He gives sound advice and motivates me from time to time.

             Many people say that I look like Papa. I am as large-boned as he is. We both share a common interest in art and Chinese evergreen music. We are both loud snorers too. My sister, Ah Hui, likes telling me that the sound of our snoring together could lift a roof. I guess sons usually take after their fathers in many ways. No matter how hard you try to be different, you will end up discovering that you behave and think the same way your father does. The outcome is paradoxical, isn’t it?

             Papa used to be a moody, churlish person. He could not get over the pain of his bankruptcy in the late 1970s. Many of our friends and relatives treated him with scorn and contempt. To support our family, he learned how to make steamed Chinese buns and sold them at the night market. Whenever he returned home with a beaming face, I knew that his buns had sold well. If he returned home sombre-faced, my mother would warn my siblings and me not to make him angry. We would watch in silence as he morosely watched all the unsold buns. Throughout my childhood and early adulthood, there was a strong antagonism between Papa and me. I always provoked him, either carelessly or deliberately, with my stubbornness, lack of masculinity, and pickiness about food.

              The day Papa received Christ as his saviour, he became a changed person. He no longer scolded me with harsh words or smacked me with his pain-inflicting palm. He started guiding me with the word of God, and the tension between us gradually eased. One night, my mother dreamed of a choir of angels chanting the verse ‘Renounce your old self, renounce your old self’ repeatedly above a kneeling Papa. The moment she woke up, she could still hear the song until it trailed off into silence.

During the first few months of this year, Papa was bothered by gallstone pain, and he was reduced to skin and bone. One afternoon in mid-April, we took him to the hospital, and on Aunt Becky’s insistence, the doctor put him on a drip. ‘Without that,’ exclaimed Aunt Becky, ‘he may die of malnutrition!’ 

Despite Papa’s obvious suffering, we were told that his condition was stable and that there should be no haste in getting his gallstones removed. Only painkillers were prescribed.

               Over the next two days, Papa’s gallstone pain was reduced, and his appetite recovered a little. One day, upon reaching home after taking me to school, Mama and Ah Hui were shocked to find that Papa was delirious with pain on the floor, his shorts wet because he had excreted while struggling with spasms of pain. They called an ambulance, which came after forty minutes due to some confusion with directions. 

Upon arrival at the emergency unit, Papa lost consciousness, and to the horror of both Mama and Ah Hui, his heartbeat stopped. CPR was immediately performed on him. When I arrived at the hospital, Papa had been revived twice but was still not out of danger. He was on life support, with many wires dangling from his body. A young female doctor told us that her team may not perform CPR again on him should his heartbeat stop a third time: ‘Even if he were to make it,’ she explained, ‘his mind would be seriously damaged from the lack of oxygen.’

When Papa’s heartbeat stopped for the third time, the doctors surprised us by performing another round of CPR. I could not describe how devastated we were at the time. My tears fell uncontrollably at the sight of the doctors trying to revive Papa. Ah Hui and Mama kept praying, and the only thing I could beseech God was ‘Lord, have mercy on Papa.’ 

In the midst of the chaos, a doctor came to us asking if we wanted them to continue rescuing Papa. ‘Even if he survives,’ stressed the doctor, ‘he won’t be the father you knew before.’

Getting her drift, and without batting an eyelid, Ah Hui told the doctor very firmly to her face that she wanted them to revive Papa the best way they could.

Why did Papa’s heartbeat stop so many times? According to a specialist, his pancreas had been traumatically affected by the gallstones, resulting in his entire system shutting down. We were regret-stricken for having overlooked the enormity of his suffering. The fourth time Papa’s heartbeat stopped, we were prepared for the worst. The doctors told us that his chances for survival were very slim, and I thought we would lose Papa for sure.

Looking at how Papa’s body shook and jerked from the use of a defibrillator, many happy memories of Papa and me flashed before my eyes. Papa had been my pillar of strength for many years, and it was difficult to part with him. Hiding my face behind a door, I burst into fitful sobs, and so did Mama. Ah Hui was the strongest of us all, blinking back her tears and reciting rounds and rounds of the Rosary.

At this very critical hour, the old man next to Papa finally breathed his last. All his family members broke into sobs and wails. Ah Hui and Mama patted their backs, consoling them. Affected by their grief, I cried even harder. I remembered arguing with Papa one day, letting fly acid words at him. Looking back, I was overwhelmed with guilt. 

After what seemed like an eternity, we heard shouts of jubilation from the medical team. I dried my tears and rushed to Papa’s bed. To my relief, Papa had pulled through the ordeal and was breathing well. I exchanged hugs with Mama and Ah Hui. But Papa hadn’t regained an iota of consciousness.

Papa was in a coma for eight days while in ICU. Just as the doctors had started to show signs of giving up on him, he came around. We found out that he had had a stroke, the outcome of the strenuous rounds of CPR and defibrillation. Upon learning that the left side of his body could no longer move like normal, Papa was crestfallen, but we managed to reassure him that he would recover. Many friends and relatives visited him, giving him hope.

We took turns taking care of Papa. Dominic, my younger brother, and his family flew in from Kuala Lumpur to help with the job of looking after Papa at night. We sponged Papa, cleaned his faeces, and dressed the bedsores he developed during his coma. The day Papa was discharged, he smiled at the sight of our house and his ten cats.

              Two months have passed, and Papa is slowly regaining his strength. Regular massages and exercise were able to restore mobility to his left arm and leg. He can now walk around and defecate on his own. But he has not fully recovered his ability to swallow, and he has to be fed Ensure milk and porridge with a tube inserted through his nose.

              One evening, Papa told us that he had seen our grandparents during his coma. ‘They smiled at me under a bright light,’ he recalled, ‘welcoming me with open arms.’

‘Did you hear us speaking to you at that moment?’ asked Mama and Ah Hui.

‘No, but then Jesus appeared,’ he continued, ‘and told me to return to all of you because my time on earth was not over yet.’

‘Thank you, Lord,’ said Ah Hui, overcome with emotion. ‘Thank you, Papa.’

Hours before Papa had regained consciousness, Ah Hui had actually prayed to God, imploring him to return Papa to us. ‘In four hours, Lord,’ she’d said, ‘open his eyes. Let him be with us again.’

                True enough, while Papa was being pushed to the CT Scan Room for his brain examination, he’d opened his eyes to the call of Rachel, Dominic’s seven-year-old daughter.

                And that was shortly after Papa had seen Jesus. 

Papa, Father’s Day is coming. But I don’t intend to be particularly nice to you that day. As a matter of fact, I want to make sure that every moment with you is brimming with love. Every day must be Father’s Day. During your coma, I realised that I had taken you for granted too many times. God, give me the chance to start everything anew with Papa. Let me be a good son. Empower me with your love to love him. The gallstones are still in Papa’s body, and the doctors are planning to remove them in six months. Can he hold out that long? Lord, I’m begging you again. While Papa is still alive, enable me to do my utmost for him. Through him, you crystallised my existence, and I am proud of him, for he is rich with fatherliness like you, an asset more precious than all the wealth in the world combined.

Papa, you are my everything—the gem of my heart.