This is the only way I know how...

... to possibly forgive myself in the future.
... to say I'm sorry, dad.

Dad... The clock is ticking by the minute, by the hour. And I know you're just waiting for me...
Like how you've always waited for me. For just this one last time, please wait for me. I'll be beside you soon.

Dear Dad,

As of this typing, I don't know if you're still fighting the big fight. I was budgeting my international call credits and hesitating to call (as I've called more than my usual in a week for the last two days) when Joy messaged me on Facebook saying you no longer have a heartbeat. That had me calling. You were being revived.

I know I should be frowned upon by your psychiatrist when I did what I did last Sunday. I have no justifiable excuse for alarming you on that level and causing your declaration that you've become depressed because of it. But what could I do, dad? What should I have done?

I'm asking these questions not because I do not know the answer. I'm asking these questions because you've always been the one who I turned to whether intentionally or not. And why?

It's because you're my dad. And you mean so much more than that word.

You're my first idol.

You're my first writing mentor.

You're my first speaking coach.

You're my first grammar nazi.

You're the one who taught me how to cook bulalo and pansit.

You're the one who bought me that green swing at our house in Santa Rosa.

You're that one person whom I've fought with the most. And boy, did we fight.

We fought because you're the one who had always pushed me to overcome my shyness.

You're the one who had high hopes that I graduate with honors in high school.

You're the one who wilfully hid your own disappointment when I didn't place in the Top 2 or even Top 5 (I was number 6) just because I was one of the two who managed to enter your dream  -  and of many others' -  university.

You're the one who picked me up from school whenever I would send alarmed text messages saying I ran out of money.

You're the one who'd pawn our cellphones just so I could go to school.

You're the one who was scarily quiet when you learned from my otherwise hysterical mother that I was no longer the celibate woman (at least until marriage) that you'd hoped I was.

You're, at one point, the person I hated the most, when I had found out for myself your affairs behind mom's back.

Still, you're the one who I saw as the most crestfallen, hands on your head, when we rushed mom to a very expensive hospital sans money.

You're the one who told me to stop working at a call center and just continue my studies because you found out that her medical insurance from her last job could still be applied to the expenses.

You're the one who kept quiet and didn't respond to my angry text messages regarding what I thought as my inability to be up to par with my then-unknown siblings.

And even so, you're the one who I had never seen so happy and proud when I graduated from college with honors.

You're the one whose pride shot through the roof when I was able to enter a very tough law school that you willingly gave all of your prize money from a journalism contest to use as my tuition fee.

You're the one who tried to comfort me when, just a month after mom's death, I found out about the infidelities of my then boyfriend.

I sensed you, dad. I was crying and my vision was blurry with tears but I sensed that you're the one who got up from your room as I wailed to try to reach out with your hand to comfort me.

You're the one who pushed, and pushed that I work with politicians in Congress.

Yet you're the one who I had disappointed, more than my own bosses, when I got tired and allowed myself to fall short of what I could do and what's expected of me.

When I came to my senses, you're the one who I had quit law school for because time eventually came when things were no longer just about me.

But you were still the one who picked me up from work or met up with me halfway whenever I got off the office late.

You're the one who patiently waited if I'd go home to the property you were temporarily renting from your ex-girlfriend when we had to leave our Santa Rosa house.

You're the one who deftly instructed what I could and should do the moment you got sick and was confined at the Philippine Heart Center for the first time.

I want you to know that you're the one and only reason why I sold the cellphone you bought for me even though it disappointed you big time just because I knew we needed whatever money we could have when you got hospitalized.

You're the one who was most grateful and proud that with the good position I had secured at a good call center, I managed to shoulder your hospitalization cost.

From that health scare I had then promised that I'd no longer leave your side even if it meant being civil with your then girlfriend and her daughter.

You're the one who I gleefully went out with on dates at Luk Yuen and Kenny Rogers.

You're the one who agreed to my cheesy wish of welcoming 2008 at the Mall of Asia.

You're the one whose company I cherished and enjoyed during those crazy Pasig to Taguig jeepney rides.

You're the one who always bought and brought home exotic food like smoked deer meat which I loved.

You're the one who had always encouraged me to watch live Pacquiao bouts at a nearby gym even if I had always said no.

You're the one who told me to lose weight so my then boyfriend-now-husband could better appreciate how I looked.

And even when you had really gotten very sick, being diagnosed with kidney failure, you're the one who made sure that I realize and appreciate the importance of family reunions.

You're the one who got up very early in the morning every Monday in 2009 to go work at a province, three hours away, in exchange for free dialysis and a small amount of money.

You're the one who laughed at my stories while you're undergoing dialysis.

You're the one whose temper must have rubbed off on me because as you got mellower, I got meaner and felt like I should champion what we both were entitled.

You're the one who took me to the airport and took over my errands and paid our bills when I had to go out of the country for weeks, even months, on end.

You're the one who took every technologically tricky opportunity to go to an internet cafe to chat with me.

You're the one who always picked me up from the airport and whose face I'd love seeing light up the most upon presenting my pasalubong.

You're the one whose palate I had wanted to please the most.

You're the one whose forbidden favorite food  -  siomai from Siomai House  -  I'd begrudgingly but willingly buy.

You're the one who bravely stayed in line and walked a long way with me to view former President Cory Aquino's wake.

You're the one who welcomed with open heart my then fiance, Sergs.

You're the one who walked me down the aisle.

You're the one for whom I went crazy, making sure you had everything you might need before I left for the US, phone numbers, titles and all.

Not wanting to miss me before my flight to the US, you're the one who, alone, went to my in-laws' house to join my brother-in-law in taking my husband and me to the airport.

You're the one who I've always had in mind each time I go shopping.

You're the one for whom I cried buckets when you welcomed me back to Manila with a worsening eyesight and a damaged right index finger due to complications of diabetes.

You're the one who got up from your hospital bed when I got locked out of your room and fell, head first, while trying to reach out to me.

You're the one person for whom I'd willingly go into a fight with so many people.

So I'm so, so sorry dad that there have been so many times that I had lost my temper.

I'm so, so sorry dad that I have done so many things an understanding and caring daughter should not have.

I'm so, so sorry dad that that you always end up sacrificing so many things for me.

I'm so, so sorry dad that I can't be there, right at this very minute, with you just yet.

I know you hate ICUs...

I know you're afraid to go... to die...

I know, and I remember, that you asked me when I could go back to the Philippines.

I know and remember that I told you we're working on saving for that trip.

I know you conceded and just told me to not worry about you.

I know so well your wish to see my first born.

I know too that you're hanging on and holding on because you're afraid that Sergs and I would be childless for a long time like what you and mom experienced.

I know that you  know that only Him could make our wish happen

Dad I'm sorry I can't press my way and tell snooty nurses and cold doctors to let me into the ICU and stay beside you and hold your hand the way I did with you a month before my wedding and with mom before she passed away

Dad I'm sorry I'm 7,000 miles away and I can't just hop on a plane the way I did when I caught a bus to see mom when she slipped and when I squeezed my way inside a jampacked MRT the first time you had that health scare at the Heart Center.

Dad I'm sorry I might not be able to go back there in time to say these things in person to you.

Dad I'm sorry if I have one last thing to ask of you:

Go home, dad. Go home.

Remember when you were first diagnosed with kidney failure? You went home and I went back to the office to figure out if dialysis treatments were part of my health insurance at work. On that night dad, I barely was able to go through phone calls. I cried, dad. I cried. But somehow, by some miracle, I made it through. We made it through.

Go home, dad.

I'll be fine... I'll be fine...

Go home... Go home...

I am not fine... But I'll be...

You're not... And  more than anything else, I want you to be...

Go home, dad... Go home...