My father-in-law, Onie Sugue, suffered a heart attack on May 31, 2007. In the process of saving his life, his doctors intubated him and medicated him intravenously. He was on ICU for a day.
Having been advised that the meds and the tube were keeping him alive, and the termination of such treatments might mean his dying, the family gathered from different parts of the world to spend his last hours with him. My husband’s siblings flew in from Chicago, New Jersey, Tennessee, and Sydney and arrived in Manila within 48 hours.
When he was intubated, Daddy could not speak. So we communicated using pen and paper. We told him how much we loved him, and he wrote back saying he loved us too. Those who could not fly back to Manila communicated with him by phone. We put the phone on speakerphone mode so we could relay his written or acted out response.
His hospital room resembled a public facility, as dozens of people at any given time came in to say goodbye. It was one of the strangest reunions I have ever seen. A farewell party where the celebrant was going to the afterlife. Though it was ideal for my dad to sleep and rest, that was almost impossible to do because of the constant flux of well-meaning visitors. My husband's cousin Beppo’s three children came in bawling, because the idea of losing a favorite lolo was just too painful to imagine.
It seemed to me that the world stopped at that time and all activities centered on that room at Makati Medical Center. If you’re imagining a morose occasion, don’t. It was an open house of friendly banter, sometimes strangely festive. And guess who kept everyone entertained. Dad. He hammed it up. We needed the cheering up, and Dad, with his wicked sense of humor, used up several sheets of paper to make us laugh during an otherwise too morbid time.
The outpouring of love was incredible. We can only wish that in our last hours, that that many people will come to tell us how loved we are, how inspiring, and how we have made other’s people’s lives so much better.
We were there to pray together too, especially when serious medical and personal decisions had to be made. Dad already decided to remove the tubes and terminate the IV meds. He signed a Do Not Resuscitate order. We bargained with him for time, but Dad, in true Onie fashion, got his way. Walking through the valley of death did nothing to wipe out his grit and his forceful nature. We watched him pull his own tubes. And in an extremely anti-climactic moment, we laughed when he talked and asked for water, when his doctors said he won’t be able to talk until the next day. It was surreal waiting for Daddy to die.
He did not.
At some point, we realized that the meds and the tubes weren’t the things that were keeping him alive. It was God’s will for Dad to stay on.
Daddy stared at death and laughed at its face.
A week later, he was with us having a carnivore feast at Brazil, Brazil in Serendra. He was in a wheelchair, and he brought his oxygen equipment with him. But he was well enough to celebrate the impromptu reunion of all his children.
He lived thirteen more months. These months were a blessing. God gave us more time to be with Daddy. But they weren’t easy months. Dad was in and out of the hospital. During his last stay, what we thought would be an overnight routine stay turned out to be a fortnight that made Daddy feel so uncomfortable and agitated to leave. The last few months of his life, he had to use oxygen tubes 24/7. There were times when he was too tired to climb the three steps to the dining room. He stayed in a library converted into a bedroom so he did not have to go up and down the stairs to the master’s bedroom. His activities were limited, and he stayed home most of the time. He was never in extreme pain, but the simple act of breathing was at times very uncomfortable for him.
So, when he expired on the afternoon of July 31, 2008, he left a body no longer fit to house his spirit. And he felt the lightness, the freedom to go to his eternal home.
I remember a certain moment last year in the hospital when we stopped waiting for him to die and started hoping and believing he would pull through. Daddy had always been a take-charge kind of guy. Even during some of the scary moments in the hospital when he was hovering between life and death, he would show us that he was in control, telling us through writing exactly where his meds were, what he wanted us to do for him, ordering us to give him a massage or turn him to another side. At some point, somebody said, “Magaling na si Daddy, masungit na siya ulit.” I remember how this comment gave me a sense of relief and made us all smile.
In his last days, this particular kind of sungit manifested even more obviously as he became more dependent on Mommy to take care of his needs. He would grunt and snort in ways that must have tested Mom’s patience to the hilt.
Which is not to say that Daddy was not appreciative of Mommy’s presence and service, and that he did not feel great love and affection for her. That’s just his style.
When Mom and I went to the US for Paula’s wedding, we were gone for 2 weeks. In those 2 weeks, something happened to Daddy that for me was the hardest part of the whole ordeal. He displayed Alzheimer type symptoms. Daddy was a very intelligent mind; he was known for his sharp wit and his articulate way with words. But in those two weeks that Mom was gone, he lost it. The trauma of separation from his wife was just too much to bear, his mind took a vacation. He started talking incoherently, forgetting daily rituals, and reminiscing about events from many years ago. When we got home, he could not even remember my name. Until one day, when I poured too much water into his glass, and he snapped at me and said, “Gege, sabing konti lang eh.” Then! In his sungit moment, I realized that he was back to normal. And he did get back to normal just a few days after his beloved Lydia arrived. Ah, love.
I am happy to announce that Onie’s sungit gene will live on. That is his legacy to my husband, who is just as take-charge, as obsessive compulsive, and as quick to point out errors, real and imagined. I don’t have the patience and long-suffering quality of Lydia, so usually I snap back. But sometimes, I just say, “Buti na lang cute ka.” This is my flippant but sincere way of saying that despite his moods, belligerence, and smug feeling of superiority, he just has too many redeeming values that make him lovable and worth keeping. The good outweigh the bad.
And that, I guess, is another way to know Daddy. Because you may wonder how this grumpy old man is so loved by many. Because, underneath that gruff demeanor was a man who was generous, loving, and real. His quickness to snap at you was outpaced by his quickness to laugh with you. His charm was never contrived; he was honest, telling you exactly what he thought. But you just loved him even more for it; his candor made him a man you could trust and respect. The good far outweighed the bad.
I don’t want to romanticize the character of Daddy, but it’s true that he was that man who died without enemies. He was a decent man. And he worked well and lived well. He developed different circles of lifelong friends. The people he worked with were always happy to visit him and greet him on special occasions. Seeing how the different people from different times and places of his life beamed in his presence made me proud to be related to him.
There was just so much to love about him. His joie de vivre was infectious. He raised his children with a fine appreciation for food, wine, and life. Every moment with him was quality time.
A few days after his death, we saw some of his letters to Mommy; letters he wrote while he was out of the country and Mom was in the Philippines taking care of their six kids. They were typewritten, and Mom said he never wrote a draft. He just typed his thoughts directly. The letters were very well written full of the minutiae of his life. And the grammar was perfect. He was an intelligent man; so many people have said so, and his children are living proof.
I could never get jokes and gripes against in-laws, because I truly have been blessed with the best in-laws anyone can hope for. Daddy was my second dad. I can’t remember a specific moment when we really bonded with words and conversation. Most of the time, just his presence was enough. Being with him gave me a quiet, certain comfort. As he lived up to his name of Mr. Couch Potato, grunting at stupid things on TV, drinking and eating with his family, he filled our home with a feeling that all was well.
The 13 months after Dad’s heart attack served as a long goodbye. I think that in as much as it was God’s gift to us, it was also Dad’s generous gift to us. He was ready to go, but we weren't prepared to let him go. His living on prepared us for his leaving. He built a loving, reassuring cushion to soften the blow of his death. The mourning we feel now is compensated for by the relief in knowing that he is no longer in pain. The pain of the loss is healed by the happiness of knowing that he is now seeing Jesus face to face.
In that one week in the hospital that we now call “the false alarm,” Dad and I were able to talk and I shared a few words about Jesus and His great love for us. In one of those moments, I felt an unexplainable peace, one that transcended all understanding, a certain assurance that Daddy’s place in heaven had been prepared. That he will spend eternity with his Creator. I’ve never for a moment doubted that. So, if I do not participate in any act to pray for his salvation, it is simply because I see no need. Even if I should set aside the doctrinal reasons for not praying for the dead, I still find no need to pray for his eternal happiness. Because I know. Dad is with His most beautiful, most powerful Father. Not because he is good, which he is, but because God is good. I know. I am certain. He is happy. Now. And he is Home.
Driving in the motorcade to Loyola on the day of his cremation, this is the song I was playing in the car. A song that celebrated what Daddy is experiencing now.
I Can Only Imagine
by Mercy Me
I can only imagine
What it will be like
When I walk
By your side
I can only imagine
What my eyes will see
When your face
Is before me
I can only imagine
[Chorus:]
Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
When that day comes
And I find myself
Standing in the Son
I can only imagine
When all I will do
Is forever
Forever worship You
I can only imagine
That is my joy. Daddy no longer has to imagine.
