The Passage of Life

I visited my father daily when he was in the hospital. He was sedated for two days in the Intensive Care Unit. On the third day, I was informed that  he was conscious but his eyes were closed. When I greeted him, he opened his eyes  and I saw the look of recognition in them. He then closed his eyes again, and I saw a tear roll down his cheek. I had never seen my father cry before and overcome by emotion myself, I could only guess the reasons for his tears.

In all these years that I have been his daughter, I can honestly say that I don't know the man. He migrated from China in his teens and is what they call a "Chinaman." As a father, he rarely communicated with us, his children one on one.  Being hard of hearing now, it is even harder to talk.  I felt at a loss how to bridge the gap. I think many people communicate their love to their parents through service and gifts.  Ang paus, food, dinners and regular visits. It is not part of our Asian culture to hug and kiss or be touchy feely.

I did not come from a tactile family. My father had not hugged us since we were little children. However, at a time like this, apart from the visits, I wanted to communicate more. And to me, touch is a form of non-verbal communication that can  say as much as a lot of words. This is probably most obvious when someone you know is in trouble or in sorrow. Taking hold of his or her hand or putting an arm around the shoulder often is much more effective than words.   It can communicate warmth, support, understanding, compassion and love.

I decided that it is time, to be myself. Pride and ego has no place at time like this. I would make it a point to touch him or massage his shoulders and arms.  I even plucked the courage to stroke his face and hair. I told him in Cantonese that I loved him and we, the family loved him very much. I just wanted to be sure he knew, in case anything happened to him, that he was not alone and we cared for him.

Two days later, the doctor called for a morning meeting to brief  my brothers and me about my father's condition. He said that my father could be discharged but his heart was failing. We would have to decide whether we wanted to hook him onto a respirator the next time it happens or just give him oxygen and let him go. If her recovers, it is good but if he is unable to breathe on his own, no one has the right to take him off the machine and it could go on for weeks.  No one knows. What a decision to make. I left the meeting with a heavy, heavy heart that day.