A Letter to My Dad

 

Dear Dad,

It’s been exactly a week since you left. 

That day, I was at lunch with my mom-in-law and was getting phone calls as I usually do, but I didn’t think too much of it. Maybe just your pending Medi-Cal application. Maybe a hospital bed delivery. I decided to call your nurse back while driving home just to give her a quick answer about whatever question she had. But instead of a question, she had news. It came abruptly and I couldn’t believe it at first. I kept trying to ask her for more details, how it happened and what time and if your house manager knew, but all she wanted was to know if we had set up a mortuary so she could give them a call. I told her “Rose Hills" rather abruptly and, honestly, was very irked at the whole situation. She told me you had passed naturally, and were found in the morning unconscious and cold. I hung up and wept all the way home. 

The last time I saw you was three weeks ago. You had gotten displaced again from your facility, and I had only a few days to look for another facility. I went to take you from LA to east Inland Empire, closer to me. I drove almost 200 miles that day and once all the paperwork was done at your new facility, was exhausted and wanted to go home. But as I was about to say goodbye, you beckoned me to sit down next to you on the couch for just a little while longer. You had no words, of course, just hand motions. My heart broke in realizing that that's all you really wanted. I sat there while your caretaker went to cut you mangoes, and I told myself I would come see you more often. You insisted on walking me out to my car when I left. Your caretaker waved to me and shouted, "I got him!," escorted you slowly back to the house as the sun was setting, and that’s the last glimpse I saw of you.

You were always a man of few words - I probably got it from you. You repressed your emotions - I did too. Growing up, I thought you were completely indifferent about me. The few times you did talk to me, I thought mom forced you to. You made many mistakes, as we all do, and slowly lost all your relationships. But I’ll always remember how you called me out of the blue years ago just to express interest in coming to church with me. That’s when things began to change. I was able to see you not as my apathetic father, but as someone who was aching for God. I got to witness the transformation of a man who finally felt loved. And I got to forgive you for the love that I always felt was withheld from me. Thank you for giving me the chance to forgive you, and though it’s been a tumultuous five years, thank you for trusting me with your health. It's helped my hardened heart become soft toward you, which is all that matters. 

The first few days, I wrestled with guilt about how your last weeks were. There were many red flags, and many things I didn’t understand about the healthcare industry that seemed out of my control. You were being displaced from one location to another all over again because of your worsening dementia, and I didn’t know where to find a suitable place for you. I’m sorry you didn’t get the best care in your last few years. I’m sorry if I made the wrong decisions or was too careless. I’m sorry if you felt neglected. 

This is why at your funeral I became teary-eyed at the thought, “Dad would have loved this.” I think you would have broken down in tears. Everyone you ever loved was there. For you. Someone wrote in your guestbook, “I hope you know you were loved by your family.” I think that was always the issue for you. You couldn’t believe you were loved. 

I also wondered why you left on the morning of my 30th birthday, out of all days. As I laid on the couch and Joseph was strumming his guitar, I asked him this question. He paused and said something that struck me: on my birthday, you got to go home to be with Jesus, the Man I introduced you to. You couldn’t give me anything for my birthday, but it was your way of saying, “Thank you, daughter, for everything.” 

At times it hits me that I don’t have a dad around anymore. But there’s a song that I’ve had on replay the past few weeks called “Highlands.” It talks about God being the same in both hardship and blessing, He’s no less faithful and no less God. He’s faithful to lead us through the dark seasons, and to guide us out of them. When I was preparing for your funeral, I created a playlist of instrumental music that had 96 songs and lasted 9 hours. When I went up to say my last goodbye to you before we closed your casket, out of the 96 songs, this one song "Highlands" started playing. I stood there weeping, and took it as an embrace from God - a message that He saw me, He knew me, and He will always be my Father. My peace as I navigate the next decade of my life and onward, is that I have a Heavenly Father who fathers me so well. Though He’s not flesh and blood, I know He loves me more than you ever could because of your own brokenness.

Looking back, I know you cared, silently. I choose to hold on to the memories that spoke of your love. Thank you for naming me “Felicia” - a name that reminds me to be joyful. Thank you for teaching me how to swim - people say I'm a fish in the water. Thank you for working hard as an engineer, then a video store owner, then a fast food restaurant owner, to support us until we grew up. Thank you for coming all the way to USC in Friday traffic to pick me up so I could spend weekends at home. Thank you for always giving me the biggest bouquet of flowers for every graduation. Thank you for walking me down the aisle, and for dancing your heart out on my wedding day (though you couldn’t speak much anymore, you still remembered how to dance). Thank you for raising three daughters (who also love to dance). We found each other again after you left, and have had the most beautiful, special time together as sisters. Most importantly, thank you for making the most crucial decision of your life: to humble yourself and make peace with God while you still could. That "yes" in you secured your eternal destiny, and I wouldn’t have the hope of seeing you again if you hadn’t made that decision. 

Lastly, thank you for being my dad. Thank you for everything you ever did for me. I'm sorry we lost so many years because I couldn't see you the way God saw you. But I will now. I miss you, I love you, and I will remember you always - with nothing but love. 

- "Ah B"

O how fast would You come running
If just to shadow me through the night
Trace my steps through all my failure
And walk me out the other side

No less God within the shadows
No less faithful when the night leads me astray
You're the heaven where my heart is
In the highlands and the heartache all the same
“Highlands" by Hillsong United