Fremont, California
12 May 2015 | Boat location at Subic Bay Yacht Club Marina, Philippines: 14 49.34'N; 120 17.37'E
Pam Lau
Picture: My father's last pleasure was looking at his great-grandson, Roan.
I spent about a month at my parents' place in Fremont, California. Ted returned to the boat two weeks before I did. During our time there, we settled into a routine just like we always did when we visit my parents. I went to yoga in the morning and then I cleaned, cooked, shopped for groceries and helped my mom with my father. Ted repaired and built things as usual but did not go to karate because the time was too short. This visit he made two awnings over my father's orchids to provide shade so that they would not get burnt by the Californian sun in summer. My Dad had him take the old, dilapidated awnings off during our last visit and the orchids were suffering from the excessive sun and heat even though winter was just over. He also ordered and bought parts for the boat because he knew he had to go back soon as it was the beginning typhoon season in the Philippines and he was worried about the boat. In fact, just as he left a typhoon was on its way there as well. Luckily it hit the other side of the island and the boat only caught the edge of it.
It was a precious memory spending time with my father during these few weeks before he passed away on the 12th of May around 1:45 pm. We all knew his time was coming to an end but we don't know when and how. It was like waiting for a birth of a baby. The first week of my return, he was extremely weak and slept most of time during the day. I was able to talk to him in early hours in the morning around 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. because that's when he was most alert. A week after we arrived, he had to be rushed to the emergency room because he had a lung infection. The Parkinson's disease inhibited his ability to swallow; consequently, sometimes food entered the trachea causing bacterial infection. The doctor ordered a blood transfusion and he was put on antibiotics. Like a vampire, he was a changed man after the fresh blood. For a week, he had so much energy that my mom had to block his bed with his electric wheelchair so he would not try to get out of bed in the middle of the night. One night I found him sitting on the floor with one of his legs and ankles twisted between the bed and the wheelchair. I heard his cry so I rushed in his room, which was just across from our room. I quickly freed him from his entanglement and lifted him back to his bed. I was grateful that he only weighed ninety some pounds otherwise I would not be able to move him.
During that week, he went out to the garden to look at his plants. He was his usual curious self. He asked me what I planted and asked to see them. I showed him the two tomato plants and he was satisfied. I took a picture of him in the garden and sent it to my eldest son, Jason, who lives near Phoenix, Arizona. He said that he did not look like the same dude whom he visited the week before. When Jason came, my father looked like he was on his death bed, but the next week, after the new blood, he was out and about.
While we were at the emergency room, the nurse recommended that he be put on "hospice" care since his advance directive indicated that he did not wish to be resuscitated. We felt guilty for accepting the hospice care because it meant that we would no longer call 911 to send him to the emergency room. Instead, we would call the nurse or doctor from the hospice care facility. To our relief, my father told my sister and me that was his wish, not to be taken to the emergency room nor have a blood transfusion any more. In addition, he did not want to take his usual handful of medications that week because he said that he wanted to die sooner. Consequently without the medication, he was more alert and quite emotional. He cried when Ted left. When my cousins, Eugene and Elson and their families came to visit, again he cried. His tears came gushing out when he saw his old friend, Milton, whom he knew for sixty plus years. I guessed he knew he was going to be gone soon and that was his way of bidding farewell. He also cried when he spoke about something he did that he felt regretful about. He also said that he was sorry, indicating that he had to leave us. I assured him that he is the greatest dad and that he didn't have to worry about us. One day, he asked where he is going to be buried. I told him "Tung Sin Tong" cemetery, which belongs to the San Francisco "association" of a group of villages where we were from in China. He was pleased and said, "Ah, I know quite a few people there."
He was more at peace with himself the following week. He no longer cried. My mom noticed his face was more filled-out and peaceful while he was sleeping, unlike his thin and sunken look for lack of food. He asked if I were like him and I told him that of course I am. He seemed pleased. He told me about the time he first met my mom over sixty-five years ago in China; how he thought she was the prettiest girl. He also added that she is the most faithful. For the past three years, she sat by his bedside and waited on him tenderly the entire time, including hand feeding him, cleaning and changing his diapers, and lifting him in and out of bed from his wheelchair. She was his primary care giver and she is in her mid-eighties! She is a perfect model of a faithful and devoted wife.
The day before his passing, my eldest daughter, Tasha, came. She lives near Phoenix, Arizona, like my son Jason. He recognized her immediately and said; "I haven't seen you in a long time." He said that in English. It was interesting during these three weeks that he spoke in our village dialect, Cantonese and English at various times. Later on that day, my youngest daughter, Feona, and her baby, Roan, came. They live near Marysville, California, four hours drive to the north. The joy in his face was unbelievable when he saw the baby. In the early morning (2:00 a.m.), about twelve hours before his passing, he asked Feona to bring the boy into his room so he could see him. He was satisfied after he saw the baby and went back to sleep.
My father woke up several times after he saw the baby. His shortness of breath started around mid-morning. I called the nurse and she said to give him morphine every hour and that she would be there in a couple hours. I also put him on oxygen. By that time, my sister, Priscilla, and my brother, Wilbur, came and all four of us were by his bedside. He alternately looked at each of us as if to say goodbye. By that time we were all crying. I told my sister, "We should smile at him." She said, "I'm trying", as her tears ran down her cheeks. I walked over to my father's left side of the bed where I usually talk to him into his left ear. (He was quite deaf but refused to wear his hearing aids.) I put my forehead against his and said, "You don't have to worry about us, your spirit will always be with us." As soon as I said that, his breathing was quiet and immediately the color on his face drained to a pale greenish gray. I let out a loud cry and buried my face on the same pillow that his head was laying on. I heard the wailing from my mom, Priscilla and Wilbur as well. My mom took the oxygen from his nose, all of sudden, he moved! We all stopped crying and stared at him with the hope that he is still alive. Priscilla said it was a muscle reflex. As if someone release the "pause" button, we continued with our crying again, knowing that he was really gone.
I went outside to where my daughters were trimming my father's rose bushes and told them their "Ang Ang", which means grandfather in Chinese, had left. It was incredibly sad but yet it was joyous at the same time because he had a wonderful long life and a meaningful closure. He was surrounded by love ones when he left. He will always be remembered and loved. Yes, his spirit will always be with us.