I didn’t say “I wish I’d have known you better; I wish we could have spent more time as people.” because while I do wish that, it doesn’t mean I would have done it before when he was better.
Sometimes, you choose to ignore the important things in favor of the small unimportant ones.
When I was younger, he always used to say that he’d be happy if he lived long enough to see me graduate. I graduated–sixth grade, high school, and Ateneo college. He did. I hope he’s proud.
I held his hand and said thank you, and that I was sorry, and that because my dad was abroad for almost 10 years of my life, he was actually my father figure–and that I was having a hard time seeing him struggling since he had always been so strong. I told him my favorite memory of us. And I told him I love him.
And he looked at me, really looked at me, like he wanted to say something.
But he can’t. He doesn’t talk now. The last words he called out were all of our names two nights ago.
His organs are shutting down. He’s having seizures every three minutes.
They’re pulling him off the meds tomorrow.
And then we wait.