Alfonso T. Blanquera (August 2, 1936 – December 22, 2003)

In Memoriam

About the same time, six years ago today, I have watched my father let go of his last breath after five days in the intensive care unit — 4 days of which he spent lying there comatose.

It was his third stroke. The first was very mild, hardly a stroke as I call it. But like all people who have hypertension and diabetes, each stroke episode gets worse each time.

The second stroke left him bedridden, speech slurry, both feet numb for days. Of course by that time he knew he had to be more careful. But caution was not in my father’s vocabulary. He was too stubborn and too smart for his own good.

I remember leaving for work one fateful Wednesday morning. I knew by sheer gut feeling that this was no ordinary day. While inside a PUJ, I felt as if my soul left me for a brief moment — my eyes were transfixed on the road but my mind was lost somewhere else that I forgot to get off… when my lucidity came back, I realized I was so far from where I should be.

I was running late that day. As was routine to me, I had breakfast in the office cafeteria. When I came back to the production line, it was then that I was told I had a call waiting.

Strokes mostly occur in the early morning, around 5am.. and that’s about the time my father had his.

Five days in the hospital — couldn’t think, couldn’t eat, couldn’t even take a bath because there were very few of us in the family to watch him round the clock. But that was the least of my concerns then. The medications he had to take weren’t even available in that hospital, and the very few stocks that Asian Hospital has, I was told, were reserved to JAZA (Jaime Augusto Zobel de Ayala), who at that time was said to be confined in that posh hospital.

The decision regarding pursuing with a burr hole procedure — to evacuate the blood clot inside his head — a not so promising procedure given that he has diabetes, and his organs were failing one after the other anyway — was a decision I alone had to make. Everyone else were not so optimistic.

I am an eternal optimist. If you have been reading quite a few of my personal posts here in the past, you would know that I always see the glass half-full — the silver lining behind the dark clouds — the donut, not the hole.

My optimism seemed justified when after the operation, while undergoing therapy, I saw him move his fingers for the first time in days, squeezing a soft ball. By then too, I saw both his eyes fully open and blinking. His eyes were half-closed when he was rushed to the hospital. Not blinking — like I was, about the same time, inside the PUJ.

My heart rejoiced at the sight of my father’s strength and swift progress — on the road to recovery. But I rejoiced too soon.

The following day, while I was out doing the usual hunt for medicines, I got a call that my father wasn’t looking good, that I had to rush to his side lest I get to him too late.

And there he was, lifeless and pale, his body shivering each time the defibrillator is pressed on his chest. It was as if I could hear his brittle bones crack. Each time, the medical team would glance upon me and ask, “Tuloy pa po ba?” (Shall we continue?), to which I would always frantically nod as if each nod would wake my father up..

And then the doctor spoke, “Per protocol, if he doesn’t respond to this nth attempt, I’m sorry. We can only do so much.”

He didn’t respond.

On December 25, 2003 while everyone else is at some family reunion, we were also in our own reunion.

But there were no smiles. No laughter. Only the piercing sound of silence and muffled sobs.

I knew God would take him away one day, but it never occurred to me that it would happen three days before Christmas day.

In all of my earthly existence, almost 31 years now, there is no single event that has been more than or even slightly as life-altering as the death of my father.

I would have chosen to waste the years away until death comes to me too. But I know he would not approve of such stupidity, of such cowardice. After all, we weren’t brought up to be cowards.

If there’s one person who believed in me more than I ever believed in myself, it was him. And if only to honor him, I continue to live this life and believe that I can do great things on my father’s wings.

On My Father’s Wings

Lyrics & Music By: Carole Bayer Sager & David Foster

If you were with me now
I’d find myself in you
If you were with me now
Your the only one who knew
All the things we planned to do

I want to live my life
The way you said I would
With courage as my light
Fighting for what’s right
Like you made me believe I could

And I will fly on my father’s wings
To places I have never been
There is so much I’ve never seen
And I can feel his heartbeat still
And I will do great things
On my father’s wings

This world I’ll never see
My dreams that just won’t be
This horse’s stride
with one days ride
Will have covered more
distance than me

But I will fly on my father’s wings
To places I have never been
There is so much I’ve never seen
And I can feel his heartbeat still
And I will do great things
On my father’s wings

Someday with his spirit to guide me
And his memory beside me
I will be free to

Fly on my father’s wings
To places I have never been
There is so much I’ve never seen
And I can feel his heartbeat still
And I will do great things
On my father’s wings
On my father’s wings