Graphic: Vecteezy
When I got the call at 4:30pm on May 19, 2014, just after my first exam in the third year of my degree programme, tears welled up in my eyes.
I held my breath, listening carefully to my grandmother's words. The mention of "hospital" pierced my heart. And then, "Papa" – the word that meant the world to me – delivered another blow. Her words swirled in my mind, and I struggled to make sense of what was happening.
I was in Penang, trying to absorb this news from a distance. The fear, chills, and memories it evoked were overwhelming, dragging me back to 2007 – a year I wished I could forget.
The year 2007 marked the arrival of the Big C in our lives. My dad was diagnosed with stage 4 renal cancer in June. It hit us hard. My sisters and I were facing major exams that year: UPSR, PMR, and SPM. At 15, I was too young to grasp the enormity of the situation.
My mum stayed by my dad’s side in the hospital while my aunts and uncles ferried her back and forth. My sisters and I moved in with our grandmother to continue schooling.
All we knew was that Papa was undergoing an operation to remove a growth near his kidney. We didn’t know it was cancerous or that the growth engulfed his entire kidney. We didn’t know the doctors planned to remove the kidney and had warned our family to prepare for the worst. It wasn’t until December, after our exams, that we learned the truth our family had shielded us from.
The operation was a success. That weekend, my sisters, grandmother, and I visited Dad in the ICU. Seeing him hooked up to machines, tubes in his mouth, was devastating. I froze, staring at him, tears threatening to spill. He was unconscious but aware of our presence. I couldn’t bear to see my jovial, larger-than-life dad so vulnerable. Yet, I stayed, silently pleading for him to recover.
After years of stability, 2014 brought us crashing back to earth. Dad’s health had been improving, and we were optimistic. But our happiness was shattered in an instant.
Two weeks before my grandmother’s call, Dad had been hospitalised after losing sensation in his right leg. A scan revealed clots in his brain, necessitating 10 radiotherapy sessions. The number was daunting, and imagining his pain broke my heart. Despite this, Dad endured the treatments with his characteristic resilience.
One weekend, I made a surprise visit to the hospital. Peeking into his ward, I saw him laughing and chatting with nurses and patients. That’s who he was – a beacon of positivity, even in the face of immense pain. Seeing him smile despite his struggles was both heartwarming and heartbreaking.
On June 17, 2014, my dad, the strongest fighter I’ve ever known, passed away. A decade has passed, but I still miss his voice, his presence, and his proud smile. Every accomplishment reminds me of him and fuels my desire to make him proud.
Love you, Papa. Always.
