[One of my children sent this to our family egroup. I’m posting this to remind everyone–as if we still needed reminding in view of the series of typhoons, floodings, misery and death that has beset the country, esp. Luzon, in the past 13 days alone–of the importance of family, of the transiency of life, and, most importantly, of the primacy of sustaining the livability of our only home, the only planet we’ll ever know.]
Last Monday one of the … surgeons from … died unexpectedly due to a heart attack. He was actually at the hospital making rounds, so when he complained of chest pain there was an eventual attempt to do emergency angioplasty. Despite the presence of some of their top people, he passed away.
He was 59 years old, with 8 children, the youngest being only ten. From what I’ve heard only the 4 eldest children have finished their schooling, while the youngest 4 are still studying. His wife is an anesthesiologist.
For obvious reasons I’ve been feeling really sad about what happened, perhaps much more than could be expected from the “standard” sympathy one feels when you hear about someone dying… The past few days I have been dwelling on the parallels of what his family’s life is now, and what ours could have been. It was Dad’s greatest fear, one he often shared during our long rides to Manila. Cyril was 14 when Dad was 59, and I, 21 years old. I would have just been in my first year of Med Proper. How our lives would have ended up, I can hardly imagine. Would I have been fortunate enough to continue with Med school? Would I have had the opportunity to proceed as I wanted, to take up surgical training in the country despite the humble salary. Dad’s single-minded commitment to giving all of us the best opportunities in life (apart from the selfless help and support provided of course by the dearest of siblings and mother) has spelled the difference in what my life is now.
Do I still wish with all my heart that Dad did not leave when he did? Of course, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my days. But seeing misfortune in others far greater than one’s own makes one realize that the grass elsewhere isn’t really that much better after all. 32 years with him was his gift to me, and it’s the greatest gift I will ever have from him.
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