Farewell to the "grestest" man

August 31, 2018 was the day I bid my farewell to my grandfather, Dr. Sixto Felipe. I wanted to share his battle for his life before but everything was just too critical for us to even give me time to post about him. When he got out of the hospital, I wanted to post an update about him, but seeing his condition makes me focus on what is more important, spending more time with him. When he died, i no longer have the courage to post a story about him even more. Even up to this day, I am still grieving, but I still want to do this as a sign of my fervent respect and love for my grand father.

Dr. Sixto Felipe, was the first doctor, in his family. all of his siblings were teachers and he was brave enough to take a different path from the others. Some maybe even think that he is full of himself. Since he came from a "not so rich" family, he had a hard time finishing his studies. During the time that he was taking medicine, he met my grandmother. I'd like to believe that it was a whirlwind romance. Soon enough they had their firs child, a son.

Fast forward, my grandfather's first assignment was to be sent in the far land of Llorente Eastern Samar, where he became an "infamous" doctor. Aside from the gossips that he was a womanizer, he was indeed and without a doubt a  very capable doctor during his prime. What others made him love him more is his passion. He doesn't force people to pay him, he believes that it his duty to serve the people. No matter what time, no matter what place, just one call to him and he'll grab his bag and head out to attend the patients need.

A few weeks after my grandfather's birthday last 2017, he started to act weird. He would constantly tell us that he needs to head out because a lot of patient are waiting for him to attend them. He keeps on insisting that his patients need him. During that time, I knew that old age had already hit him. everything was fast, just a few days later, he is so weak that he was not able to walk any longer. Then a few days later, he can no longer get up from his bed. Worst part, there are time he can no longer recognize me. It was so painful in my part. I always thought that I was one of his "paboritong apo", so knowing that i wasn't able to linger in his memories shook me to the core. but there's nothing I could complain about. When finally he was sent to hospital, we found out that he had pneumonia. he was able to survive this. Everyone was happy and can breathe at ease once again.

But after a few moths, he was sent to hospital again, his pneumonia has recurred. Fortunately, he survived this one too. August 6, 2018 we celebrated his 96th birthday. Everyone was just so happy because we didn't really expect that he could live until that day. Four days before 31st of August, My grandfather had a fever. We called for his son to come over and have a look at him. I was expecting that he will be sent to the hospital immediately, but that didn't happen. August 31, it was just me, my grandfather and Ate Liza at house. I just came home from sending my nephew to school. Ate Liza, asked me to check on Tatay. As soon as I saw my grandfather, I knew that his feet was already in front of death's door, but I was so in denial that I still wanted to fight for his life. We immediately called my brother and as soon as he came, we send Tatay to hospital. Not long after, someone called us and said that he didn't make it.

I was so hurt, so hurt that I was not able to cry. I was just looking at the distance. A part of me is happy but a part of me is also sad. Sad because he left me and happy because I know that he could finally rest. The scene were he was lying on his bed trying to gasp for air with a lost look in his eyes keep repeating inside my head. I was thinking, up to the last minute, he gave his "paboritong apo" a favor by hanging on until he was no longer in my sight. Maybe he knew that I will not be able to take it he lose his life in front of me as I was keep on saying "wag muna Tay, please, wag muna." He was so close to the nearest hospital in our place when hi finally lose his breath, and I guess it was his way of telling us that he no longer wants to suffer anymore. If he wanted to, he could have hold on for a little longer, but as soon as he heard that they will take him to the nearest hospital instead of where he was confined before, he gave up.

There are still times that I would think to myself, "what would have happened if we were able to send him to hospital earlier?" Maybe he would still be with us today, or maybe we would just prolong his agony. Six months has already passed since his death, but there are times that I would still see him walking in the street like he used to when he was alive, I would imagine him seating on his favorite chair inside our house asking us what we want for "merienda." When I enter his room and see it void of his presene, I would still see him seating and playing his deck of cards on his bed. Everywhere I look to, everything I see, reminds me of him. I'm in pain but I am happy. He may be gone but his legend contionous on as the passionate and devoted doctor and loving grandfather to me.