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Philippines, 24 Nov 2024 |
Home >> News >> Columns >> Homer D. Sayson |  |
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When death drives a knife in the heart PhilBoxing.com Fri, 08 Mar 2013  CHICAGO -- I remember it so well, the day my daughter Faith was born. My entire being was filled with a warm joy that could melt ice and mend wars. I will give Faith, my princess, endless love, I promised. I would see to it that she would go to the best schools, get anything and everything I can afford. And even when I'm old and gray, I swore to dance with her at her wedding. But life's rosy portrait is often blurred by sadness. In the mystery of God's ways, no one is immune from pain and suffering. Not even innocent children, including my precious child. Faith had taken ill at a very young age. The severity of her condition was such that her doctors thought she won't live beyond six years. But she fought hard and long, bravely soldiering through numerous invasive tests, dreadful infections and uneasy hospital stays. At 16 years of age, she lost her battle yesterday. Faith died in her sleep, in the stillness of the early morning light. The records will show that Faith officially died on a Thursday. But in reality, an awful disease had taken her life long before. Mostly confined in bed, birthdays and Christmases were stolen. There were no trips to the school or the park, no mall-hopping, no BFF. She didn't go to the prom, which meant I missed the chance to scowl at the boy who would have taken her. And of course, there will be no wedding. When her frail body would let her, Faith did immerse in the simple joys of inhaling a soft breeze or taking in a little sunshine. And though her mother and I had split ways 12 years ago, Faith had a locker room full of people who loved her -- grandparents, uncles and aunts, first cousins. Her grandma Linda and nanny Josing took loving care of my baby until she reluctantly surrendered her last breath. Although I am at peace that Faith is no longer in agony and that she is now in heaven singing with her angel friends, I am left behind with an anguish that is impossible to comprehend. Sleep is scarce, filled with a menagerie of tearful dreams and melancholic recollections. The appetite for food has abandoned me, so has the desire to do anything. My heart is irreparably broken, but we all have our crosses to bear. To paraphrase a Hindu proverb, it is because of the slowness of our eyes and the swiftness of God's hands that we believe in the world. I have two other children, 19-year old Lorenz and 9-year old John Arthur. Though broken inside right now, I will continue on for my boys, and my beloved Ermee, whom I would like to spend the rest of my forlorn days with. I'm pecking away this column from a laptop keyboard that is smeared with dried tears, but I'm sharing my agony because life is the perfect metaphor for sports. The sweeping highs, the aching lows. The joys of victory and the misery of defeat. But unlike the NBA, where titles can be won and lost each year, in life, the very special people you lose are never coming back. So grab your loved ones closer while you can. Kiss them softly, hug them tight, tell them you love them so. Because tomorrow is never promised. Click here for a complete listing of columns by this author. Click here for a complete listing of this author's articles from different news sources. |
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