My daughter died today.
That information didn't sound real to my ears when I got it a few minutes ago. It was so out of place and timing, coming across as nothing but a rude joke. The kind of shallow, unfunny joke told by insensitive people to other people for sarcasm. I couldn't understand the gist of that joke.
The joke shouldn't be analogous to the truth. Eva was strong and healthy when I left her for work this morning. It was meaningless, even for a joke. But the more I pondered where our lives have brought us to this day, the more the joke's true meaning loomed over me—Eva's inevitable death. It got the best of her. At the tender age of 4, she gave in to cancer.
In her tiny room at this hospital I drove like a psychopath to get to, I clench my fists, fingernails digging into my palms, teeth gritting, and shake with fear as I stand by her bed, watching her lie uncannily still under the white blanket. I can't believe what I'm seeing right now.
Hand on the metal rail guard, I stand by the bed for more seconds, rocking back and forth and side to side. She'll wake up, right? Then I cry over the fact that she died alone. I wasn't there by her side the moment she took her final breath. As if her death isn't painful enough, thinking I couldn't make it in time breaks my heart into pieces.
The mother, Lucy, isn't here. I ringed her so many times on my way here. For no reason, she wouldn't pick up any of my calls. I have no idea why. I'm calling her now. I can't be all alone on this. After several attempts at reaching out to her later, she finally answers my seventh call. It's shocking to know that I needed to try that many times to get her on the line, although she's my wife and it's her daughter who just died. I tell her to come right now, no matter what she's doing at the moment. Closely, pressing my phone against my ear, I listen, waiting for her to speak. She's not saying anything. All there is on the other line is static noise. I bring the phone to my mouth and tell her over and over again to hurry up and come. Dead silence for a few seconds.
Her not speaking is making me mad frustrated with her. She's been difficult to grasp since Eva was diagnosed with lung cancer 6 months ago. Again, I know why. I'm beginning to think she doesn't care at all.
I'm getting absolutely nothing from this call. I decide to hang up, slamming my phone against the bed on a whim. Her attitude is making me want to jump out the window and follow Eva. If this is to happen for the rest of my life, I'm better off dead as well.
5 o'clock in the morning. Sunrise feels uncomfortable. My eyes have been peeled open for the last 8 hours watching over Eva's body. Hungry, thirsty, and pestered with an awful headache, I slip into my car and drive into the city to arrange a funeral for her, leaving her for a while in the hospital's morgue.
At 6 o'clock, I find this small chapel some kilometers away from the hospital. As much as I want the funeral to be held at home, there's nothing I can do to make it possible, because we live in a condominium complex. Funerals aren't allowed for obvious reasons. I speak with the chapel's caretaker. She lets me use the chapel for free. But I pay her to find me an organization that would provide funeral service.
Next, I search for a funeral home. It didn't take long for me to find one. I sign some papers; business takes care of the rest. I, along with a mortician, drive to the hospital. In 15 minutes, we arrive back at the home with Eva's body.
After the embalming process has been done, Eva is dressed. I refused to put cosmetics on her face. Then, the funeral staff lay her in a small casket for final fitting. Something about these people strikes me as odd. They do their job with the dead so casually in a way that makes them no less than machines devoid of human emotion. It doesn't help me feel better that they're nonchalant.
The pain in my heart surges up to my throat as I watch them from the back. My chest tightens as I let out chokes of sobs. The pain then leaks into my head, taking over my mind, filling it with thoughts of suicide and death. If Eva could wake up right now, I'd happily lie in that casket and suffocate to death so she wouldn't have to. I'm not prepared for this unbecoming scene.
They place the upper half of the casket on the base and open the lid to Eva's head, telling me to come over. I walk up to the casket's side. My heart sank. Tears burst out of my eyes. Eva, her hands clasped atop her chest, is squeezed into this little box with death so natural on her face that she appears as if she were only sleeping. One of the staff gives me a pat on the shoulder, and they all leave the room. I stay with my daughter for a while.
They come back and close the lid. They make some final adjustments to the casket. And after that, we bring Eva to the chapel. Finally, I can be lost in grief. But the preperations are endless. It seems there's still more word to do. I'm so fed up with preperations. I'm getting impatient. I just want to start mourning for goodness, sake! I join the staff in their work to pick up the pace. About an hour later, we fishish setting everything up.
My helping them helped. At 10 o'clock, we open the casket's lid. Eva comes into view again, to my relief. The job is done. And I desire no more of it. However, the funeral staff sticks around. They're flocked in a corner and just chitchatting with one another. I already paid for everything. They should go away and deal with other clients. I go up to them, politely letting them know their job is done. But they give me looks of dissatisfaction. I know what those looks mean. They are the "I want more money" looks. Unbelievable. I want them out now. I pull anything that I can pull out of my wallet and pockets and give them to them. Dissatisfaction immediately dissolves from their faces. Just as I thought. One of them asks me, "Your car's a very nice car. What do you do for a living?"
I've been noticing him eyeing my Mercedes. Though I'm not compelled to answer his trivial question. I only nod my head and say nothing. He says again, "I wish I have one of those."
What he said has no meaning to me. I tell them that I have to be with my daughter now. They look at each other and leave the chapel afterward.
11 solemn hours pass. At 8 p.m., I'm a wasted hunk of flesh. It doesn't matter what happens to me at this point. Sitting in front of the casket, I hear a vehicle pulling up outside the chapel. I turn my head around and see mother getting out of a cab. On the other side, comes out my father. I carry their luggage and show them their granddaughter. I return to my seat.
Looking at Mother's back, I come to notice that Lucy hasn't come, even though I gave her the address of this chapel a few hours ago. I haven't heard anything from her since that call last night. My parents will certainly ask why she isn't here. I have no idea what to say to them. Lucy's making this ordeal tenfold harder for me.
A few moments later, I'm rubbing my eyes when I hear more vehicles coming to a stop outside. My coworkers at a software development company are here. I don't know why they're here. I must've told them somehow. Nevertheless, I thank them for bothering. Not long after them, some of my med school classmates come as well.
My life has been a mess for 3 years. I've been working as a software engineer in the day and taking up classes in medicine at night. But despite all that, I never failed to tend to my family. I would give any free time I could scavenge throughout the day and night to them. Time for myself is a prize I can only win after I finally become a surgeon.
I've taken care of Eva most of the time. For the last 6 months, the hospital has been our second home. I would have dinner with her, play silly games with her, and spend the night with her. Meanwhile, Lucy seldom visited. It would be a shot for the moon if I could have her visit two times a month. No matter how hard I tried to bring the mother out of her, she just took us for granted.
An hour later, my coworkers and classmates leave the chapel. They've expressed their genuine condolences. Once again, I thank them for coming.
"Son, how long have you been here? You must be tired," Father says. "Go back to your house and take a rest. Your mother and I will keep vigil while you're away."
I dip my head to my chest, tears falling from my eyes. My shoulders shrug as I sob. "Father, Mother, he took her way too early..."
Mother lays her hand on the back of my hand and says, "We understand, Higgs. She's fought a long arduous fight. We're so proud of her. But you…be joyous for her journey is over at last. She no longer has to suffer the torments of this world. You and Lucy need not grieve her passing. She may have lived a fleeting life, but I know that she knows you two have made it fuller and longer. She's now in God's benevolent hands, my son. Now you let Him take over the rest."
"Your mother's right," says Father, rubbing my back. "I know you're in the toughest part of your life right now. But you and your wife have nowhere else to go but forward. You can't let her death be the end of you too. You have so much time and youth to start again—" He cranes his head around then returns to me. "By the way, where's Lucy? I haven't seen her since we came."
I wipe my tears off my eyes and cheeks. I know this is coming. They're not aware of our relationship's souring phase. They'll be spoiling for a fight if I tell them the truth. They have so much confidence in Lucy. Them knowing what she's become means trouble for all of us. I have to lie. I make an excuse that she was busy dealing with paperwork and is now home resting. They believe me right off the bat. But then guilt sets in me. I hate that feeling.
They tell me to go be with her. I'd better follow them to lead them out of suspicion. Eva is safe under their watch. I have nothing to worry about. I get in my car and speed away.