Today my mom asked me to move back to our family home. The home where I grew up in. The home where only she and my Dad are living in now. That old home that I left many years ago and have started to call "my mom and dad's house" instead of home.
A year ago, my Dad was hospitalized for the first time in his entire life. It triggered the start of many medical checkups that found him with liver cirrhosis and end stage liver cancer. On New Year's Day of 2015, while on our way to Tagaytay with my brother's family, he was hospitalized again becuase he was vomitting blood. Many tests and check ups and consultations thereafter, in August of this year, he underwent RFA (Radiofrequency Ablation) wherein a needle was stuck in his tummy towards the tumor in his liver to burn the mass. Masses, prayers, trips to PAdre Pio Shrine is what my Dad believes to be keeping him from anything worse.
The doctor said this month that my Dad can eat anything he wants. This is so he would at least eat. Because he hasn't been eating full meals for the past 6 months! And Dad thinks he's completely healed. Because, according to him, why would the doctor tell him to anything he wants if he's still sick?
So there goes my Mom asking me to move back. I know what it means. She doesn't want to be alone to face the inevitable. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to face it with her.
The doctor said this month that my Dad can eat anything he wants. This is so he would at least eat. Because he hasn't been eating full meals for the past 6 months! And Dad thinks he's completely healed. Because, according to him, why would the doctor tell him to anything he wants if he's still sick?
So there goes my Mom asking me to move back. I know what it means. She doesn't want to be alone to face the inevitable. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to face it with her.
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