For You, Daddy!

Saturday, 26 November 2011

The Sower Of The Seed

Filed under: Uncategorized — by For you, Daddy! @ 3:00 pm
Tags: , , ,

That would be my daddy. He is directly responsible for creating me and indirectly responsible for the creation of this blog. 

Today is Dad’s birthday. He is no longer here. I don’t know for sure if he is aware that I am doing this. It doesn’t matter though. I feel good about the idea of this blog because through it, I can do something that Dad suggested to me when I was in college years ago.

In my earliest career avatar, I was a Registered Nurse. As a child of around 7, I declared I was going to become a “stomach surgeon” when I grew up. Back then, I didn’t even spell it correctly. A few years ago, I found a school essay in which I wrote I wanted to become a “stomach sergeant”. I know who was responsible for that spelling. Daddy. He used to read Commando comics and war story novels. For as long as I can remember, what Daddy did, I did. That’s how I decided to become a “sergeant”. But what I really meant was ‘surgeon’. I liked the idea of operating on people’s stomachs (again, I meant the abdomen; not the stomach itself) because in my young mind, that was a way to rid people of whatever ailed them medically.

Forward a few years, and I didn’t make it to med school because I absolutely hated Organic Chemistry, did not attend any of those classes in pre-med and did not attempt studying it on my own either. (Are you kidding me? *snort*) I was too young to realise the almost immediate (a year later) fallout of that classic, teenage, rebellious attitude. Bye bye, Med School. I was crushed. But Dad was secretly pleased. He did not want me to become a doctor because of the rough working hours. He nudged me towards nursing school because of the more regular working hours. And he told me that I’d still get to make people better by assisting in surgery. Hello Nursing School!

Seeing the compassionate streak in me grow and become more evident, Dad gently suggested quite a few times that I should start a nurses’ agency of sorts upon graduation. One that would admit registered nurses and then, train them not to lose focus of the powerful position they were in when it came to easing the mind. I could teach my companions how to assist patients banish their anxieties and fears, and instill hope and strength. But I wasn’t interested. I wanted to be with patients. Right through my nursing career, too, I did not think about training other nurses because it would take me away from bedside nursing, which is what I loved. I deferred promotions for the same reason, too, because a promotion invariably meant moving away from bedside care to administrative work, which I came to like later on, but still not as much as being hands-on with my patients.

Fast forward a few years and a few careers in a few countries.

From the time I left home, I wrote to my folks and my friends regularly. Wrote, as in with pen and paper. In 1997, I got my first e-mail address. I began writing via e-mail. Having no restriction of space, I wrote and wrote and wrote. To more and more and more people I knew. I was always particular about the importance of personal attention, so I refrained from mass e-mails until strangely enough, Dad passed away.

I was on holiday in another country at the time and unreachable because of the altitude I was at at the time. So I couldn’t make it home for the funeral. I came to terms with not being there for the funeral a month after Daddy’s passing. And then, I decided to tell my friends who did not know yet. It was far too tiring to even think of mailing a little over 20 friends individually. That’s when I decided to write a common e-mail informing my friends about Daddy.

That mail I sent out will be my next post.



  1. Thank you for sharing your pain and eventual triumph. Very uplifting blog you have here.


    Comment by The Hook — Saturday, 28 January 2012 @ 7:51 am |Reply

    • Sharing pain is easy for me. I squeal at the drop of a hat to my personal contacts. I know what you mean by “eventual triumph”. The other way to look at it is like this – I cannot do this alone. People read and that is what makes me feel triumphant.

      >Very uplifting blog you have here.
      – Thank you, Hook. I used to feel the same when I read other blogs earlier. That’s what inpsired me to get going with one of my own.



      Comment by For you, Daddy! — Saturday, 28 January 2012 @ 11:32 am |Reply

  2. This post takes me back 30 years to a time when I’d considered becoming a nurse. Unlike you, I am not cut out to be that ‘special person’ a suffering person . . . aka. . . patient needs at their bedside. It’s not that I lack compassion, by any means. Compassion though, is only one facet of nursing and I know that, so I went into Architecture instead. And now, here I find myself writing children’s books since the housing market is a sad story itself right now. Funny, how life leads us astray sometimes.

    I didn’t realize that your father died so recently. You have my deepest sympathies. My own father died in 1986 and my mother passed in 1998. Thankfully, I was at my mother’s bedside when she faded into the next world. I found closure instantly. As cold as it sounds, her death was one of the most peaceful things I’ve ever witnessed in my life. She just faded and then in a moment she was gone. She didn’t fight death, but as she’d done in life: she quietly and gracefully accepted her own passing, knowing her time had come. I hope when my time comes, I can also depart this life with the acceptance and dignity my mother did. I’m sure, like your Daddy, my parents are in another ‘spiritual’ form of life and are probably watching us, knowing that our love for them with continue to keep their memories alive.
    I hope by now, you’ve found comfort in knowing that your Daddy is (and always will be) with you in spirit.


    Comment by orples — Thursday, 9 February 2012 @ 1:56 pm |Reply

    • >Unlike you, I am not cut out to be that ‘special person’ a suffering person . . . aka. . . patient needs at their bedside. It’s not that I lack compassion, by any means.
      – You’re right. It takes a lot of strength to deal with people in pain, physical and psychological. In nursing school itself, I realised I wouldn’t hack it out physically in the ER (where I wanted to be, and was). Shortly before I quit being a nurse (clinician), I learned that I was unable to handle that vocation emotionally as easily as I did earlier. So my exit was well timed.

      >so I went into Architecture instead. And now, here I find myself writing children’s books
      – You’re still building, Marcy. Dreams of a different kind now. 🙂

      >As cold as it sounds, her death was one of the most peaceful things I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
      – No, that’s not cold at all. I talk about death with the same ease as I would my trip to the market. It’s routine and gotta be done.

      >She just faded and then in a moment she was gone.
      – Beautiful ending. Like you, it’s something I wish not just for myself, but for everyone.

      Oh, recently a friend’s relative died. He was in his early 60s. Had some heart trouble, but he got lucky and was spared torture in the hospital at the end.

      That relative was with his family and close friends at a wine festival. Chatting, with wine glass in hand, he slowly slid to the floor. And that was it. What a beautiful way to go, I exclaimed when I heard that! With people he loved around him and doing something he enjoyed. This sort of sentiment is not prevalent in my outer circle. But I’m comfortable being the oddball. 🙂

      >I hope by now, you’ve found comfort in knowing that your Daddy is (and always will be) with you in spirit.
      – Thank you, Marcy. I was comfortable even before Daddy passed away. BFF Two lost her mum to lung cancer this New Year’s Day. Her mum was a non-smoker, but her dad was a heavy smoker. Her dad succumbed to the same 3 months earlier. Yes, 2011 was a hard year (to put it mildly) for BFF Two.

      Below is an excerpt (in bold) from my e-mail to BFF Two about Daddy’s demise. Dad had had a stroke and survived for 17 years after that.

      Like you, I was not upset when my dad died. Because your dad was a heavy smoker, you had psyched yourself a decade ago to lose him to smoking. I had 17 years to prepare for Daddy’s demise. As I said earlier, I consider us very lucky that those 17 years after his stroke, Daddy led a very healthy life. His diet was not restricted in any way and his appetite remained wonderful, um, ravenous like me :-), to the end. After the first year or so of his stroke, as he did his entire life, Daddy also never took a single pill other than his vitamins. 🙂

      When I saw Daddy for the last time before I returned to China, I did not think he led a good quality life. He didn’t talk because he had to strain his voice, his hearing had worsened, he barely read the newspapers and he had stopped watching TV. He was chatty, he loved reading all three newspapers we get and he loved his Nat Geo, Discovery and ESPN. His last year, he was physically in good condition, but just laying in bed and eating as normal is not my idea of a life worth living. That was another reason I accepted his death easily. He was finally free from that plain existence.

      So yes, I’m fine, thank you, Marcy. A bigger Thank You, Daddy and Mummy, for teaching me to handle with this inevitable part of our lives.



      Comment by For you, Daddy! — Thursday, 9 February 2012 @ 11:37 pm |Reply

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at

%d bloggers like this: