Flowers for Karen

I don't want the flowers to be all white.

That's what I said last August 30 when Nanay, Ate Tess, and I were talking about making arrangements for Ate Karen for when she goes. We were sitting on the bed behind hers while she slept, taking turns crying because we were facing the inevitable.
White flowers, in my opinion, do not fit Karen's personality. Her jolly character merits colorful blooms. I remember how she has added her nurses on Facebook, and how she would always say thank you to everyone who attended to her and paid her a visit. Whenever doctors and nurses asked her how she was, she would almost always say, 'I'm fine.' The radiation therapy guys at St. Lukes had become her buddies and they were saddened upon hearing of her passing. I remember this one night when we prayed and she repeated my words. I said, 'Bless me, Nanay, Tatay, Ate Tess, and Liza' and she added, 'And friends.'

Pinks, yellows, whites- that's what we gave Karen. She deserves hues as vibrant as the color she has given our lives. With a simple smile or a few words she's able to touch people and make them happy, an exceptional power not many have. We are forever grateful for the time she has spent with us, no matter how short.

This was originally posted in the Facebook group KAREN'S JOURNEY TO HEALING, which was created to document my sister Karen's battle against cancer.

Karen's Journey to Healing

Sunday
August 24, 2014

Nay and Tay had fallen asleep that morning. They weren't able to during the night so I let them rest. I told Ate Karen to catch my attention if she needed anything so we wouldn't wake up the parents; I was sitting in a chair facing her bed so she wouldn't have to ring the bell Tita Belen lent her. She has been using that at home to call us whenever she had to and that's why we brought it to the hospital, to avoid unnecessary strain on her voice which was already hoarse.

Taking photos was a way for me to get a smile out of Karen, but it had been difficult to do that the past few days. I just tried and said we'd take a photo for Ate Tess. She was feeling weak but still managed to do her classic peace sign pose, even with a nasogastric tube, oxygen, and cardiac monitor leads attached to her. She even asked me to get her mobile and earphones so she could watch some Koreanovelas, adding to the web of wires.
The previous night was very difficult but I tried my best not to show her that my heart was breaking. How can I not try when she herself was not showing any signs of giving up?

This is my Ate Karen-strong, brave, and happy even in the most trying of times.

This was originally posted in the Facebook group KAREN'S JOURNEY TO HEALING, which was created to document my sister Karen's battle against cancer.

Karen's Journey to Healing

August 31, 2014
Sunday

Ate Karen's breathing had become more and more labored during the previous night and that continued until the morning. The resident doctor checked her and then asked me to sign a form which would enable them to attach a tube to Karen in order to help her breathe. We refused. She had gone through so much the past few days and we were slowly trying to accept the fact that she was going to leave us; it was just a matter of time. We did not want to subject her to anything that would cause her pain.

Ate Tess and Tatay were looking for oxygen tank suppliers during this time. We were bringing Karen home the next day so she could lie down on her bed which she missed so much, and be comfortable during the last moments of her life. They rushed back to the hospital upon getting my text message so we could all be there for Karen. We were by her side, telling her how much we love her and the tears we desperately tried to hide from her since the day of her cancer diagnosis had started to flow uncontrollably. She was falling asleep.

We continued to be by her side and whispered whatever we wanted to say, when she suddenly uttered, "Saba" (Cebuano for "Noisy"). It was so her to say something like that and she still unknowingly provided comic relief during such a sad moment. And then she opened her eyes and so we all watched her and repeatedly reaffirmed how much we love her. She opened her mouth and told us, "I love you. Thank you. I...you." It was as if a ray of sunshine had burst through that small hospital room in the midst of grief and pain.

I hugged her, the first time that I was able to in weeks because I had feared accidentally touching the mass in her left breast. The cardiac monitor numbers slowly decreased below normal. The breaths became more and more shallow, the intervals between them longer...until there was no more. I touched her lips to feel any air come out but there was none. She had flown away. The ECG showed a flat line, and the doctor said, "Wala na po siya" (She's gone). And as soon as that happened, the darkness in Ate Karen's face had disappeared. She looked the best she had since the day we entered the hospital.

We find consolation in the fact that she had not suffered much pain, and that we said all we had to say. She in turn made sure that we would not fear for her by expressing her gratitude for all that we had shared together. We had become closer than ever during the past few weeks, so even if my grief is deep and the emptiness vast I take comfort in the fact that wherever she is right now, she is whole and happy. She has made me stronger and brave enough to do things I thought I never could. Thank you, Ate Karen. We love you so much. Life will continue to move forward but it will never be the same without you. You will forever be our baby, our ray of sunshine, and I will miss your sweet smile and hearty laugh. Don't forget about us because we definitely will not forget about you.

This was originally posted in the Facebook group KAREN'S JOURNEY TO HEALING, which was created to document my sister Karen's battle against cancer.