..Your Daddy's Got A Name: An Open Letter to the Daughter of PSI Ryan Pabalinas, Fallen44

(c) Daddy's Girl

Hi!
I'm Rolenkim.
You don't know me. I don't know your daddy, either.
But recently, I did.
The Philippines did.
I lost my father when I was 9.
He's not a soldier like your dad, but I know how it feels to lost one.


Why do leaves have to fall?
Why do the sun has to set?
Why does the day turns into night?
Why God takes the good people away?
Is heaven not big enough that He's afraid they'll run out of space for good people?
I asked the same questions when I was a little girl like you.
But God has always been this "quiet".


When I learned of your father's passing, I cried.
I remember you.
I remembered that little girl in me.


I can imagine him kissing your forehead before he leaves for duty.
The way any dad does to their baby girl.
He may not be doing it everyday before.
But he'll be kissing you everyday...now.
Because he'll never leave you anymore.
He's in the air that you'll breathe.
And you'll breathe his love.
Anywhere.
Everyday.


Be strong.
This is what I've been telling to that little girl who lost his dad years ago.
Someday, I hope you can write your story.
Your dad's story.
And how he tried to make your world, my world, a better place.
Be proud.
Your daddy's got a name.
The Nation calls him Hero.


P.S.

Dear Sir Pabalinas:

It's sad to have known you this way.
But thank you!
Thank you for the life that touched the hearts of the world.
That touched mine.

You left the pain worth remembering in the lives of the Filipino people.
Especially to the heart of your little girl.
I know you'll still kiss her.
The way you do whenever you leave for call of duty.
I bet you'll be doing it everyday...now.
Because you'll never leave her anymore.
You're in the air she'll breathe.
And she'll breathe your love.
Anywhere.
Everyday.

My salute to you.
And to the 43!

..Details, Love and the Ambubag..

(c) Love and Other Drugs

It’s been almost half an hour that I've been precariously unloading the contents of the cabinet to look for the *ambu bag. I emptied the equipment inside the cabinet one by one and put it back one by one only to find out that there’s no ambu bag inside. I searched for the belly-shaped bag as Ate Claire clearly instructed that there is one left in the cabinet for spare purposes. But no ambu bag to my avail. My legs are cramping already and the cold room aggravated my headache. I restarted the task of emptying and arranging the stocks to find the most-prized ambu bag. It’s a “do or die” search. I am at the verge of giving up when a box caught the corner of my chinky eyes. I read the package that says “Resuscitator”. Duh Kim, shame on your ability to collate synonyms.

That simple act of complete lack of audacity made me smile as the bus’ engine started. Too often in life, we are too fond of the details. In my mind, it's fixated that an ambubag is a belly shape thing with thin tube at the end connected to a mask. We create a picture of our own “what-should-be”.

We wanted to love someone according to the details we've set in our mind. He should own a house, ride a car, speak words of wisdom you feel like the muscles of your arm weakens as you imagine him wearing a sexy apron as he cooks in the kitchen, and well, it’s an added blessing if he looks like Derek Ramsay and owns the same abs. Even the lucky girl you’ll be if:  A) he doesN’T cheat, and  
A-1) he doesN'T tell lie(S). Single ladies, I understand your predicaments!

Don’t get me wrong. We need plans in our life. Just like you need a blueprint in building a house. Because if you don’t have any, it’s hard where to start. The loophole in having plans is that we become too entangled with the details. What if God plays the trick? What if the details you set are not His details for you? What if He sends you a Resuscitator in your effort to find an Ambu bag? What if He sends you a Man in your effort to find a Guy?

Sharing this reflection I received from a good friend:

"When we ask the Lord for answers to our prayers, we have to be prepared to take care of the things we will receive or the situations we'll find ourselves in. God is good, but He will only give us what is good for us. Have you thought about what will happen when God answers your prayer?" 


~God, keep my heart open to your possibilities. Keep my heart ready for my Resuscitator. Keep my heart ready for my Man.



*An ambubag is a hand-held bag device commonly used to provide  breaths to patients who are not breathing adequately. Other names are Resuscitator or Bag-Mask-Valve

..The Longest 20 Minutes..

I rubbed my palms nervously after I removed my overcoat. I felt the cold cross pendant hanging around my neck as I started to unlock my necklace. The inside of the room seemed too narrow as the light is accentuating the coldness I feel. It has been months that I've been postponing this.

I laid my shivering body on the slender metal bed. I wrapped the blanket around me and took a deep sigh. I can’t feel my toes as the machine started to move towards the close-space tunnel. I understand what claustrophobic patients feel. The earplugs I wore didn't serve its purpose as the ticking sounds prompted the ventricles of my heart to pump faster. I kept my eyes close, my head still, and my hands clenching each other. It’s the day of my brain MRI.

I know my eyelashes are moving though I am sure that my eyes are still close. I can’t figure out the space I’m occupying, and the voice that I can’t comprehend from the outside of the room. Thoughts are streaming in my mind and I was afraid if the machine will be able to read them one by one. The first thing that came in my ongoing scanned mind is that, “God, whatever the result is, please don’t let me die a poor virgin”. Thank goodness the machine is not capable to record those thoughts. The ticking changed to a harsh, my-eardrum-will-explode-anytime-by-now swishing sound. And then it slowed down. I moved my toes just to ensure I’m still alive. I remember the 5 kids I wanted to raise, the man I want to sleep with and wake up each day, the lists of my dream travel, the articles I wanted to publish, the books I wanted to read, the words I wanted to learn, and the life that is waiting for me outside this room. I feared to open my eyes.

The sound took a halt. Another one started to create its own melody. This time, more gentle, if it’s an acceptable description. I remember the throbbing headaches I endured. Apart from that, I remember the insurmountable pains I never knew how those came to passing. How I am still fighting the good fight in the race of life. My lashes are still moving, but now dampen by welling tears.

The test lasted for 20 minutes, the longest 20 minutes by far.

 But it felt an eternity to see your life unfolding right before your close eyes.

*Let me search You in the depths of my heart amidst the cold darkness and harsh sounds of life.