Will I See You Again, Dad, If We Went to Different Heavens?
With extreme exhaustion and bated breath, my father murmured in Cantonese, “Amen.”
I handed the bowl of water I had filled from the bathroom to the pastor. He spritzed some water on my father’s head, recited a few more scripture verses, and said, “Amen.”
My dad, mustering his remaining strength, drew a deep and purposeful breath, and finally huffed out, “Amen.”
And so, after a lifetime of not belonging to any organized religion, my father was baptized as a Christian, a day before he passed.
After the baptism, my father drifted into the deepest, most peaceful sleep he had experienced in weeks.
I thanked the pastor for coming in such short notice, and escorted him out.
I went back to check on my father—he looked so serene, so beautiful.
I stroked his impressive crown of gray hair that regrew even fuller after chemotherapy. Since then, no cancer treatment could threaten his hair into retreat.
I tucked his blanket around him to ensure he was cozy, and then busied myself with his medication schedule and making phone calls.
