REMEMBERING DAD
By Dr Ella Masamayor
With every death I pronounce, I remember Dad’s death. I remember the blue dress I wore, his white-walled hospital room, his big throne-like hospital bed, eating lechon manok. Dad told me I was a queen.
Dad collapsed shortly after, and never woke up again.
Back then, I did not understand death, but I understood love.
Dr Ella Masamayor
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