The Day I Opened The Door

           Exactly 16 years ago from the most recent July 4^th, I freed myself of the hatred and disgust I had for my father’s “other woman.”  Ironically, that day was Independence Day.  I went to visit him at the Queen of Angels Hospital in Los Angeles, where he underwent an emergency quintuple bypass surgery.  Seeing my father on the hospital bed sparked a life-changing memory from the past.

            It has been the tradition in our family that as soon as you finish high school, you then go to college in the “big city.”  So in 1978, I started my journey to Manila to join my older siblings.  I was excited to be reunited with them after many years of living in the school convent’s dormitory.  However, after all the excitement, I soon found out that this move also marked the beginning of my “adulthood.”  This meant finding out the harsh truths about my family.  My three older siblings (Meldit, oldest sister; Bingo, older sister; and Dinky, older brother) had disclosed my father’s infidelity.  They said that it has been going on for at least 15 years.  I took a deep breath and cried incessantly.

            My once perfect image of my dad was beginning to yield colors of darkness.  However, my mind kept remembering those times when he would always pick me up as a little girl.  He would raise me as though flying through the air and catching me with his strong arms.  The warm embraces from my father when he came home from his out-of-town job were heartwarming and always made me feel secure.  I adored my father.

            The next years that passed by were full of anxiety whenever my father was around.  Even though I now knew his “secret,” I pretended to be oblivious so he could be the perfect father that I wanted him to be.  He gave me anything and everything I asked for.  Just one word and he would give me a new purse, new shoes, money to go out, and bring me wherever I wanted to go.  Even though I got older, he never mentioned anything about his infidelity.  Perhaps he knew that I knew, so he showered me with gifts and gave in to my every whim to cover up his guilt.

            Even though I took advantage of his guilt, he still had another woman.  He chose to live with this woman over my mother.  How could he have done that?  Oh how I hated that witch!  She was a home-wrecker and a selfish wretch.  I hoped that I never had to see her because I wouldn’t have known what I might have done out of my soul-deep hate for her.  Everyday I prayed for lightning to strike her dead or for a truck to run her over.

            I knew that my father was not the confrontational one.   Through the years, he would always meet with us and never the other way around.  There was never a chance for us to see him with the “witch.”  He made sure that we were protected from this scenario.  However, on July 4^th, 16 years ago, I had to visit him at the hospital. 

The day before, he was taken to the emergency room at Huntington Memorial in Pasadena because of chest pains.  After tests and scans, his cardiologist immediately admitted him for a bypass.  However, they had no staff that day because the nurses went on strike.  He had to be brought by ambulance to Queen of Angels Hospital in Los Angeles.  He underwent a successful quintuple bypass surgery.  When my sister, Meldit, told me about the whole incident, my whole body shook and I sobbed.

            I had to go see my father.  What if he did not survive the surgery?  I had not told him how much I love him.  I hadn’t told him, “Thank you for everything.”  But he was at the hospital and I had to see him now.  This meant the possibility of confronting the “other woman” face to face.

            But she was the home-wrecker.  She was the “witch”.  She was the selfish SOB.  She shouldn’t be in the picture.  She was the worst person ever in my life and I hoped I didn’t have to deal with her.

            Mixed emotions were running through me as I was walking through the lobby of the hospital.  My heart was racing and I could literally hear the gradually increasing beating of my heart.  I was nervous, excited, happy, angry, and anxious.  What if she was in the room?  What would I say?  Should I scream at her?  Should I go and beat her up?  Must I force my husband to go and hit her with my purse?

            As I opened the door to Room 25491, I became weak and almost fainted.  The room smelled of chemicals that made my head spin for a second.  It must have been from all the drugs that they gave my dad or emissions from all the equipment hooked on to him.  There was nobody in the room except for my father and this woman on my father’s bed.  Her back was facing me and she appeared to be feeding my father through a tiny opening on his mouth.  I walked towards my father without saying a word to the woman.  I kissed my father’s hand as his cheeks were strapped with gauze bandage. 

There was silence that seemed like an hour long, but in reality, it was just five seconds.  My father was holding on to my hand while this woman (I could now see her face) tried to give him a spoonful of soup.  In between servings, she would grab an alcohol-dampened washcloth and wipe my father’s arms and feet.  She would get a soft comb and run that through my father’s hair making sure no strand would go to his eyes.  My father squeezed my hand while he mustered a tablespoon of the soup.  After he was able to consume three tablespoons, he bravely uttered, “I would like you to meet Rosario.  She is the woman I love.”  I took a deep breath, looked at Rosario and just nodded my head. 

I never thought this day would come.  I asked to be excused.  I walked out of the room and ran to the restroom at the end of the hallway.  I cried incessantly.  He said he loved her.  She genuinely cared for my father.  I saw in Rosario’s ways that she truly and sincerely loved my father too.  “She is the woman I love.”  This was enough to make me realize that if I truly loved my father, I should also accept everything and everyone he loves, including Rosario.  I cried some more.

I went back to his room and as I opened the door, I saw Rosario’s face.  Tears flowed from my eyes as I looked through hers.  “Thank you,” was all I can say.  She was teary-eyed too and we hugged tightly.

My dad recovered in “record-breaking” speed.  His doctor told us that he had never seen any patient of his improve so fast.  Three weeks after his surgery, he was already back in his office.

The months and years that followed were marked with weekly dinners and frequent family parties.  In all of these, Rosario was present.  My relationship with my dad had become one of pure and sincere love for each other and I have learned to accept Rosario as “the woman that he loves.”  He eventually married her and she naturally became my stepmother.

Now, Rosario and I have developed a relationship that I never thought I could be capable:  one as friends.