UNANSWERED PRAYERS

There is a saying, "Be careful of what you pray for". It is a kind of warning that whatever you pray for or wish to get might turn out to be not exactly as great as you thought it would be. What about unanswered prayers? How should a person of faith pray? Do you ask God for what you wish to receive or trust that God knows exactly how the situation should be?

In December 2000, when the doctor informed us that after two years of chemotherapy, the treatment for liver cancer did not produce results we had hoped and that my Dad only had three months to live, I began to pray every day for a miracle. My prayers were different each day from asking God for a complete recovery to bargaining with promises to be good so my Dad could live and be able to enjoy his grandson a few more years. After my Dad passed away, I blamed myself for my prayers that that it was God's will and asked that my Dad no longer suffered the physical pains.

The time I spent in hospice with my Dad, we never acknowledged that the end was coming. "When you got better, you could visit us in St. Louis to see the improvements we had done to our house," I said. My Dad smiled weakly and said "Sure, I hope so". Each morning I would describe the weather outside and told my Dad about my new job. We talked about current events and reminiscing our lives in the refugee camp and our early years in America. We shared a few laughs about incidents that took place and the silly things we did out of lack of knowledge of culture and language.

One night when I was not able to hold my pains, I apologized to my Dad for not being able to give him a grandchild to call him "Che Cung". I asked for his forgiveness for all the terrible things I did and for moving away. I told him my regrets that I had neglected my duty to our family. "I am your parent. I only want happiness for you and your own marriage. Look at me and your Mom, we left our parents in Viet Nam and were not there when they passed away.", my Dad responded and we cried together. Our tears as father and daughter allowed us to cope with the overwhelming fears to acknolwedge the end and at the same time avoiding the final goodbye.

As I sat holding my Dad's hand, I prayed that God would allow me to give 10 years of my life to my Dad. I imagined a conversation trying to bargain with God. I promised to be good and accept any kind of penance. "What if you only had 10 years to live, are you willing to give those years to your Dad?", God asked. "Yes, let my Dad live," I said without hesitation. "It was not possible because your Dad would not want you to die so he could live," God said.

At night I would sleep in a small Army bed nearby. I kept watch, listening to my Dad breathing through the machine. My Mom had told me that if my Dad was dying, let him go. Don't cry or say anything to prolong his depart. When my Dad's body began to shut down and he was not able to communicate or open his eyes, my Mom whispered to my Dad, "You could go now. Don't worry about us. Your children have grown up and they will be able to take care of themselves. You should be proud that you had taken good care of your family. Your children and I will be alright."

I kissed my Dad cold hand and watched him peacefully walked toward death. Rest well Dad. We are always proud to be "Con Ong L. V. H."