A woman has shared the story of her father’s final days and the difficult decision to remove him from life support, describing how the experience reshaped her understanding of love and loss.
The author, Christina Wong, recounted that her father was intubated and could not speak. When she told him she loved him, he pointed to himself and then to her. She asked, “You love me too?” He nodded gently. She described holding onto that moment as something solid in a room where everything else was slipping away. It was the last moment they had together before he began slipping in and out of consciousness.
In the first few days, she asked him to fight and to hold on. She checked his medical stats and relayed them to a doctor friend, looking for any sign of recovery. At first, there were promising signs, but they did not last. As each day passed, his condition became less hopeful. The doctors had fewer ideas for treatment, and his body appeared tired.
Wong said watching her father weaken was heartbreaking. She described feeling helpless and untethered, as if her world was crumbling. She wanted more of his hugs and the steadiness she felt with him. After direct conversations with doctors, it became clear he would not wake up. He could be kept on life support, but he was in pain. She said she was not okay with keeping him in that place to avoid her own pain.
Removing life support was likely the hardest decision she has ever made. She said his peace mattered more than her desperation to keep him there. The next time she spoke to him, she whispered in his ear, “I know you tried. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. You can go.” She described floating through that day as if in a dream, finding it surreal to be on the subway surrounded by people living ordinary days while she had just decided to let her father die.
For a long time, she carried that moment with stunned disbelief. She wondered how life could keep moving when hers had cracked open. In the beginning, grief felt sharp and immediate. It was the ache of missing him, the shock of his absence, and the disbelief that someone so central could simply be gone.
With time, the grief changed shape. For a while, it felt consuming, taking up all the air in the room. Years later, it feels more like a quiet, familiar ache. She said she still wishes he were there, but she began to understand that letting go is not always giving up. Sometimes it is the most loving thing a person can do.
Before her father died, she equated love with holding on and fighting harder. Letting go felt unimaginable, almost like betrayal. She said she wanted a different ending and wanted life to be kinder than it was. She explained that people hold on not only to people but also to hopes, plans, identities, and expectations. Letting go can force someone to face how much has changed and how little control they have.
Wong said that letting go does not mean what someone wanted did not matter. It does not mean they stop caring. It sometimes means loosening the grip on how something has to unfold so they can meet life as it is. She learned to notice what is happening in her body, such as a tightening in the chest or the urge to brace. She asks herself if she is holding on because it still feels true or because she is struggling to accept change.
She still misses her father and wishes she could hug him. She views her final words to him as love without the illusion of control. She said many people are taught to admire the parts of themselves that hold on and keep fighting. But there are also moments when strength looks softer and more surrendered. Sometimes letting go is not the absence of love or meaning, but the moment someone stops asking life to be something other than what it is.
The article also included a quote from Hermann Hesse: “Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go.”
