Thinking of Dad......

Whenever I send some one off to the airport I think of my Dad......of how he isn’t here to take trips overseas. I knew he wanted to see more of the world, travel to places that appealed to him. For example he wanted to visit Brazil and see for himself the rubber trees in Amazonia that had become a huge part of his life! Many a times he had told us how the British had smuggled rubber seeds out of Brazil and after developing 'healthier' versions of them in the London Botanical Gardens, had planted the south east Asian colonies with these trees to reap huge monetary benefits for many, many decades. But alas! he never got to go anywhere near Brazil...

I can say without any sort of censure that he was my favourite parent. He passed away in the fall of 1996 and it took me a long while to come to terms with his death.

Dad had an immense capacity to make me feel that I was special (despite my consistent bedwetting which somehow irritated the hell out of mom). He was proud of my little achievements and took any of my sad moments personally. We were so much in synch and I could feel him brimming with pride when I won even a tiny trophy for my studies or a medal for some sporting event.

Because I lived in a rubber estate, when I wanted things for my school he had to take me to town on his scooter. The scooter rides became occasions I would treasure because it’s during these trips dad would talk about his dreams – dreams he had for himself and the dreams he was building for us. With the wind on our faces I would careen my neck from behind him to get at his words and then yell out my replies over the noise of his Vespa. When I close my eyes I can sense him even now.

I never knew why he chose to speak of such adult things to me. I must have been about nine or ten ( I remember because after that we had a car and the scooter rides ceased). Perhaps he had had an inkling that if I wasn’t weighted down early in life I’d fly off and be constantly airborne. Yes, that must be it because even now I often feel a very strong urge to ‘take off.’ If it weren’t for the kids who have me well anchored I’d probably be somewhere in the stratosphere helping with the
ozone holes!

The day Dad died was the day I felt most helpless in my entire life. I couldn't help feeling hollow and desperate like I just let slip something invaluable to me; something so precious and so very much a part of me that I felt totally destroyed. The feeling that he won't ever be there for me was devastating and something in me died that day.

Time heals. It’s about thirteen years now but when I revisit that moment in time the impact of his loss is no less. I grief that my kids are not touched by his presence. He was gentle and kind, loving and upright. He taught me to love by knowing people not by judging them.

Mom was different and that was quite understandable. She was 15 when she had me and literally grew up while her kids were growing up! In retrospect I must have been hard on her and thought she wasn’t capable of loving us the way dad did. I know now that it really is an unfair judgment. Each one of us love differently, and we are loved differently. We, in turn, love ours differently.

I understand that perfectly now because that’s how it is with mine own. We have favourite kids not because of the quantum of love bestowed on them but because of how easy their behaviour is on us. I try to make my kids understand this but often they are too smart for their own good.

In the darkest moments of my life my Dad has been the beacon of light and has guided me along. It’s funny how we draw on the wisdom they have imparted to us without even realizing it, that they have actually handed down so much to us while we had shared the same space with them. I think our fault has been that we took most of it for granted only to mourn their loss now…even after years and years ….in ways that surprise even us. When I go to funerals, I must admit shamelessly that any tears I shed are real, except that it is rarely for the deceased but it really is me going back to my moment of greatest loss – the death of my dear dad.


After Dad's death I withdrew into myself. I would quite dutifully perform the daily chores and routines were observed to make sure everything was running smoothly. But I knew internally I had turned cold. I was merely auto-piloting my life. In the confines of my mind I was in turmoil. My heart was bleeding and I just couldn’t find solace anywhere. I went through the events that led to his final moments when the life-support system was disconnected and I blamed myself for not taking better care of him. I blamed myself for believing that my Dad was infallible because he made me believe that too…. till late into his condition. Too late actually and I was such a fool not to have followed what my heart was telling me.


For almost a year I lived a very stoic life depriving myself of things that made me happy. I had a nagging pain between my shoulders that started on the day he died and refused to go away. I suffered the pain in silence refusing to see a doc about it. I felt I deserved that and it corresponded with the misery I was going through. I would have been the perfect candidate for therapy. I let myself suffer, feeling a sense of justification for not having rendered the attention when Dad needed it most. Of course, outwardly I was almost same old me. Hubby had an inkling and like most husbands didn’t know how to deal with it.


Then I agreed on a short break, mostly for the sake of the kids – a trip to the beautiful island of Langkawi. It was my first trip there and I went grudgingly. Our chalet was on stilts on the water itself and when you stood on the balcony and watched the waves lap so silently and soothingly, as if the quiet solemness of the atmosphere was too sacred to be violated, you have no choice. No choice but to feel the peace and start thawing the cold that you had let encompass your heart.

Early the next morning before anyone woke I walked to the end of a long, almost 200 meter stilt that they had built for walkers to enjoy the early morning tranquility of the beach. It literally went out to sea and stopped stark in the middle of nowhere. I found myself there and as I looked around it was pure magic. There was the shimmer of delicate waves all around me and the streaks of gold that glittered so sparsely was to let you know that dawn was breaking in ever so gently.


When I sat down and took in this blissful solitude and serenity, tears started flowing down both my cheeks. I was panting gently and the tears were unstoppable. Then I started sobbing and my body was shaking, at first hardly noticeable. Soon, like the crescendo I was crying out so loud that I am sure the gods must have heard me. I screamed, I poured my heart out, I asked back for my Dad. I pleaded and begged. I cried my eyes out. I saw flashes of him suffering and then I saw him stilled by death. I broke down once more. I wept like child and just couldn’t stop. I tell you, I let it all go. It seemed as if I cried for all humanity. I cried for love that was lost and gone forever. Forever. Oh God how I cried…….

Then suddenly an overpowering silence came over me. I looked up with bleary eyes at the horizon and there was the crackling of dawn, only it came without the crackling, in complete silence, sacredly tiptoeing, respecting my sad and somber feelings. At that moment I had my answer. An answer to my deep sorrow that came from my bleeding heart.

I asked God, “Please let me be the daughter to my father in one more life and give me the chance to serve him in the way I really want to. It is my sacred duty and it is the only way I can ever love anyone again.” He granted me that wish. I know.

As I walked back my hubby came out looking for me a little worried, well maybe a lot worried. It was first real smile I gave him since my Dad died.