Ordinarily I would be up early excited at the prospect of my birthday coming up in a week. I lost my mother 3 weeks before I turned 21, that was 11 years ago; it took me quite a while to be able to go through the month of July without damp tears. I woke up thinking about fathers today. I recently lost mine, it’s been two weeks since he breathed his last and now he rests by mum’s side reunited in blissful heaven…Happy birthday thoughts are shelved away as I contemplate orphan hood.
What I miss most about my father, Baba was his unbending honesty. Our conditions, rules, stipulations, boundaries were always clear and more emphasized as I grew up and against all this the constant thing over the years was his love and concern.
I remember days, weeks or months of sulking because of something he said to me and yet I still remember him coming home to check my homework before he slept. I never slept hungry in his care, not ever. No phone call went unreturned; no text or e-mail went unacknowledged.
Everyone keeps telling me “you are strong and will get through this…” and “your father lived a full life…” or “it was his time…” perhaps so, but selfishly, I cant imagine that anything could ever fill the void of loosing him and what he represented to me.
Baba loved me in spite and despite myself, which is to say I did not need to apologise for being myself to him…and do not get me wrong, he could be so unbending sometimes…He was never good at hiding his opinions and feelings but he let me have mine and we agreed to disagree on things…He never left me with any doubt of his feelings, an emotional rawness and honesty that could be overwhelming if you faced it full frontal…but on hindsight I realised that it was his honesty that either altered or liberated me once emotions simmered down…
I remember countless times sitting in my room full of indignant anger and feeling that I was very misunderstood but at the back of my mind I knew with deep conviction that if I reached out and hugged him, or picked up the phone, or got home and say hello or help...he was always at the other end with open arms! Did I hug him enough? Did I tell him just how much his love meant to me? I don’t know…I don’t think any number of hugs or thank you’s would be enough to show him a fraction of my gratitude…
I know that I will find love and acceptance in this world…no doubt my grief will hurt a little less over time and ultimately my tears will trickle and dry. I am, after all, strong…but I will greatly miss my Baba’s love because he loved me as me....
Fare-the-well Baba, rest in peace and know you are loved and missed.
Sometimes one myself why I turn to write…. I write to express my fleeting thoughts, a slice of my mind…I write because it liberates me, it reminds me…I write because it heals me. I write so that I have something to recollect and muse over when I am lost for words.
I write hoping that at least one person can understand me – and if that person is just me, that’s ok.