You must have noticed the lack of updates these past few weeks. The truth is, I haven't been feeling like myself lately. Some of you may already have known what have happened, some may not.
My father had passed away on the 23rd of November, at 9:40 a.m.
It is so strange writing down these words. Looking at it now, it feels as if I somehow misplaced him somewhere and I just forgot. Using the word "deceased" makes it sound too clinical and/or impersonal (like it happened to someone else). I refuse to use it because deep down he still exist to me.
It's the memories that make it real.
The open window in his room. The clothes he used to wear. The bottles he used to drink from. That faint hospital smell. His favourite ring. His wheelchair. The memories come and flood me, and when it happens... I become flustered. I forget what I was doing or what I needed to do. I guess if I have to describe the feeling... it's like there's a giant hole. A giant hole where my dad had been.
These past two years, my father had been the center of everything I was. I don't feel right if I have to leave my dad for too long. He had dementia, and you could never tell what might happen. He had other health problems too. There was this one time, I had came home late. When my brother and I reached home, it was dark and my dad was lying on the floor because he fell down. I looked for a new job after that. I was so scared. I felt like I had to do right by my father because I wasn't there when my mother passed away. I still can't get over that. It's not a sacrifice nor is it a responsibility. It was... just something I needed to do.
I hope my father passed away peacefully. I was at the hospital with him, holding his hand, because my siblings and I believed that he'd be that bit stronger if we held him. I held him because I don't want him to feel alone in a ward full of strangers. Maybe it's the romantic side of me that believes I am transferring my strength to him too. He suffered through heart attacks, stroke and some other complications and fought his last battle that day. When he went, at least he was surrounded by his family, the people who loved him.
Who still loves him.
Maybe that guilt of not taking care of him better (or that feeling of having have failed him as a daughter) will never go away. Just like it was with my mother. Maybe I could've done more or done something else. The "what ifs" and "I could haves" are always on my mind. It will probably be there for a long, long time. I know its unhealthy to dwell on these things, but I remember the good things, too.
The way he used to grin or the kisses he gave me. The little pats as he walked past me. The little jokes he used to tell. The indulgences he gives me. The strange gifts he used to bring home. The values and beliefs he taught. And the wishes he had of his children; to be happy and to be a human being. These memories are bittersweet.
I may still wake up in the middle of the night, thinking he's calling for me. I may still feel that pang, when I enter his room. But its okay. I will miss him so much like I miss my mother, but I hope, wherever he is now, he's with my mother, maybe squabbling as old couple often do, but happy.
Rest in peace, dad. I love you.
The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.- George Elliot
