Pappa

When my father suddenly passed, it was shocking for my family. Yes, he had been unwell for a few months now. He had been suffering from Parkinson’s, and battling it for nearly 11 years. But he was fine otherwise. No sugar problems, no pressure problems. Nothing, except for a debilitating disease that attacked his nerves and muscles, causing him pain.

So when he passed of a sudden brain clot in May, we were in shock. It was unexpected, especially because it had been one of his better days that day. The weeks that followed numbed me, and I just ran through each day solely on routine. I’d see my sister and mum cry on the phone to each other, and I’d wonder if I was really so stone-hearted that I didn’t even feel like crying over one of the most important persons in my life passing on.

And then my mum went to the US to stay with my sister, and my grief came crashing down upon me. I found myself having to rush to my room so many times a day, simply sobbing over the photo of my father in my phone. Just the thought of him would choke me up, and I’d be unable to speak. Even today, as I type these words, my eyes tear up at the memory of his calm, comforting eyes.

Grief – it never ceases. It comes in waves, ebbing at time, and rushing in at others. But it doesn’t go away ever. And why should it? It isn’t like the love you have for your lost loved one is any lesser. It stays there, just waiting to catch you unaware.

I felt this sudden grief when my cousin shared with me an old video of his birthday with my father in the background. I became so lost in the video, so absorbed in my father’s smile and his loud singing of the birthday song, so happy in that six-year-old moment, that when I looked up, his loss sprang up on me all over again.

It felt shocking that he really was gone, that he would not sing for me ever again, or that he would not be there for me ever again. Because he was there, every step of the way. When I had depression and literally needed a shoulder to cry upon. When I was upset about my book being rejected by a publisher and needed a morale boost. When I just needed him – anywhere at all – to be picked up after a bike accident, to be picked up from school or college, to be my listening ear, to be the one who understood.

HE WAS THERE! And now, he isn’t. No matter how spiritual a person I am, and I am very so, I keep preaching about the soul, and afterlife, and the beauty of physical and non-physical  life – I cannot bear the thought that I will not be able to ever again have his arms wrap around me, or that I will never be able to kiss the top of his head again.

A couple weeks back, I made my husband take a detour on our way to visit someone, to my mum’s parents’ home. It was a trip I’d made tens of dozens of times with my family in my childhood, stopping at a particular bakery on the way, where my mum would buy cookies and biscuits for us.

As my husband drove me down the familiar roads, my heart contracted and yearned for those old days. It wasn’t that I wanted to buy anything at that age-old bakery, or actually visit my uncle and aunt at their home (though that felt good too). I had wanted to capture those moments again. I had wanted to see my mum gossiping with her sisters in the courtyard. I’d wanted to see my sister sitting with my father in the balcony. I'd wanted to be there with them again.

I’d wanted to feel the love and security of those days gone past again. And that is all we want, isn’t it? The warmth and security of their love that only their presence allows.

But now, I only have some videos and photos in my phone to cherish.

I miss you Pappa.