The death of a parent is not something you bounce back easily from, even when you think you have, even when you think you're doing fine, for a few hours, days, or maybe even some weeks. That's a fallacy. The death of a parent is always there, it's not something you can forget. That absence will always be present with you, the rest of your entire life.
The death of a parent is not a joke.
It's not to be taken lightly.
The death of a parent will often still not feel real, even though I know, I know - trust me, I know (!) - that I will never see my father again. I know. And yet sometimes it still hits me - "he is really gone", "he is never coming back", or "I will never see him again". Recently I remembered something and I said "Don't tell my parents" and then I realized, I only have one parent left. I've lost half of who I come from.
The death of my parent made me realize that I didn't take death seriously before. I hadn't seen it. I hadn't experienced it in someone close to me, someone I come from. I don't think you're the same person after you see someone no longer living - especially the way it happened with my father, us getting off the plane not knowing what to expect when we get to the hospital. And there he is. Gone. We just missed him. Buried the next day, next to his own parents. Of course we didn't sleep that week. How could we?
What a truly awful and traumatic week that was, that one week in India, returning after 10 years, and that's why we returned. Because Papa, returned.
At least he was smiling, I keep telling myself almost everyday. At least he was smiling. That smile on my father's face, makes his death and the way it happened, much more bearable. It's a blessing, really, for him and for us. And it didn't go away. That smile makes it all better, makes me think it was meant to happen this way, when it did, where it did. Hard for us, but good for him.
The death of a parent is all too real. There is nothing more real in life, than death. It is irreversible. It is final. There is nothing you can do about it - nothing, absolutely nothing. All you can do is cry, grieve, have regrets, have guilt, and eventually somehow in some way try to find a way to go back to your old life, while being so haunted, while seeming fine but actually not really being fine at all. Not at all. Seeming fine, is a joke really. Not sure when I'll actually be "fine". I need more time.
I mean how can you be fine? It's such a massive loss. Such a massive loss. That loss needs to be respected, and given time. The death of a parent needs to be respected.
The death of a parent will turn your world literally upside down. There has been nothing more surreal, more bizarre, nothing with constant 24/7 moments and thoughts of "is this actually happening?" - nothing, nothing at all. When I realized in the bathroom of my now-former favourite coffee shop in NY over speakerphone that my father could die, it was as if the ground beneath me no longer existed. It didn't. And it doesn't. What ground do I have to stand on? I stood next to the ground that my father is buried in.
The death of a parent means your life will never be the same again. Ever. Nothing will ever be the same. Our lives are forever changed. Again, there is no turning back. There is no choice. Who am I without my father? Who will I be, without my mother, if she goes before me? I can't think about that right now. I need to be kind to myself, as people keep telling me.
I didn't sleep much last night. Today was Father's Day. Our first without our father. Recently it was Eid, our first without our father. Soon it will be my birthday, my first without my father. It's a year of firsts, grave firsts. Often I wonder what my father is doing. I talk to him every now and then. It's a coping mechanism obviously, for my own comfort, but it's instinctive, and you cannot help it after the death of a parent.
In a few hours I'll wake up, play chess with my cousin - because the last time I saw Papa, he taught me how to play chess - and we will play to honour his memory. His legacy? Yes - I'll make chess his legacy. Then I shall drive back. I think my father would be happy that I spent Father's Day with my cousin, with one of his favourite nephews. I am happy that I did, that I didn't have to spend this day alone in that massive city, in a county of 10 million people in which I realized today, that none of those 10 million people know my family. Zeroe. I needed to be around someone who knew my father.
The death of a parent makes you realize how petty and insignificant 99% of your problems or other people's problems are. I'm learning, I'm still learning. It's an ongoing lesson.
The death of my parent made me realize instantly and automatically that I was not compassionate or understanding at all when someone else's parent passed away. Now I know what it's like. It's obvious most of the time if someone has experienced loss or not - you hear it in their voice, you see it in their face, it's in their choice of words to you. The way they hug you. They get it. I didn't get it before. Now I get it. You seek out those, who also get it. You can't help it.
Miss you Dad.
The death of a parent is not a joke.
It's not to be taken lightly.
The death of a parent will often still not feel real, even though I know, I know - trust me, I know (!) - that I will never see my father again. I know. And yet sometimes it still hits me - "he is really gone", "he is never coming back", or "I will never see him again". Recently I remembered something and I said "Don't tell my parents" and then I realized, I only have one parent left. I've lost half of who I come from.
The death of my parent made me realize that I didn't take death seriously before. I hadn't seen it. I hadn't experienced it in someone close to me, someone I come from. I don't think you're the same person after you see someone no longer living - especially the way it happened with my father, us getting off the plane not knowing what to expect when we get to the hospital. And there he is. Gone. We just missed him. Buried the next day, next to his own parents. Of course we didn't sleep that week. How could we?
What a truly awful and traumatic week that was, that one week in India, returning after 10 years, and that's why we returned. Because Papa, returned.
At least he was smiling, I keep telling myself almost everyday. At least he was smiling. That smile on my father's face, makes his death and the way it happened, much more bearable. It's a blessing, really, for him and for us. And it didn't go away. That smile makes it all better, makes me think it was meant to happen this way, when it did, where it did. Hard for us, but good for him.
The death of a parent is all too real. There is nothing more real in life, than death. It is irreversible. It is final. There is nothing you can do about it - nothing, absolutely nothing. All you can do is cry, grieve, have regrets, have guilt, and eventually somehow in some way try to find a way to go back to your old life, while being so haunted, while seeming fine but actually not really being fine at all. Not at all. Seeming fine, is a joke really. Not sure when I'll actually be "fine". I need more time.
I mean how can you be fine? It's such a massive loss. Such a massive loss. That loss needs to be respected, and given time. The death of a parent needs to be respected.
The death of a parent will turn your world literally upside down. There has been nothing more surreal, more bizarre, nothing with constant 24/7 moments and thoughts of "is this actually happening?" - nothing, nothing at all. When I realized in the bathroom of my now-former favourite coffee shop in NY over speakerphone that my father could die, it was as if the ground beneath me no longer existed. It didn't. And it doesn't. What ground do I have to stand on? I stood next to the ground that my father is buried in.
The death of a parent means your life will never be the same again. Ever. Nothing will ever be the same. Our lives are forever changed. Again, there is no turning back. There is no choice. Who am I without my father? Who will I be, without my mother, if she goes before me? I can't think about that right now. I need to be kind to myself, as people keep telling me.
I didn't sleep much last night. Today was Father's Day. Our first without our father. Recently it was Eid, our first without our father. Soon it will be my birthday, my first without my father. It's a year of firsts, grave firsts. Often I wonder what my father is doing. I talk to him every now and then. It's a coping mechanism obviously, for my own comfort, but it's instinctive, and you cannot help it after the death of a parent.
In a few hours I'll wake up, play chess with my cousin - because the last time I saw Papa, he taught me how to play chess - and we will play to honour his memory. His legacy? Yes - I'll make chess his legacy. Then I shall drive back. I think my father would be happy that I spent Father's Day with my cousin, with one of his favourite nephews. I am happy that I did, that I didn't have to spend this day alone in that massive city, in a county of 10 million people in which I realized today, that none of those 10 million people know my family. Zeroe. I needed to be around someone who knew my father.
The death of a parent makes you realize how petty and insignificant 99% of your problems or other people's problems are. I'm learning, I'm still learning. It's an ongoing lesson.
The death of my parent made me realize instantly and automatically that I was not compassionate or understanding at all when someone else's parent passed away. Now I know what it's like. It's obvious most of the time if someone has experienced loss or not - you hear it in their voice, you see it in their face, it's in their choice of words to you. The way they hug you. They get it. I didn't get it before. Now I get it. You seek out those, who also get it. You can't help it.
Miss you Dad.
