This year has been a whirlwind. Last year ended for me on Septmber 12, 2013. Months before that my life was already changing direction. I was the quintessential spoiled daughter, sister and wife. Protected. Taken care of financially, and emotionally. For my father, I was his youngest and only daughter. For my brothers their only sister. For my husband, the woman he fought to marry. Thats who I used to be. Happy in my ignorance of the devastation that lay in waiting. Then a looming sense of dread started setting in. Something wasnt quite right. My parents came to visit me in England, April 2012. But why was I so sad? I kept looking at my father. Soaking every inch of him in. That sarcastic grin. The loud voice. But why was the man who loved food avoiding it? None of the food I was making was exciting him. This was a man who was a complete foody...coke floats, chocolate, popcorn, nihari..he loved all of it. I cried until my eyes were swollen saying bye to my parents. Why was I so upset? For gods sake, I said to myself...grow up. Two months later I moved out of our dream house, left my tv show and moved back home. There he was, my father at the airport with open arms. As usual I melted right there into his chest...and as always the sound of his heart beating in my ear reassuring me, everything was going to be ok. Every daughter loves their father. Fathers adore their daughters. My father and I though...he was my rock. My security blanket. My idol. My hero. My protector. He was my savior. He was the first man I loved and the only man that had always put me first. And i knew months leading upto it...something was wrong. Why wasnt he telling his jokes and sharing his long winded stories? Why wasnt he writing anymore? And that cough. That cough that doctors kept dismissing...the same one I pretended not to notice. Then came the worst day of my life. The diagnosis: stage 4 lung cancer. What? No. Im sorry theres been a mistake. In a split second my belief in the universe, heaven and religion was gone. Silence. That dreadful, loud painstaking silence. My heart was beating in my throat...i was finding it hard to breathe. I couldnt cry, because i could not wrap my head around what was being said. Sitting in the hospital bed smiling, fluid drained from his lungs, feeling better. He didnt know. I feel good he said, You look much better Abbu I said combing his hair. Touching his cheek. Your gonna be absolutely fine. We fought. He wanted to fight. Until he couldnt. My world was collapsing. My father was literally dying a little everyday and all I could do was watch and argue with the doctors. Fix him! Organic juicing, holistic doctors, faith healers. Anyone. Please. We were desperate. Ill give up years of my life. I promise. Bargaining with a god that wasnt listening. I argued with him to fight harder. Eat! Just eat Abbu! Please Abbu just eat! Half a glass of milk. Butter pecan milkshakes. Id plead with him. I could see he wanted to, but he couldnt. This was the same man that would do anything for me. My father would appease all my tantrumy demands. He couldnt see me cry hed say. Now, i could see he wanted things to be back to normal, but his mind and body were betraying him. I spent all my time with my toddler at whatever facility my father was in. As did my brothers, my cousins, their husbands. My husband. The nurses used to praise us. What good kids he has. We would always answer, this is no ordinary father you see. But the pain was excruciating I started self-medicating. Looking for anything to help me cope. Looking for validation in all the wrong places. People extending the pretense of friendship but seeing a woman who was vulnerable and an easy prey. The distractions worked for only so long. Then that day came. That nightmare. The end of my world as I knew it. Supremely surreal. This frail man, who was my savior was taking his last breaths. I lied down next to him. Gently lay down on his fragile, bony chest and listened to the slow beating of his heart. I hugged him. Kissed him. Talked to him. Knowing he was holding on for us. Its ok Abbu..You can go. I lied. In my mind I was screaming and yelling. Dont go!! Please! Just a little longer. Please! But he was gone. I kissed my fathers forehead as they carried his lifeless body out. The last time he would leave our house. When my mind is quiet, I hear him. Sometimes its just him calling my name...sometimes its that hearty laugh of his. I see him everywhere. Ive distanced myself from who I used to be. How could I be daddys girl without a father? Its true after all...there will always only be one man that will without expectations love a girl. Yes, its been a rough year to say the least. Im still traumatized. Raw with wounds that arent healing. Walking in a haze. Shaken to the core. The image of a tiny weak man clawing the walls as his organs were shutting down haunts me. I search for the toothy grin of the boisterous man that greeted me every morning when i came downstairs. Lots of girls lose their fathers. I lost more. I lost my sense of me, my identity. I want to apologise to anyone who expected more but got less. Ive just been trying to find my way. Navigating my way through this sticky web. Ill never be the girl that I was, but I hope I can one day be the kind of woman my father would be proud of.
Posted on: Thu, 28 Aug 2014 19:08:17 +0000
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