Ode to my Dad

All of us will experience loss during the course of our lives, be it someone dear to you in your family circle or friends. It is the death of a parent, however, that comes with an especially keen edge that makes a ragged cut. And that cut is slow to heal.

I lost my Dad recently – a little more than a week ago – and it was a hard shot to take. My Dad had suffered a stroke a year before and he became ill for some time. Despite our physician's verdict that he would be unable to walk again and be confined to bed only, he beat the odds. He walked again although it was not like the way he used to be. His memory thank God functioned well after his brain hemorrhage. It was only his physical strength and emotion that suffered a damage.

Each week afterward he seemed to get better in spite of some minor relapses. He could even carry my 11 months old nephew at his back. When he prayed at our little musholla (praying place smaller than mosque), this little boy would climb at his back and tucked at his hair. He would then gently lift him up and continued the ritual while watching over this little lad. So, I was not prepared of what was coming.

I know he would be gone someday as he aged. Afterall, death is the destination we all share. It is the one thing we can be certain about in life. Yet, I still cling to the belief that we would still have more years to spend. And this prolonged period was sufficient until I relocated to my hometown. I was wrong. Death is indeed only a whisper away.

The knowledge of the inevitable end provided no armor against the wound of his loss. I was still at my home in Jakarta to get ready to fly to Solo when my dad passed away. The last phone call I made to him lasted only a few seconds as he groaned in terrible pain. I tried to talk to him although he was well beyond hearing anything I had to say at that point. Then the phone went dead. Those last few moments, as important as they were, were not vital to the heart of our relationship. I’d said everything I really needed my Dad to know long before the day of his death, and there was nothing left to do but love him as he died.

However, I should have come home sooner. A pang of guilt washed over me.
The loss felt deeper when our relatives left the house after the funeral. This deep regret keeps tucking at the strings of my heart. How could I sleep well on the night he suffered the most painful agony; when the Angel of Death came uninvited to his bed? My tears could not ease this weight on my chest.

I sat down and started to write a couple of times, but always failed halfway through the first line. How was I going to tell the world how I felt about my Dad? It is as simple and beautiful as wild flowers on the mountain, yet words seem fail to capture its complicated simplicity. I wondered as I stared, first at my blank screen, then at my blank piece of paper, then again at the cruelly blinking cursor. How was I possibly going to describe the love I had for him, and the way his loss affected me and my family. I wracked my brain for several days to pour my heartfelt sorrow in a piece of paper. I tried to employ my craft to honor my Dad when I felt his loss most keenly. He had been such a big part of my development as a person that it broke my heart to think I might fall short and screw up his memory.

My dad had such a big personality. And I didn't think writing his best resume on a piece of paper would do him justice. I know that he had lived his life at the fullest, knowing that his presence had touched the lives of the people he met and those around him. I know that even his 'enemies' had fears for his stern conviction of the truth and justice. I know as well that his less unfortunate neighbors and friends respect him out of his affectionate heart. He can be as gentle as summer breeze and as fierce as the thundering winter wind. And he will be sorely missed either by friends and foes.

At the end, it is with a smile I bid farewell to my Dad before leaving for Jakarta, knowing that he was loved by all. As the sweet fragrant of roses' petals and jasmine on his fresh grave floated in the air, I know that he is now at peace in the realm of angels.