It was the evening of Saturday, 29th October, 2016. I was at my mom's home. It was about 8 O'clock when my 2.5 years old son, Hussain, came to me and told me, “Mamma, Naana Abbu (maternal grandfather) has arrived home. Come and meet him.” I told him that I would go to him after some time. My father was sitting in the T.V lounge while I was in a bedroom, chatting with a friend on Facebook via desktop computer.
Hussain came to me again after about five minutes. He insisted me to go and meet my father. I again told him that I would go after some time. He went away but came back again after a few minutes. This time he pulled my hand with full force to let me stand up. “Come, Mamma. Come. Meet Naana Abbu.” I got irritated of his act. He was interrupting my chat badly. This time I scolded him and he didn't come back to force me again.
His act was very strange. He never did this before. It was not the first time I was at my mom's home. It was not the first time that my father came home and I met him a little late. Hussain never forced me this much to meet him at once. But this time, he was consistently pushing me to do so. Perhaps, he had sensed something that no one else could. I might have forgotten about his act, if the future didn't come up with the unexpected. It was the last day, I saw my father in his consciousness. It was the last day he could understood and respond to what I would say; And I miss that chance. I didn't go to him early despite my son insisting me too much.
When I went to the T.V. lounge, my father was moving to his bed room. He was feeling a little tired that day. I only greeted him and didn't talk much. He went to his bed. Later on the day, my husband came to pick me for my home and I left my mom's home. Though we had a dinner together and a see off gathering at the door, but I didn't have too much conversation with my father.
On Tuesday evening, I found out that my father was admitted to a hospital. When I reached there, he was in ICU. He was awake but not recognizing anyone and was not speaking a word. My mom told me he was having high fever since Sunday morning and had not spoken a single word since then. When his fever was not cured through the doctor's treatment at home, they took him to the hospital. The doctor told us that his senses was leaving him gradually the power to speak, the power to see, the power to hear, and finally by Tuesday night he was in coma. His eyes were closed. He was on ventilator for the next two days. On Friday evening, his brain stopped working completely, his heart refused to pump and his lungs seized to breath. He left us. My father left us forever.
Death is inevitable. All of us have to leave this world one day or the other. I have no complaints to God for taking my father from us, as He knows what's the best time for everyone. However, I have regret. I regret those ten minutes in which I could hear the voice of my father. I could talk to him but I didn't. Despite being immensely forced by my son, I remained involve in a useless chat.
If the pages of calendar could be turned back and the hands of the clock would take me to the evening of 29th October, 2016, I would open the door for my father and would greet him warmly. I would hug him and say, “Father, I love you more than anyone else.”
I would hold his hands in mine and would kiss them saying, “Father, these hands are the treasure. I can never pay back what you have given me with efforts of these hands. Your selfless efforts has brought comfort and ease to my life. It is your hard work that has made me able to stand confidently with the world. I owe you for every small thing I have acquired in my life. I owe you for all the successes I have accomplished. Without you, my existence wouldn't be even like a pebble. You are not only the best father but the best man I have ever seen in my life. You are my ideal since ever. I am proud of being your daughter. I am grateful to God who gave me you as my father.”
I wish I could go back to those moments and see the affectionate smile of father in response to my words. I wish. I wish. I wish……….
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Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexel
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