It’s been little over a decade now; he left for his heavenly abode.
I was quite young and fragile to even react. But I could sense the loss. I never revealed my emotions, my pain then, and managed to masquerade it to the best of my ability. Somehow, I did not want to garner any sympathy. I did not want anyone to pity me, of an irreparable loss. I believed, my pain was my own, and I had started living within the walls I’d built around. It was then, when I was very young.
I chose never to talk about it, yet could not fight the memories that evolved time and again – they refuse to abandon me. In my solitary moments, I reminisce those childhood days, which revolved around him – how I yearned for him to return from work, sit on his lap and play, how he helped me finish my home-work in the evenings. I invariably miss those days of long walks, holding his hand, child-like prancing all the way. Those nearby market-rides, when he would buy me things I loved – frocks, stationery, books, toffees etc… I would smile coyly on returning home, looking at the galore of things around, bought just for me. The more I remember… I feel sorry. Sorry, for the times were short-lived.
I was too small to remember everything clearly(partially I blame it to my failing memory), and when I grew up to remember and cherish more of such special moments – he was gone. Years have passed by, but I think I have failed to come to terms with the loss. I think, I will never be able to. It’s difficult. Yes, I feel helpless at times. I believe, he is around, close by, watching over me, protecting me. But, it doesn’t help when I need him the most, to call him out – to talk, to discuss, to seek guidance, or just being around to say “everything’s goin’ to be okay!
Today, the only difference is I am strong enough to express my pain, my agony, my irreparable loss. But, I miss him. I miss, not having him around. I miss my father. I miss him badly. I wish he lived a little longer.
(P.S. A post written some time ago, but could push the publish button only today)