Two days from now, nine years ago, my father died. In a small hospital, in an even smaller town in Kerala. His lungs failed and he gasped for breath while my mother and sister stood watching. Nurses and doctors didn't know what to do with him and just kept pumping oxygen into his body. When it looked like he wasn't responding, they looked at my mother and asked if they could stop with the pumping. And, she nodded yes.
I've imagined this scene in many different ways with many different outcomes. Childish fantasy. There are times when I think my father's death hasn't affected me as much. And, then there are times when I think it's affected in such a profound way that I haven't realised it yet.
However I feel about his death though, this post is for him. For the man who gave me a second name that I will carry till I die. For passing on his love for dogs. For giving me my first dog when I was two. For giving me the best education that any girl could ask for. For loving me even though he wanted me to be a boy.
Thank you, Abu. I miss you in more ways than I could possibly realise.
I've imagined this scene in many different ways with many different outcomes. Childish fantasy. There are times when I think my father's death hasn't affected me as much. And, then there are times when I think it's affected in such a profound way that I haven't realised it yet.
However I feel about his death though, this post is for him. For the man who gave me a second name that I will carry till I die. For passing on his love for dogs. For giving me my first dog when I was two. For giving me the best education that any girl could ask for. For loving me even though he wanted me to be a boy.
Thank you, Abu. I miss you in more ways than I could possibly realise.
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