a moment when you suddenly feel that you understand, or suddenly become conscious of, something that is very important to you
“You shouldn’t hate him. He is still your dad.” –My mom
Yes, mom. It would’ve been easier if he was such a good father figure. Not only he hurt you, he also left home when i was five. I mean, I liked him when I was little but as I grew up and learnt that he went to another woman instead of going home… I started to hate him.
He did us wrong and he didn’t even try to make it up. He just left…
Well, he went back and forth to this house after like what? A year? But it doesn’t make up everything he’s done, mom.
Growing love is harder than developing hate towards him.
“Where’s your dad? I’ve only seen your mom so far…” –My not-so-close friend in middle school
I don’t know. I’m curious too. Maybe he’s alive somewhere. Maybe he died?
He’s certainly not at home this moment. I don’t even remember the last time he was home.
Oh, I wish I had the answer for you.
February 13, 2010
“Your dad is in coma right now. He was having a stroke” –My aunt
Wow. Great. After all that he has done to us he finally paid the price, right? The universe is fair. Karma does exist. Just great!
Am I happy? Then, what is this feeling?
February 14, 2010
“Your dad.. probably had a premonition of what was coming. He visited us, he went to his old friends, he was basically visiting everybody he knows around the town. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t visit you. He had it (stroke) after he took a shower. He wanted to go there (the city i live in) that morning.” –My dad’s relative
I sipped the tea they served. It already went cold. I couldn’t say a thing neither could I lift my face. I just stared at the empty little teacup. Yet I was fully aware of how many eyes were on me at that time. I was in a totally unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers. I guessed they’re my dad’s relatives.
My dad passed away in this house. It took seven hours drive from where I live.
I could see how much people who live in this house care about my dad… I was somehow thankful.
At least he was surrounded by love until he dies.
My mom and I shared a bed together at that night after his burial. It was a rather quiet night until she began telling me stories I’ve always wanted to hear. The explanation I’ve demanded from a long time. The truth.
My dad actually wasn’t as bad as I thought.
He always tried to make up his mistakes.
“You should know that he truly loves you. He’s always concerned about you and your brother.” –My mom
All of sudden I realized what I felt. I felt sorry to my dad. I was angry at myself, at the world. I felt so stupid that I used to hate him.
The regret rapidly expanded, breached and damaged the inside of my heart.
At that time the reality hit me hard.
I love him too. I don’t hate him.
But now I’ve got no chance to tell him anymore.
He passed away.
He said his goodbyes, just not to me, my brother and my mom.
He left this world before I could say sorry to him.
But he’s not coming back this time.