A husband to a lovely and amazing woman at 20, first time dad at 21 and father of five at 30. Life went by pretty fast for him. He had traveled, had his adventures, made a few lifelong friendships, made mistakes and wrong decisions, broke rules, failed, succeeded but most importantly he had loved.
From a young age I've witnessed how this courageous man did his best to take care of his family, to try and protect them and provide for them despite his limited income. He was very determined and a little too proud and stubborn at times. He was quick-tempered yet a people person at the same time...he was complicated like that and he had a lot of flaws making him like everyone else, only, he wasn't (at least for me). He had strong convictions and was someone who couldn't be manipulated or intimidated by anyone. Stating all this would seem like I knew him so well. Yes I do but at the same time I don't think I knew him enough.
On one fateful day of February 1992, on the way home from work while driving on a rough steep road he lost control of his motorbike causing it to fall down and he then hit his head on a tree trunk. The impact was so strong it caused a serious damage in his brain. He stayed in a coma for days and spent months in different hospitals. He never died but a part of him did. Since the accident he was never able to neither walk nor think like his old self again (which perhaps was for the better, that way he wasn't always conscious of his sufferings). His family, who was totally depending on him, had not been doing so well since the accident. Then things got better and got so bad again and the cycle continues. Everyone did their part to make things better and made mistakes which got things really bad. He witnessed all of it and whenever things were bad he sometimes felt so helpless and expressed his feelings of wanting to end his life. It wasn't easy for everyone but life had to go on.
I was seven when this accident happened and my memories of him in good health slowly became like parts of a long time dream. I saw his old pictures, heard stories about him (both good and not so good), heard his voice in a few recordings, learned about his dreams and ambitions when everything was well and somehow they didn't seem to be enough. Sometimes these things made me feel like I didn't know him enough but even though the accident changed him and changed things it was evident that he never loved his family any lesser. I spent my childhood helping to take care of him and I had to accept that I knew him in a different way.
This man was my father. He lived a hard life having had to stay in bed for the last twenty four and a half years of his existence. We often hear people complain about anything, from the weather to daily traffic congestion to how they can't find the latest gadget in their local shops. We sometimes forget about those who are suffering in any way. How can we possibly be so selfish and insensitive at the same time?
For me, a part of him died when he had that accident twenty five years ago now and when he passed away three months ago it meant freedom from all his sufferings but this doesn't make it any less painful. I still long to see him again, talk to him again, give him a hug and be with him. However, like my husband always tell me, longing for such things is me being selfish because he already suffered enough. Now, I'm sure that he is in a far better place where there is no more pain, no more frustrations, no more sufferings and no more unrealized dreams. Yes, my father died twice but in the hearts of those of us who love him he forever lives.
