I was not there when he passed away. And it hurt. He had been undergoing chemotherapy for the cancer which had spread through most of his chest.
It had started with him losing his job at the embassy. That was when he started drinking and smoking. He always used to say it was a way to forget his pain and vent his frustration. Then he got an even better job, and the substance abuse did not stop. We begged, we prayed, we cajoled, but nothing.
He wouldn’t quit no matter what we said. So we learnt to live with it.
Six months ago, he had come home at about 5pm, which was strange. He got off work at 4pm and usually didn’t get home till 10pm or thereabout. From the way he looked, we immediately knew something was wrong. My mum and I were the only ones at home and immediately he saw her, he burst into tears.
‘’I have cancer’’, he said, his voice trembling, ‘’and the doctors say I have just nine months to live.’’
Immediately my mum heard those words, she broke down too. The first thought that came to my head was that it served him right. After all it was no one’s fault.
Six months later, it began to dawn on me that he would soon be dead; if the doctors got their prediction right, that is. And I realized that despite all he had done, and all he had put us through, this was a man I called ‘dad’, a man who had taken me for walks in the park right from when I was in my pram till the point where things went awry just a few years before. I remembered the look of love I used to see in his eyes. Then it struck me that despite his short comings I was going to miss him. I think that was the point at which I forgave him.
A month later, I had to go to camp for my National youth service. It was in my second week there that my mum had called and broken the news to me. The doctors had been wrong after all. They had missed their prediction by a month and a half.
It had started with him losing his job at the embassy. That was when he started drinking and smoking. He always used to say it was a way to forget his pain and vent his frustration. Then he got an even better job, and the substance abuse did not stop. We begged, we prayed, we cajoled, but nothing.
He wouldn’t quit no matter what we said. So we learnt to live with it.
Six months ago, he had come home at about 5pm, which was strange. He got off work at 4pm and usually didn’t get home till 10pm or thereabout. From the way he looked, we immediately knew something was wrong. My mum and I were the only ones at home and immediately he saw her, he burst into tears.
‘’I have cancer’’, he said, his voice trembling, ‘’and the doctors say I have just nine months to live.’’
Immediately my mum heard those words, she broke down too. The first thought that came to my head was that it served him right. After all it was no one’s fault.
Six months later, it began to dawn on me that he would soon be dead; if the doctors got their prediction right, that is. And I realized that despite all he had done, and all he had put us through, this was a man I called ‘dad’, a man who had taken me for walks in the park right from when I was in my pram till the point where things went awry just a few years before. I remembered the look of love I used to see in his eyes. Then it struck me that despite his short comings I was going to miss him. I think that was the point at which I forgave him.
A month later, I had to go to camp for my National youth service. It was in my second week there that my mum had called and broken the news to me. The doctors had been wrong after all. They had missed their prediction by a month and a half.
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