Mr. Mothei

I wish I could tell someone. Scream my lungs out, share my pain, eliminate my anguish. But who...?

How do I tell him I sympathize with him?

How do I tell him I feel his pain?

How do I let him know, am thinking of him!

How do I let him know am here for him?

Just a few weeks ago, we were in the same shoes. I looked at my father, his face swollen almost like if you were to puncture him with a needle, he would pop. His eyes, nose, lips, neck, arms, legs and feet. I only knew the voice behind the man. He was waddling...no longer strolling... 

A few hours later he is in ICU. So flat, so pale, no volume, so dry. Is this the man who was so full in the morning? Now, so empty. I would struggle to get the same pin past his skin.

When his life flashed in front of his eyes, it also flashed in front of ours. How vulnerable is this breath of air we take for granted. What does it mean to be alive?

What does it mean to be a father?

What does it mean to a girl child to have a father?

Could it have the same meaning to a boy child?

His father was not that lucky. He shared all the critical moments of taking him to this doctor and that doctor. When he rushes him to hospital in the middle of the night. When he rushes to check his blood pressure. The roller coaster of emotions when a parent is ill is incomparable to the one you ride at the theme park. It's not all joy, laughter and screams. It's agony, anxiety, forced smiles and tears held back. 

The moment that man you held in such regard, is dragging his feet like someone who can't lift his legs, walking at such a slow pace you would swear he has never ever been in a hurry.

Perhaps when he has breathed his last breath, you miss the old man with his walking stick. 

RTM, may your dad's soul rest in peace am thinking of you in this trying time for the wonderful friend you have been and will always be. You were always there for your dad. Especially the last few weeks and days...for all your time and effort. Am certain he appreciates that...