Abbu

I cry for my father every day. In the shower, in the middle of the night, on my way to work, at work, while doing the dishes. I think of the last couple of minutes of his life, I play it out in my head over and over and over again. I was in the room when the doctors were trying to resuscitate him. All of it seemed to be happening in slow motion. Seemed like all the doctors, nurses were there. They were talking to each other in a low voice. Everyone seemed calm even though the room was full of flurries. Then they seemed to stop doing whatever they were doing in unison. What! Don't stop! I wanted to scream. The doctor in charge stopped next to me, on his way out, and then walked out without saying a word. That's it? I remember thinking. That's how life ends? I remember getting mad, sad, horrified, worried, crushed, lost - all at the same time. I spent the last 18 days of his life with him, but I didn't tell him all the things I wanted to tell him. I was in denial. I was thinking if I say goodbye, it will somehow quicken the process. I regret that decision every day. I wish I had told him more how much I love him. I wish I had told him how much he meant to me, how much he influenced my life. He was truly a great person. The world is worse off without him.