Today marks 14 years since my father passed away. Until last year, the number of years he had been with me and the number of years he had not, had been equal. Starting this year, the number of years he has not been with us will supersede the number of years he has been (for me). From the age of 13 till the day I die, I will be fatherless.

Tody I write the last letter to my father. Not because I will miss him any less but because by writing letters to him, I had this constant belief that he was watching over me. Since he died when I was at very tender age, this belief became a huge obstacle and I refused to believe at times (even now) that he has passed away. So today, by writing the last letter, I pour my heart out one last time. So here goes:

Pyaaray abbu!

14 years ago, in a heart attack that was very sudden and very unexpected, you passed away. I was barely 13 and growing up, I would realise that I knew so less about you. I would ask my mother, your siblings, anyone who knew him, in a desperate attempt to get to know you. So most of my knowledge about him and his characteristics is second-hand. Even then, there are so many things I want to know, so many questions, so many opinions.. but I’m too late.

Back when I was in my teenage, I kept asking the question “Why me?”. Why was I the one who had to go through this? Why was you taken away? Why was my family chosen for this tragedy? But the question constantly revolved around my own self. It always implied that *I* was the one who had suffered the most from this tragedy, not my grandmother, not my mother and certainly not my brothers. But over the past couple of years, I have realised that we’re all in this together. It affects us all the same way. We’re all heartbroken; we have been since the day you passed away; everyone just dealt with it differently.

Whenever I thought of you, I always though of how much I had suffered because you weren’t around when I was growing up. But what I didn’t realise was how much everyone else was suffering. How my dadi must have felt when she realised her son had passed away, how my mother must feel every day without her companion, confidante and best friend, how my brothers felt having to bury their father in their teenage, how your sibling feel knowing their number is one less. And it was then I realised that this is not about me, that this was never about me. It was about us all, how we’re supposed to come together to strengthen each other, how this tragedy is supposed to bring all of us together and now it feels like I’m looking straight into God’s plan.

Every time I missed you, someone or the other told me “don’t worry, he’s watching over you”. Hear that a thousand times and you start believing it. Being a teenager, I was already so vulnerable and after constantly hearing this, I kept believing that maybe this means there could be some mode of communication, some way to talk. So I wrote you letters. Tens, hundreds, thousands. And then it hit me – it’s all just talk. Everyone believes what they want to believe to seek closure and move on from tragedies but this fairy tale talk wasn’t working for me. So I had to find another way.

I was talking to this woman who had lost her mother at a very young age. I told her that it’s been over a decade and I still can’t seem to move on and she said she stopped believing the “watching over you” talk years ago. She said the acceptance that a person has passed away and that they are just not there, that is what helps in moving on. Nothing else. And she was right. So I stopped believing in it, and while the days do get difficult at times, there is also some peace in knowing that he is in God’s hands now. To Him do we belong and to Him do we return.

Every single time I missed you, people would tell me to “be strong”. What they wouldn’t add is how. How can I be strong when the grief is tearing me apart? How can I be strong when I need my father, his love and care, and he’s not there? How am I supposed to be strong when dealing with the world? How do I strengthen myself if I’m at my most vulnerable when I miss you? I guess people say that when they are not sure of what they want to say but it’s the most inappropriate to say to someone who’s already at their weakest. As if, if I’m not strong, if I show that I’m weak, I’ve already lost the fight. But 14 years have passed and I’m still fighting. The battle’s not lost yet.

I have said it countless times before and I will say it again: There is not one day ever since you passed away that I haven’t thought of you or missed you. But that is not all. That should NOT be all. I feel extremely proud when someone says I’m your daughter. But I also need to prove it by showing the compassion, the kindness and the love that you showed everyone. I need to be like you.

People said that time heals all wounds. 14 years later, I beg to differ. When you’ve lost a parent, time does not heal anything. It makes things worse when the memories fade and you can not recall their voice or remember what their perfume smelled like. Abbu, you were remembered at all occasions. You were remembered during my wedding, you were missed when Amal was born, you were needed when ammi got sick, your absence was felt when I needed guidance about my career, about my life choices. You were missed when I felt like I couldn’t live another day without my heart hurting. I remember the day of my wedding; I got extremely emotional that you were here to witness it, to give me away. So when the time for rukhsati came and I was hugging and saying goodbye to my family, I hugged my elder brother, who after you passed away has been a fatherly figure for me, and I just couldn’t let go because I had wished, more than anything, that both my parents would be there at my wedding. You were and are and will always be missed by those who have loved you and who will never let you be forgotten.

I try to visit your grave frequently. I thought visiting you there would get easier with time but it gets difficult with each passing visit. I remember, at 13, I had this weird delusion that maybe we’d buried the wrong man and that you were alive somewhere trying to come back home. So I would go to the graveyard but without much feeling. When realisation dawned upon me, it came with tears and anguish and anger and finally, acceptance. Last time I came to visit you, I saw a tiny little flower sprouting from between the mud and stones. The image gave me nightmares for months afterwards.

I do not intend to forget you. I don’t think any child can ever forget their parent especially such a wonderful one. You will always, always be in my heart. I hope that whenever I have kids, I will raise them as admirably as you and amma have raised us. It’s agonising to know that they won’t be able to know you, but I know that’s where my family and my relatives come into play. I don’t think I could be as perfect as you and amma were as parents but I am your daughter after all. I will not give up.

Your laugh is one thing that my brain has constantly kept in my memory and I hope there never comes a time in my life that it fades away. That genuine, unhindered laugh, that twinkle in your eye. I hope that you are smiling and laughing the same way up there. I hope I get to laugh like that some day too.

With all of the love I will ever have,

Your beti.

P.S I promise to take care of amma. She gave us everything she had after you. It is time to give everything back.