Dad's birthday
Today has been an emotionally tough day for me. I cried when I woke up. I cried on my drive to work. I cried in the bathroom at work. I cried in the car on the way home.
Today is my father's 65th birthday. I video-conferenced him on Skype in the morning at 6 AM (Malaysian time 7 PM) to wish him a happy birthday. I woke the girls up, their bleary eyes confused with sleep, to put them in front of the computer.
I've been feeling sad because today is the first time my father celebrated his birthday without my mother, whom had passed away last year on December 5. This would be the first birthday he is without my mother at his side since 1976. It has been 39 years. He was 26 years old then, 9 years younger than I am today. It has been so long... so many years spent with someone at your side. So many years of love and yet seemingly so many years left. So many moments of happiness stolen from our family with the sudden death of my mother. When I look at my young daughters, it makes me sad and angry at all the times they will never again hear her infectious laughter, her characteristic sneeze, the pouting whine of her voice, the smell of her hair, or the feel of her skin. And thinking about all of this today, even 11 months after her death, makes me cry.
Today is my father's 65th birthday. I video-conferenced him on Skype in the morning at 6 AM (Malaysian time 7 PM) to wish him a happy birthday. I woke the girls up, their bleary eyes confused with sleep, to put them in front of the computer.
I've been feeling sad because today is the first time my father celebrated his birthday without my mother, whom had passed away last year on December 5. This would be the first birthday he is without my mother at his side since 1976. It has been 39 years. He was 26 years old then, 9 years younger than I am today. It has been so long... so many years spent with someone at your side. So many years of love and yet seemingly so many years left. So many moments of happiness stolen from our family with the sudden death of my mother. When I look at my young daughters, it makes me sad and angry at all the times they will never again hear her infectious laughter, her characteristic sneeze, the pouting whine of her voice, the smell of her hair, or the feel of her skin. And thinking about all of this today, even 11 months after her death, makes me cry.