(no subject)
My father passed away on August, the 6th...
It was not exactly a peaceful death, but he was not alone, and I don't think he suffered much.
Everything went downhill three weeks ago and he went so quickly, I'm still reeling from the suddenness of it all. No matter the fact that we knew we would part sooner than later.
I owe him much. He was the one who made me see how important beauty was in a life, the one who kindled my love for books and music, the one, too, who awoke my thirst for justice and my awareness to others' sufferings. Most importantly he was the one person, more than any others, who showed me that we all are made of shadows and light, and that love shouldn't be destined only for the brightest part of those life gives us to cherish... that the shadows, what's left untold, must be cherished too.
Like any other men or women, my father had his faults. He could certainly have a nasty temper... And when I was a child he told me things he didn't really mean, but that the child I was then took it literally; and it hurt me badly. Adults do that sometimes. Especially parents who love their child deeply but find themselves unable to deal with their powerlessness and their fear of rejection. I came to understand that in time, even if I still have bad days when I seem to hear his voice telling me I never do anything rightly and that I will never amount to anything worthwhile. There are many things I understood, later.
These past few years, however, I had come to realize that, unlike others, his love for me had never been conditioned to my doing anything in particular... that he loved me for who I was, no matter what others thought I should be doing with my life. His pride in the person I was undiluted. And I, too, loved him for who he was. I am thankful today I had grown reconciled to him, that understanding had come and the hurt had started to fade.
I miss him.