Soon it will be a year since my dad passed away. I’m struggling to come to terms with this. I’m still stuck on finding him the way I did and knowing (though not acknowledging), that he was gone. The suddenness of it has been hard to take, despite his being ninety. When news first broke, I lost count of the number of people who declared their shock with the words ‘But I just saw him (driving past) yesterday…’ It has been a strange season. I’m not used to coming downstairs without calling out to my dad. I’m still tempted to do that every single morning. For almost a year now, the inability to carry out that routine alone has been painful. I cannot believe the time that has lapsed. It doesn’t feel like it to me.
My organisation held its biggest event in Jakarta last year. I was supposed to be away from home from the 31st of July to either the 12th or 13th of August. This event happens once every four years and on 2019, when I first joined, I had the opportunity to go for it. That was in South Africa. The impact of the event in 2019 is probably what helps me stay on in my role despite the many challenges I face executing it. I was excited for the chance to meet with my colleagues from all over the world once again. Only, as time drew closer for me to confirm my participation, the anxiety of leaving my dad alone was gripping. I didn’t want to go. I ended up going from the 31st of July to the 2nd of August. This is significant for me.
The first significant thing was that it was how God brought me home just before my mum passed. He gave me that time with her, when I was supposed to be away in the UK for Christmas and New Year after the wedding of dear friends. Similarly, God granted me time with my dad. My being back from Jakarta meant my dad was able to attend an uncle’s eightieth birthday party. My dad didn’t always go for things. If he felt tired, he would say he couldn’t go. He was excellent at reading his own body that way. For this, he was keen, and it was the last big celebration that he attended. It feels like part of a send off, which I cannot help but think God granted him. My dad enjoyed that outing. We talked about it the next day and for a few days after. Additionally, it meant that some friends who’ve migrated but who were back visiting Malaysia, could come for a visit. My dad enjoyed their visit. It was truly lovely.
Even more significantly, and I think this as grace from God to me, was that upon my return from Jakarta, we had certain conversations. When it comes to conversing, I am my mother’s daughter. My father did not have the talent for easy communication. This is why I’ve always felt that we struggled. I think that I was wrong to judge things so, especially in light of some of the chats we did have on his final days.
My dad told me how my presence at home made him feel more secure. We were able to clear up an argument over an incident some time ago, where he didn’t have the words to explain his insecurity, and where I didn’t have the wisdom to figure it out. Insecurity is not something I associated with my father. However, it did seem that as he was getting on in age, he enjoyed the security of his daughter’s company. Maybe he knew that even if I told him off for eating a ‘roti telur’- which much to my regret, I did the night before he passed, I would be there for him with all of my being. Saying that, my dad was always quick to remind me that there were places I couldn’t go, journeys I couldn’t make, and things I couldn’t do, which were for him to go on, make, or do. He would say that he needed to depend on God and that he didn’t expect me to always be at home for him. He didn’t say it so clearly – I’m explaining it a lot better than how he said it. I think, any way. Sometimes I’m amazed that I understood him! We were so different. He often chuckled when I reacted the way I did or said what I did, when I found it hard to understand. I feel a right fool. It’s not easy to understand when you communicate so differently. I’m so thankful to God for the times we communicated well. I’m so thankful for some of the conversations that I had with him in the days/weeks leading up to his passing.
I am sad that I wasn’t by my dad’s side when he passed. What I imagined I would’ve said and done, I cannot say. The honest truth is, I don’t know. I think I would’ve been a blubbering mess. Even my ‘papa- no, no’ response upon finding him was indicative of my uselessness. What could I have done? I wonder very much at points if I could’ve granted him some measure of comfort. As I read John 14: 1-6, I feel that I couldn’t possibly have. Jesus says to us directly to let not our hearts be troubled, to believe in God, and then goes on to tell us of the place He has prepared for us. He is speaking to the living. The interesting thing is, He says in John 14:3 ‘And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.’ This gives me comfort. I know that my dad believed this. I know too I cannot compete with Jesus in any way when it comes to giving assurance- even more, on a journey that I have not yet taken. This was one situation out of many, that I could not control. It was not my power to be there. I wasn’t a part of papa’s final send off, but I know that Jesus would’ve been a part of his welcome. The comfort that gives me is huge as I reflect on not being there for papa’s final moments. It is also huge as I contemplate my own future. I will take that journey one day too. I too will breathe my last when my time comes. And when I do, I know I can trust Jesus to come and get me. In this I trust, even if I don’t know how it will happen.
I am very thankful for my dad. The highs and lows of our relationship have grown me and have made me see that this is how honest relationships can be. It was real. The totality of it was beautiful. I do regret that I never always recognised its beauty. In my arrogance of wanting to control stuff, I tried to make this relationship exactly like what my mum and I had. That was a beautiful relationship too. It was different, though. I see that now. It may be that papa isn’t here for me to share it with, but it still helps me. It helps me a lot.
I’m glad that my dad and I had the time we had together before he passed on. I’m glad for visitors over the year, the cousin who stayed with him and Gamora while I was in Jakarta, and the friend who stayed with us just before he passed because he did so enjoy having guests. I am so thankful for the celebrations we had in the last few months of his life. He enjoyed each one of them. He thoroughly did. We talked about this. I’m glad I got through my coaching qualification with a distinction- he was so proud of that. So proud. His response was ‘Very good…what’s next?’ I thank God for making me anxious enough to shorten my work trip, and for my bosses and colleagues who understood it, even when I couldn’t explain more. I’m just grateful to God for how He planned it all. I guess the reasons are overwhelmingly in God’s favour for me to trust His words in John 14: 1-6. I have spent much time on this passage in this past year. I’m trying to trust in God and not let my heart be troubled.
Papa, I never thought my heart would break again after losing mummy. I thought it wasn’t possible. There were others who passed in the years after she left, and while I was sad, very sad even in some cases, my heart never felt the same intensity of pain as when mummy died. At least that was the case until you left. My heart’s broken again. That deep, deep sorrow is back. I think part of me is still in shock at this fact. It’s going to take time and I don’t have you faithfully standing by me. Am so thankful that you and mummy grew me in Jesus. He sustains me, even when I’m not showing up. So thank you for that. Home’s not the same. I miss you so much.
Grace for the soul 
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