My Heartbreaking, Tragic & Sorrowful Day (But I'm Okay)
I really hope you don't mind me sharing this story, as it's not business-related in anyway
I've discovered over the past few years that writing down my thoughts and feelings on paper can be extremely therapeutic.
Not something I would have even considered about 5 years ago.
But as it turns out, writing for me is a great healer.
I usually keep my personal writing to myself, for my eyes only.
I'm not a great one for sharing my innermost thoughts (even with those closest to me), so to do the following is actually very, very scary for me.
But for today, it just feels right.
A True Story
I remember the day clearly, as though it was only yesterday, but it was in fact 3rd March 2015.
I scanned my now familiar surroundings.
Well, I guess they had become familiar to me after spending 3 months here.
But, it wasn’t home. Yes, my origins were from this place, I had even grown to love the place, but it still wasn’t home.
I had packed up, left to go on a three-week trip, but 85 days later I was still here.
I had left everything and everyone behind.
I was tired - physically, emotionally and mentally, and my heart yearned to be back home.
What I’d been through in the previous 12 weeks, well I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
I hadn’t asked for this, but I knew I had to do it.
To be honest, I didn’t believe I had the strength of character to see things through, but as it turns out when you’re forced into a corner, with nowhere to turn, you find the inner strength to do the right thing.
I had spent many weeks now watching you fall apart. Never did I think I would have to clothe you, to wipe your backside for you.
I couldn’t imagine that I’d ever have to give you a bath, but I did it daily. To be fair, sometimes it was even fun, and on occasions I got into the bath with you - it was easier, but in a way, it also felt right.
I cut your fingernails, I cut your toenails, and I even shaved you regularly.
We had mealtimes together. It was just easier to eat off the same plate. One spoonful for you, two spoonfuls for me (well I am greedy).
It was exhausting, but somehow I managed to do it.
Then there was the giving you your medication, 3 times a day, 17 different tablets, but still you just sat there motionless, expressionless, a lost soul, utterly struck down with grief.
We got to the stage that I couldn’t leave the room without you getting upset or wondering where I was going. Was I going to leave you? Would I be coming back?
So, here we are back on the 3rd March 2015.
You lay there looking helpless. I had called the nurse, who had been visiting once a week, just to make sure I was doing things correctly.
Then, something happened that I thought I’d never see or hear.
You held my face in your hand, so gently, so lovingly, it was beautiful.
You took a deep breath, looked me straight in the eye, and you uttered words I had never heard leave your lips before.
“I know I’ve never really said it, but I’ve never really known how to express love or affection. I'm just not very good at it. I just want you to know that I DO love you so much and I’m so proud of you”.
With this, his hand fell away from my face.
But I liked it - so I picked his hand up and put it to my face again.
It fell away once more.
I looked over at the nurse. I saw a tear trickle down her cheek, “I’m so sorry”, and she shook her head.
What? Why’s she saying she’s sorry. I don’t get it.
I picked up his hand again and put it to my face. It fell away.
So I drew that hand to my face once more and held it tight in place.
“I’ll leave you alone for a while”, said the nurse.
Why?
I don’t get it.
What’s going on?
And then the full extent of the horror struck me.
He was gone.
As I held his hand against my face and tears streamed out of my eyes, I had one last message for this person too.
“I love you too and I am so, so, so proud of you too DAD.”
The Last Trip Together
We had been in Kolkata, India for the previous three months.
Why?
To scatter my beloved Mum’s ashes in the place of her birth (I’m an only child and a self-confessed Mummy’s Boy).
I had to hold it together. I couldn’t grieve for my Mum.
Why?
The loss was too great for my Dad.
He wasn’t a well man anyway, but I slowly but surely watched him deteriorate in front of my eyes.
I can actually say I watched someone die from a broken heart.
I left everything and everyone else in my life behind to go on this trip alone with my father.
What started out as a quick trip to say goodbye to my Mum, ended up being the most difficult three months of my life.
The trip ended by me also having to say goodbye to the greatest man I had ever met.
Happy Father’s Day Dad (and give Mum a quick kiss from me too).
Thanks for your time and Thank You for reading.
Partha
Recent Comments
47
Partha, I can connect with your story a little bit, having lost a few people close to me--including my father, who died in 2017, one day after his 90th birthday. I wasn't living close to where he and my mother lived (and still don't), but I'd been able to visit them about 6 months before his passing. It was obvious that he was ready to go, and I have to be honest and say that I was immensely relieved when I was informed that he had left us.
I never had a heart-to-heart with him as you were so fortunate to have experienced, but I still know that he loved me.
Thank you for sharing this very special experience with us.
Margaret
Oh, Partha, this brought tears to my eyes. I am speechless. Yes, writing is GREAT therapy.
Thanks for sharing and I hope the grief will soon be replaced with memories more colorful.
It took me 3 yrs before I could grieve my father's death before I could shed a tear.
SO, time does heal wounds, we just need to allow ourselves the time needed...and we do not decide how long or when, or the intensity of it all.
Be blessed and I am here for you if you need to talk or write...lol
Namaste
M
So sad Partha but at least you had that time to reconnect. Having cared for your Dad like that you will always have the knowledge that you did all you could. Wonderful to reap such a reward of love and gratitude from your Dad to you. A gift to remember always.
Thank you for this beautiful tribute to your dad, Partha. You loved your dad very much, and I'm glad he could share that he loved you and was proud of you. That's so important for a young man to hear from his father.
My mom lived with me for the last 9 years of her life, and I too was at her bedside when she passed, and it is heart wrenching. My mom and I were very close. She's been gone 3 years now and it seems like just yesterday.
I would say from your interactions that you are a thoughtful and kind young man with lots of love to give. What's healing for me is to not be afraid to share thoughts like this with people on a daily basis. Something I do every day reminds me of my mom and how she would have done things or what she would have said about something, so I usually share those thoughts at that very time. It brings me joy to share and it's healing to me.
Keep up your good work here at WA, and keep reaching out in your writings. That is one of your gifts!
Blessings to come, my friend,
Joanie
Hi Joanie,
It's always a pleasure to hear from you - and thank you so much for your lovely words and sharing your own experiences.
It's definitely something I have learned over the years. Simply sharing my thoughts (whether on paper or to someone else) brings back a lot of wonderful memories.
And that can only be a good thing.
Take Care
Partha
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I realize this post is rather old, but I just now read it and it made my heart sink! I didn't have a great father... In fact, I didn't even have a good father.
That is until my mom married my stepdad. But I was already in my 20's away from home by then. But he was still a much better father to me than my own father was. The absent one, the mean drunk one, the wife-beating one.
Why I bring this up is that my Stepdad also died from a broken heart. My mom had cancer and was on her deathbed when my stepdad passed away.
I lost them both within a few months of each other. So, I feel for your loss Partha. I know how tough it is. I lost them in 2009 and I still feel the loss most grievously.