Home: After My Father Passed Away

We have to endure eternal loss of my father

You see, I don't have the luxury of coming home like everyone else does. I don't come home very often; that's the truth. But that doesn't make me less sentimental about my own home.

As Munthe said, "Home is the place where I belong."

Before my father passed away, home was the term I often associated with my mother's smile and her gentle kiss on my cheek. A smaller portion of "home" memory recall goes to my father's straight-but-secretly proud face. Never did I imagine I would be trembling and torn apart once I lost my father.

I lost my father; we all lost him. I understand the pain my mother has to suffer after she lost her soulmate. It will never be the same.

Even Boro the Cat feels sorrow

I lost a figure I used to look up to. I no longer have someone I need to prove myself to. I don't hear "Well done, son" anymore, which used to soothe me and boost my self-esteem after I accomplished certain goals. For a moment, I was no longer interested in achieving anything. I was lost.

That pain stayed longer than I thought. It stayed and left a permanent scar deep inside
. I might be depressed; I don't know for sure. I have become soulless ever since. It's a terrible loss I can't fully recover from.

Empty Desks and Couches

Whenever I get the time to come home, I see empty corners that always remind me of him. I feel sorry for my mother because she has to cope with the loss. I try hard enough to make my mother laugh, but it turns out to be a not-so-easy job.

Every sunshine and shadow sneaking in through the door reminds us of him. No more typing sounds are heard from his work desk. No more crunchy jokes. No more "Let's go have some massage," cheered. It feels so empty now. I, along with my mother and two sisters, have to endure the drought of his energy from now on.

We can, however, recall our memories of him. We can cherish every moment with him. We can talk about how funny he was and all the lovely things about him. And that's enough to ease the pain, if not heal it.

And now, I am haunted by the image of losing my mother. Having lost one parent is already painful; I can't bear losing another. All I can pray for now is to have more opportunities to spend time together with my mother. I am so scared I cry every time I think about it. My mother is 57 now, and God knows how much time we have to just stare at her face. I can't help but cry as I type this paragraph.

I can't go on.

If you're lucky enough to be at home, to have the luxury of living with your parents, embrace it. Because in another part of this world, people like me are dying to go home.

Banda Aceh, 20th November 2024