You know how they say that your fiercest enemy is often your closest friend. My dad and I share a similar relationship. When we received the confirmation for mom's mastectomy operation on Friday, we looked at each other and knew exactly what the other was thinking 'This is going to be the last time we see the fun mom'
Everything will change from now. Everything in my life is being sucked up by a giant cancerous vaccum cleaner, and will have to be built again. I broke down yesterday. I did not have the strength to imagine what the world would be like, if she did not make it out of the operation. I desperately texted a friend for some consolation. But the one person who comforted me was my fiercest opponent, bete noire, my dad.
My dad would fit into a Charles Dickens novel with ease. He is that wise old character that takes the hero under his wings. A man defeated by life, surrounded by the signs of his own failures. A man who was talented, educated and knowledgeable, but lacked the incision and the cold brutality necessary to succeed in the world. A man who knows that the world has passed him by, but still smiles and hides his sadness behind silly jokes and amusing ticks. My dad is an archetype that everyone adores, yet no one admires.
Yet, this is the man who has shown unquestionable strength in this difficult time. He has been patiently doing the rounds, 12 hours and more at the TATA hospital. He goes around with the file, waits with mom for her tests, ensures that she eats well. Even when he is dog tired, he wakes up sharp at 5 to make her a cup of protein shakes - because she gets hungry. He has stood like a rock by her. A small man, 5 ft in height, skinny, bald with a tired, wrinkled face. I never knew he had such strength. I never knew he had such character.
Then, there's me. Lost. Wayward. I do my duty to mom. Sometimes, I seek an escape. Shamelessly, I try and convince people I am working the hard hours for her. How much hard work can I do to make it up to her? Would my life be enough? Yet, here I am grumbling. Cursing fate that has bestowed upon me such luck. How far has the apple fallen from the tree?
I never admired my father. I thought he was a relic from the past. A lost bourgeois, educated man who does not belong in the world of today. Yet, there is no man I admire more right now. He worked years in far tougher conditions than I can imagine to provide for me. He never complained. He never cursed for his troubles. He cursed me for squandering my talents. He fought because I was wrong. Not for himself. He will wake up early in the morning. He will prepare the files. He will stand in line. Quietly. Dignified. Never complaining.
I wish I had tried to be more like him. I wish I can be.
Everything will change from now. Everything in my life is being sucked up by a giant cancerous vaccum cleaner, and will have to be built again. I broke down yesterday. I did not have the strength to imagine what the world would be like, if she did not make it out of the operation. I desperately texted a friend for some consolation. But the one person who comforted me was my fiercest opponent, bete noire, my dad.
My dad would fit into a Charles Dickens novel with ease. He is that wise old character that takes the hero under his wings. A man defeated by life, surrounded by the signs of his own failures. A man who was talented, educated and knowledgeable, but lacked the incision and the cold brutality necessary to succeed in the world. A man who knows that the world has passed him by, but still smiles and hides his sadness behind silly jokes and amusing ticks. My dad is an archetype that everyone adores, yet no one admires.
Yet, this is the man who has shown unquestionable strength in this difficult time. He has been patiently doing the rounds, 12 hours and more at the TATA hospital. He goes around with the file, waits with mom for her tests, ensures that she eats well. Even when he is dog tired, he wakes up sharp at 5 to make her a cup of protein shakes - because she gets hungry. He has stood like a rock by her. A small man, 5 ft in height, skinny, bald with a tired, wrinkled face. I never knew he had such strength. I never knew he had such character.
Then, there's me. Lost. Wayward. I do my duty to mom. Sometimes, I seek an escape. Shamelessly, I try and convince people I am working the hard hours for her. How much hard work can I do to make it up to her? Would my life be enough? Yet, here I am grumbling. Cursing fate that has bestowed upon me such luck. How far has the apple fallen from the tree?
I never admired my father. I thought he was a relic from the past. A lost bourgeois, educated man who does not belong in the world of today. Yet, there is no man I admire more right now. He worked years in far tougher conditions than I can imagine to provide for me. He never complained. He never cursed for his troubles. He cursed me for squandering my talents. He fought because I was wrong. Not for himself. He will wake up early in the morning. He will prepare the files. He will stand in line. Quietly. Dignified. Never complaining.
I wish I had tried to be more like him. I wish I can be.
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