I am on the same train ride that we took but the difference now is that, I too, have lost my father.
I thought I understood your pain. How you drove for hours, how you argue with the police just to take the short cut, how you were able to get a small boat just to cross the river near the hospital, how your father left you without saying goodbye. But, no.
Pain is subjective. It is one of the most complicated feelings in human emotions. Words are often futile to explain its complexity. Not even the feelings itself can fathom its own soul.
We, humans, experience different forms of pain and sometimes, most of the time, people don't understand that we have our own ways of mourning. We don't have to explain ourselves to the world. I think that's one of the few things that death thought me, we pay too much value on things that in the end doesn't really matter.
Your father was a German but the only German word that he taught you was the word for male private part. On the other hand, my father taught me to 'go to the loo' whenever I am at work because it is the only time that I am paid while doing it. They are both cheeky, aren't they? And at some parts of our lives, our relationship to them went beyond the lines to the point that we hated them. We both don't have a perfect father and child story. Well, I wonder who has one. But at the end of the day, or at the end of our fathers' lives rather, we felt that all the issues that we had before does not matter. Our love for them is greater more than any silly things that we thought have greater value. And our fathers loved us back. They loved us even before we learn how to love. They loved us very much, more than what we are actually capable of.
Pete, you asked me how my father is. My father never asked anything from me nor made me feel that I have shortcomings. He would just frequently tell me to love my work and work will love me back. He just wanted me to become stable and have a comfortable life. He didn't wish anything for himself anymore. He was contented. He was happy. So, maybe that's why he left. He wouldn't say goodbye because he knew I won't allow him to. And he knew, it will be hard for him to say NO to me. Although he didn't raise me as a spoiled child, he was the type of father who would say sorry even if it is not really his fault and just because he saw me being upset. He have peculiar ways of comforting me. He's someone who was not shy to say I love you and shower me hugs and kisses. He was loving, very very loving.
I miss you everyday paps.
