broken

8 weeks since i sat at my dad's bedside and watch him slip away. It was such a whole cascade of emotions buried in the whirlwind of things that needed to be done.

He was laboring to breath for the last 2 days. He stopped breathing around 1130 pm. I was getting ready to be with him through the night, with a book in hand. I was shocked to see his chest no longer rising and falling.

I called the nurses and then my brothers. Then i stood there, just looking at him. My dad, going.

I wasn't very nice to him the last few months. I was so stressed up by life and he was being more difficult. He wanted more money, wanted to rest more. I didn't understand. I think he knew, and he was in pain. He just wanted to eat what he liked to eat, and go where he wanted to see again.

His heart beat on till after midnight. Strong and defiant. As usual.

After that we launched into action and made the arrangements.

Hearing from his friends, of all the good he did. Of all the kindness he spread. Unknown to us, to his family. I almost couldn't take it. How could we not known and kept on blaming him for the tough times we went through. How it must have hurt him.

Devastated. Why didn't we know..? Why didn't we talked to him more..?

Now, we are too late to be kind, to be with him, and to love him. 

As he did so to many others.