Occasionally, I would hear about someone’s passing or the loss of a loved one, but these events always seemed distant to me. I’ve come to understand now that, despite our best efforts, we can never truly imagine how profoundly such a tragedy would affect us until it happens to us personally. I only came to understand this, when I lost someone significantly close to me.

I could discuss my father in any conceivable situation, whether real or imagined, but death was never something I envisioned. He was young, brilliant, and in good health, and he seemed to embody vitality and promise. So, you can imagine my utter shock when I found out he had passed away. But what truly devastated me wasn’t just the shock of his death; it was the realization that he would no longer be in my life. The shock came from knowing I would never see him or hear his voice again.

For two weeks before that heart-breaking day, I had witnessed his suffering, his health decline, and his gradual surrender to both life and death. The entire experience was utterly overwhelming.

I never thought I’d be able to pen down how his death affected me, but here goes.

The Genesis

 Stroke.

A stroke happens when something interrupts the flow of blood to part of your brain. Think of it like a traffic jam that stops cars from reaching their destination. In the brain, this “traffic jam” can occur because a blood vessel is blocked or bursts. Without enough blood, the brain cells in that area can start to die, which can affect how you move, speak, or think. The effects depend on which part of the brain is affected and how long the blockage lasts.

Now, any reasonable person would rush to understand what this meant and be preoccupied with the potential outcomes, whether good or bad. But I shut out any thoughts about the aftermath of my father’s stroke. I didn’t want to know what it meant for him or for me. I recall my uncle saying, “You’re so careless for not even asking the right questions or trying to find out what’s really wrong with your dad.” But I didn’t care; I didn’t want to know, no matter how odd that may seem. This was my reality, and I simply wanted to stay in my bubble, away from that reality.

So, there it was: my father had a stroke, and everything changed.

The Second Blow.

Imagine this: the first stroke occurred, and within a month, there was a swift recovery. My father was walking again, gaining strength, and diligently retraining his right hand and arm. It was truly remarkable. However, just as he reached the peak of his recovery, the second stroke struck. It was more severe and immediately incapacitated him. He began to gradually deteriorate.

His Demise

 Silence. Lost. Pain.

That’s how I felt, or at least that’s how I recall feeling. I also remember questioning whether crying was just an automatic response to the news or the appropriate reaction. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. In truth, I didn’t want to feel anything at all. I felt like I was dreaming—or maybe I wasn’t. I’m not sure. But here I was, facing the most excruciating experience one could ever imagine. He was gone.

Then it hit me: I was now responsible for my mother and my younger sister. Given our patriarchal community, I hadn’t considered that my younger brother might also need emotional support at that moment. I just thought, I needed to find strength from him as well. But now, I had to grow up quickly. I suddenly had responsibilities that hadn’t existed just ten minutes before I received the devastating news. My mind was haywire.

The Funeral.

I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to call his funeral “beautiful,” but I like to believe it was. I was mentally disengaged because I had spent the past three days in denial about his death. However, that morning, I saw him in his favourite jacket and shirt, which I had picked out, lying in a coffin that I had also selected. It was undeniable. He was gone.

But I had the duty of delivering his tribute, and as his first child, I couldn’t let him down. Even though he wouldn’t hear it, I wished he could. So, I gathered my strength and delivered the tribute. I didn’t cry; I spoke loudly and clearly, ensuring everyone could hear what my father meant to me and to us. That was the only moment of clarity I had.

“Till the very end, we are hoping he knew all along how much he meant to us.”

 Those were the final words of my tribute, and that was the most truthful I had ever been with myself in my entire life. I sincerely hoped and prayed that my father understood just how much he meant to us.

The Aftermath

 After losing a loved one, I believe there are different stages. The one I’ve experienced so far is the stage of “firsts”—the first Christmas, first New Year, first birthday, and many other milestones. It was very confusing. We had to learn to navigate life without him and accept that it wasn’t about choosing not to include him, but rather that he simply wasn’t coming back. It was a harsh realization that if I hadn’t celebrated him on the last Father’s Day, I would never have another chance. This realization hit me deeply, and it affected us all.

It has been eight months since I lost him, and I still struggle to put even a fraction of what I feel into words. Yet, I learn something new each day. One thing that is clear, though, is that I may never fully overcome this pain. The emptiness inside me might never be filled. While the pain may become more manageable over time as I grow accustomed to it, I will never forget him. I will never forget who he was to me and how much he meant to me.