note: taken from aisya's blog.
'16 September, about a week ago, marked the 12th year of my father’s death.
Because i was so caught up with my revision for trials, i completely forgot about it. I only remembered about it 3 days after. Ever since then, i could never stop thinking about it.
” You used to call me your angel,
Said I was sent straight down from heaven.”
Ive been thinking about how i cant remember how his voice sounded like, how it felt like when i wrapped my arms around him when we rode around our housing area in Damansara on his big motorbike every evening, how he never failed to cheer me up by playing his guitar whenever i cried of being upset about something, how he loved to make my siblings and i laugh, how much he enjoyed taking candid photos of us. And the list goes on.
Ive also been thinking about how no one has ever asked me what really happened. The details, i mean. Not even my very close friends. Whenever i tell people that my dad passed away years ago, they would always apologize. A few seconds of an awkward pause, and they would ask for the cause. I would say, “A motorbike accident,” and that would be it. They would immediately change the subject after that.
Well, i don’t blame them. It’s not really a picnic, talking about it. But i wouldn’t mind telling (:
“You’d hold me close in your arms,
I loved the way you felt so strong.”
There’s not much that i remember about that day. But, although it happened 12 years ago, i do remember how it went.
It all started with a phone call. Well, don’t they always? My dad had left for work, outstation, perhaps a few days before we received the phone call.
I remember i was hanging around in my parents’ bedroom.
I remember my mum about to take a shower.
I remember it being around dusk.
I remember my sister and my brother, who were four and three at that time, were watching tv downstairs.
I remember hearing the phone ring. I cant remember who answered it, perhaps it was our maid.
I remember my mum picking up the call, said some words and listened.
I remember knowing immediately that something bad has happened to my dad when the phone slipped from my mum’s hand as she dropped herself to the floor and started crying.
I remember picking up the phone and gently pressing it to my right ear. “Hello?” i said. “Aisya?” It was a man’s voice, but until now i do not know who this person was. “Aisya, umi mana? Aisya? Aisya?” I couldnt answer him. I just listened to him calling my name several times while i looked at my mum on the floor, crying and half-dressed.
I remember seeing my grandmother and perhaps a friend of my mum’s running up the stairs to attend to my mum. They knew. They already knew. They rushed to our house as soon as they were told and arrived not a moment too soon.
I remember hanging up the call and thinking that i should get some clothes for my mum because her friend was there.
I also remember that i was feeling so afraid. But i did my very best to keep the tears from falling.
“I never wanted you to leave,
I wanted you to stay here holding me.”
The next day, we were all at our grandparents’ house in PJ. I remember waiting outside for my dad’s body to arrive. They had said that his body would arrive in a van. I remember imagining the van to be white, so i just kept to myself while waiting for the white van to arrive. After what felt like ages, it finally did.
The memory of this particular scene is pretty vague in my mind. But i can remember that i was feeling very angry.
The reason for the anger was that i didn’t get to even catch a glimpse of my dad when they carried his body inside. There were so many people. The house was overly crowded and i remember of wanting to yell at everyone because i wanted to see him so badly after waiting for what felt like a very long time. I wanted to cry and hurt everyone for making such a fuss of getting his body inside. But even in my five-year old mind, i knew tantrums would only make matters worse.
I remember being inside my grandparents’ room with my my mum, my grandma, my siblings and my aunt. There were also many ladies there but i cant remember any of them. They were all sitting around my mum on the floor, comforting her along with my grandma.
I remember jumping around on the bed with my siblings and my aunt who was 11 at that time. I remember my aunt suddenly dropping herself to the floor, stared into space and started crying, silently. I stopped jumping and sat myself on the edge of the bed next to her. I looked at her and i looked at my mum. Unlike my aunt, my mum’s eyes were red and blotchy. I decided then that i hated the sight altogether. But i still didn’t cry. Not even a single tear.
I remember stepping out of the room and stopping dead in my tracks as i saw two rows of women formed, making a pathway from the door of the room to the center of the living room. As i surveyed the area, i saw my grandma (my dad’s mum) sitting among the women, sobbing furiously. I went to her and i hugged her. I remember thinking about how she didn’t deserve this and it just wasn’t fair.
She hugged my sister and my brother too. They had followed me out without me realizing. I remember that while they were hugging my grandma, i thought about how confusing this all must seem to them. Even as a five-year old, i remember telling myself that i had to stay strong for everyone. For my siblings, my grandma and especially my mum.
“I miss you, I miss your smile,
And I still shed a tear, every once in a while.”
My memories are somewhat failing me for some of the things that happened after. Maybe they aren’t that important to remember. The next thing i do remember is finally getting to see my dad.
His body was already bathed (a must for Muslims before we’re buried) and he was already wrapped inside the white ‘kain kapan’. All we could see was his face.
I would never be able to describe how i felt when i saw his face. It was really hurtful, it broke my heart. He had a very long cut on his forehead and short, small ones on the other parts of his face. His cheeks, his nose, they were everywhere. I heard someone behind me whispering to another person that one of my dad’s shoulder was dislocated and his arm broke. All i could think about was how ugly the accident must have been. And i wanted nothing than to hug that lifeless body of his. But i couldnt. They didn’t let me. We were only allowed to each give him a kiss.
I remember getting on my knees and leaning my head very close to my dad’s. I looked at him before kissing him for the last time. I looked at him and thought about how i couldnt remember when he last kissed me. The tears wanted so much to come then. But i still held them back, reminding myself that i had to.
At the cemetery, i watched as some guys prepared the grave for my dad’s body. I remember it being hot and i remember complaining to my mum about it. I remember my mum saying that our driver, who was taking the umbrellas from the car, will be with us in a very short while.
I remember standing so still under an umbrella, being not too close, but nearest among others to the grave. I remember praying to God, silently as they lowered his body down. I remember wanting to go nearer to get a last look. I remember a hand, wrapping itself tightly around mine, holding me back, as i watched the hole of the grave being filled with earth, and with my dad’s body, six feet under.
“And even though it’s different now, you’re still here somehow
My heart won’t let you go, and I need you to know…”
That night, we all stayed at my grandparents’ house. My family slept in the same room as well as our maid. My mum, my sister and i slept on a queen-sized bed, with my sister in the middle and me at the far end right next to a wall, while my brother and my maid slept on the floor. I remember us talking, but about what, i cant remember. Perhaps my mum was explaining to us what had happened.
I remember it being quiet suddenly. I remember lifting my head up a little and seeing that everyone had fallen asleep. So right then, i turned to face the wall, covered my head with a pillow and finally let myself cry.
I feel terrible for forgetting that day. Ive never forgotten the 16th of Sept before and i cant believe i let myself get so caught up with the exams that i forgot all about it.
But i can never forget about my dad. I might not be the greatest daughter a parent could ask for, but i love my dad very much. Even after all these years, i pray for him. Every single day, i pray for him.
May Allah bless his soul.
“I miss you.”
it's taken from aisya's blog. she's my sister incase you didnt know.
now,im mad at myself. for not remembering the date. for not even remembering wht actually happened tht day. for not even remembering wht it feels like to have him around. why must i be so small and naive ? i want the memories of him to stay in my mind too like it stayed in my sister's. but the memory now is like really far away. oh how imissyou and iloveyou.
♥,
aniss :)
