As I looked out the window of the cab, the cool breeze seemed like a magic pill to calm my mind. I remember the occasion quite vividly, although it was eight years ago. My brother and I had just landed in Vietnam, hoping for a miracle to happen. However, I soon discovered that miracles do not exist - and I was about to experience a devastating scene, which shaped my life drastically ever since.
I walked out of the cab and slowly made my way into the house. It was musty and dark, but I could see well enough to recognize the figure I knew so well, lying motionless in a large bed. He seemed as if his extremely tiny figure would sink deep into the mattress and disappear. I had never seen this once strong and healthy man, so helpless like this. His head was completely bald. He was trying to sit up with an IV inserted in his arm to give me an overdue hug. My chest began to tighten and my hands started to shake, as I realized I was not dreaming.
He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. His excruciating pain was obvious. He gently released me, his wet face was beaming under a mixture of both of our tears. He looked at me and smiled, and for a split second, everything stopped. That gracious smile has carved into my heart ever since. I realized with a fresh surge of tears of the unbreakable bond under which he and I have become connected that night.
“I’m delighted to see you again, daughter,” he whispered.
“Me too, father,'' I murmured.
I watched the light fade out of his eyes, his hand was growing cold and stone like in my grasp. Every single second I shared with him passed across my mind. I couldn't make the tears stop, and all my regrets about when I didn't see him when I could have because I was swamped with work and school, kept jumping out at me making me feel guilty. I could not comprehend that he was really gone, in my arms.
And here I am eight years later. It doesn't seem to get any easier as I still, at times, reach for my phone to call him, only to remember he is not there to answer. It's an ache that seems to sharpen as time goes by; a gaping hole in my heart.
As time has diluted my memory, the only object that can ease my despair is a picture of him- a seemingly happy 20-something year old man grinning for the camera. Sometimes, the picture makes me feel even worse as I realized I don’t even have a decent picture with my father to look back at.
Slowly, my view of the world slightly changed. I learned the importance of spending time and making memories with my loved ones. Simply because I don’t want anyone to have to remember a loved one as a photograph.
And they will only be there for so long, just like the wind’s of time.
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