2014-05-09 - 10:56 p.m.
Dear Dad,
I've seen you in my last dream. You were back to your 33-year-old self. That should be a good thing, eh? That should mean you're alright there.
So we've passed the first 100 days since your funeral. How are we doing so far?
Sorry I haven't been home that much lately. My siblings are fine. Your grandkids are growing well. Ma's back to doing her catering business again, which is a very good thing for her. It's about time that she went back to doing what she loves. She needs that.
Then what about me?
Good question. I'm still adjusting to this new life I'm making. That's all I can say for now.
Ganesh-ku misses me sometimes. He always looks happy whenever I return home for the weekend, running into my arms so we can hug for a while. "Bibi, you're back!" That's what he says. He's such a sweet boy.
The last time I talked to Ma, I told her this:
"I'm sorry I can't always be your superhero."
Do you know what she said?
"You don't have to, because all my kids are already my superheroes."
Doesn't that make you want to cry? I know it did make me.
You had struggled with words you'd wanted to say but could never utter anymore on your last days. It's okay; I think I understand that now.
Tell people how you feel, while there's still a chance. Life is too short. If you really care about them, you should let them know that. They deserve to.
Ha-ha. As if that were ever really easy for us.
Anyway, there are lots of people; some I can mention here. I've even written poems for them.
There's one like you (well, almost!),believe it or not. We both are crazy about books. He cares about everybody, although he doesn't talk much. (He's a great listener, by the way.) Sometimes he looks so tired that he worries me so. Sometimes I have to tell him:"Go home. Look at you. Leave it for today."
Thankfully, he listens and does it.
There's another one who's leaving soon. I guess it's true what they say: sometimes it doesn't take long to discover your best friends. In fact, he's already more than that to me; he's like a family. He's a little brother.
That's why I'm going to miss him so much when it's time. It's going to be very, very hard for me to say goodbye, Daddy - because I just won't.
Honestly, this feels like when Hazel Eyes left. But then again, he says we'll always keep in touch - so I shouldn't feel too sad. He says he wants to come back again someday, even just for a holiday...
Let's just hope so.
There's a lot I want to tell and thank him before he leaves, surprisingly. Will there ever be time for that? (Should I make it?)
I don't know yet, but I do know some things about him:
Because of him - what he'd said the first time we met - I'd stuck around for you until your last day. He loves his family so much.
And he's urged me many times not to give up on anything good and worthy, no matter how hard it is. Especially my dreams. I don't know why he believes in me or whether I deserve it, but I'm glad he does.
I hope someday I'll get to tell his father about one of his sons who has somehow helped me get through my darkest moments.
Some people say that writing to a dead person is a temporary therapy. It works for a while, but then you just can't keep doing it. It doesn't feel like you're moving on. You've got to start accepting reality as it is.
That's why this is my last letter for you, but that doesn't mean I stop praying for you.
Once again, goodbye, Daddy. Rest in peace...
love,
R.
