This morning my father told me: “Don’t worry, the operation itself doesn’t hurt, it can only go one of two ways. Either I wake up again in this world, or I say goodbye and wake up in the next”. I couldn’t help but to laugh at his morbid sense of humor right before a hopefully life saving operation.
My father is close to 80 years old and of course at that age, all kinds of health issues arise. He’s a youthful and very active person but sickness doesn’t discriminate and eventually we ALL have to face that last fight.
I made peace with my own final fight a long time ago and I can proudly say I have achieved everything I set out to accomplish in life. Now I’m living the 2.0 life, through the eyes of my child. It’s something truly spectacular to be a part of and it even gives you closure on some of your own isms from the past.
Me and my family have never been very close. I mean, I’ve always been an open book but sometimes the chemistry is not there and there is nobody to blame, it’s just the circumstances of life. He’s done what he could for me as a father, what he thinks was right and what he believes in.
I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have to abandon friends and family to escape persecution and death during the Islamic revolution in Iran in the early 1980s. How do you decide what to pack? How do you say goodbye to everyone you love? How do you prepare for a life in a new country where you don’t speak the language and have never visited before? That would be hard enough on your own, but a family of 4 with 2 toddlers? Some days I can barely keep it together here in our comfortable, and in comparison, borderline decadent life so whatever he, or my parents in general did, I’m here and I’m alive and well.
Everyone reacts differently to trauma like this and my fathers sickness was something I didn’t get heartbroken over. Of course I want him to live to see my son grow up and to share a watermelon with him on my sunny terrace on a hot summer day and hear him complain about me being too philosophical. My father doesn’t like to think, he likes to do.
So in that sense, I honor him and I don’t think and worry. As he always says: “Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be”. He’s a stubborn old geezer and I’m sure he’ll ride through this with flying colors without any problems. But ultimately, whatever happens, a part of him lives on in me and in my son. Not because of bloodline per se, but because we share the same time and space. I came from him, my son from me (sorry mothers, shut up, I’m having a moment here).
I’m sure he’s been the best father he could and whatever stupid things his father did to him, he probably did his damnedest to not repeat those things with me. By the same token, I’m doing the same with Ean, trying to constantly improve, that’s what we do as humans, right?
You know by now that I wear my heart on my sleeve and I hold very few secrets. This has a lot to do with why I’m not freaking out today. Throughout my life I’ve been honest with my father, I’ve praised him when needed and I’ve criticized and fought him tooth and nail when necessary. He knows this and he knows I love him because I never wait for a special moment to say it. Ana can attest to that, she almost fled the scene when i told her I loved her for the first time!
So nothing is unsaid, nothing is unspoken or unheard. Life is too short to not let people know what they mean to you and it’s because of this that whether it is my time to go or anyone else, all that needed to be said, has been said and que sera, sera… whatever will be, will be.