My Most Cherished Letter in Life!

In early May I was driving one day when I felt the touch of his hand on my head. I missed him so terribly and not knowing what to do, in desperation, I parked the car in an empty parking lot and cried for more than an hour.

It was towards the end of May that I saw him dead in my dream. Around that time, one day he called me. He was having cold like symptoms for past few days. During conversation, I sensed that he wanted to say something but could not. I sensed his struggle, so I took over the conversation with petty rambling to ease off his discomfort.

In late June I went on a two week road trip. With two small kids, it was not easy but I made it memorable by writing each day with him in mind. He always told me to write. He said writing was my calling but I never had confidence to start. I knew he was going to be so proud of me and was going to love the descriptions of all the marvelous places I visited. I simply could not wait to return and post my writing to him.

First week of July I returned. He was waiting for my return home because he called me. Even before he told me, I knew what he was going to say. He was diagnosed with cancer. I said that I would call in a few minutes as I could not say a word through the heavy downpour of tears. I put the phone down and cried for I have no idea how long. I reminded myself that I have to call him back, so I gathered my wit and called.

After the phone call I went downstairs and informed my husband. He was studying to defend his dissertation. I talked to him for some time and then vowed to myself that I would not disturb him again. He had waited for this time for a long time and was working very hard with a full time job. Our lives were overwhelmed with my own job and post graduate classes with two small kids only a year apart. It was his last chance to get that degree that he had been putting off for some years to follow a career. I did not want to be the reason for his holding back or a failure. No, I can never be that for anyone in life. So, I promised myself that I would not cry in front of my husband or share my pain over this journey with him.

I remember waiting for the late hours when I would go down to the basement in the farthest corner to call him. I did not want to awake my kids or my husband by my voice. Three days a week I would leave early morning for the classes in another city and two days I worked within my own city. Over the weekends, I cooked potluck dishes and took them to another city to be part of a community as I lived in a foreign land. Forget about managing kids every need in between. That was the time when I went on anti depressants. I was loosing eight pounds every week and after three weeks my doctor prescribed the meds. My doctor said that I was a candle burning at both ends.

I remember getting letters from him every day. He was a writer and he wrote to me every single day. He sent me letters through fax and also through mail. By September, it was obvious that Chemotherapy was not working. Doctors gave him three more months tops. He wrote to me daily about his med reports and all. Not a single word of despair or cry ever. Always full of love, hope and positivity.

In September my husband defended his dissertation successfully. I remember coming home knowing that the rest of the world was fast asleep but not him! Of course, he was waiting by the phone, keeping an eye on the clock, calculating and guessing the time of our return home and yes he called. He was the first one to call and congratulate. I remember him telling me that he had waited every moment of past eight long years for that moment in my life. He was the happiest person on earth that day.

Around October, he stopped writing because his hands could not grasp the pen. I remember one night, long after I had bathed and put my kids to bed after singing lullabies. Making sure my husband was fast asleep, I crept downstairs with three huge bundles of all his letters and cards that he had written over the years and I burnt each one of them. Yes. I set fire to every word he had written to me. I did not want to hold on to those letters. I did not want those letters in my life. I wanted HIM. If he was not going to be there, then nothing mattered. Those letters did not mean anything. Life itself meant nothing. NOTHING had any value if HE was not going to be there. I do not have a single letter he ever sent me. I burned each one of them that day.

In the third week of December, I finished my exams and went to meet him in another country where he lived. He passed away two weeks later. He died on January 6th. Ten days after his death, my brother found a letter in his things. My mother gave me this letter to keep.

My dad had written a letter two years before his death. The letter is not addressed to me by name.  The seven page letter was never mailed to anyone. It only starts as "My dearer than life daughter". This is the only letter of him that I have now. This letter is my life line. I know every letter of that one letter by heart.  I know now what he was trying to tell me that day in May and could not say! It's all in that letter.