My Father

I’ve kept the date on the date my father passed. Maybe one day I’ll change it.

I wrote this post before my father passed away, I had to change it to the past tense and it hurt so much. I never finished writing it but I couldn’t find any words to add. I’m still grieving and I know its ok, that I’m not ok yet. It’s only been four months. I’m hoping writing on my blog will help.

I don’t know how to describe my relationship with my father. I loved him of course. When I was younger, I didn’t fear him, I did respect him. He had a very mild nature and rarely lost his temper. He was the most patient person I know. Something I found infuriating sometimes growing up.

His punishments were gentle, like him. Either being sent to bed to think about what you said or losing a “privilege” like watching tv or playing Nintendo.  If we fought, we had to kiss the other sibling on the forehead and apologize or we had to share a punishment like standing next to each other with our faces towards the wall. He didn’t need to raise his voice, if he gave us “the look” we knew we needed to quiet down or watch what we say. We never used bad language, not even some slang words that he thought inappropriate. He invested in our education and when he could have put us in public schools (that are free in Saudi Arabia), he put us in private schools. Instead of buying his dream car he invested in our dreams and futures. When college was a little overwhelming and I got my first F, he didn’t get angry, only reproachful; why didn’t I go to him when I needed help? He was a college professor after all and he has helped so many students, even students who didn’t take classes with him came to him for advice. I guess I was so afraid I’d disappoint him. He was brought up with the mindset that 99% wasn’t good enough and that’s how he raised us. That may seem strict but he meant well. He knew we had it in us and that was his way of encouraging us. It’s not how I’m raising my kids, because I know that as long as they tried and made a real effort that’s what counts. I know every generation was raised in a different way, times change. Which is good.

I’ve spoken about my childhood in the US and in KFUPM. I’m grateful for the happy childhood my parents provided. The values and principles they taught us have helped us so much as adults. I am who I am today because of the way they raised me and that is priceless and I can never pay them back for everything.

As we grow older, the tables turn and we start to take care of them. I know in every culture it may be different. In Islam we believe that when our parents grow old and are unable to care for themselves we are responsible for them. I didn’t think that day would come so soon, but when my dad was diagnosed with cancer the tables turned. Seeing your parent so weak and vulnerable is the hardest thing I have ever gone through. I’ve writen about my father’s diagnoses, and his passing. Such difficult topics to write about. If you’ve read my previous posts you know that this isn’t my first cancer diagnoses of a loved one. My son by milk was diagnosed with cancer in April 2021, he’s been cancer free for three years mashallah. It was a difficult time but we managed.

My father’s journey was different. I never imagined it would end so soon. I guess we were all in denial, we were optimistic and hopeful that he would make a full recovery. I know that’s part of human nature, it’s difficult to imagine losing a loved one. Especially a parent. I can’t seem to write my thoughts down, its too hard. Maybe someday I will.