A DAUGTER’S LOVE

My brother sent me a text, “Hello madam, dad is a bit sick”. As soon as I read the text, I burst out in tears. I was inconsolable.If it wasn’t for the recently imposed lockdown and movement restrictions, I would have caught the first bus home, to look after my father. For the first time in my life, I cursed my overly imaginative mind, because I imagined the worst. Tears fell unchecked on my cheeks.

I was and scared at the same time. I asked my brother if it was COVID-19, he said no, it wasn’t; you can’t imagine the relief I felt but he proceeded to tell me that he had a cough, fever and general body weakness. “He doesn’t eat, “he added. That was my undoing. I burst out in fresh tears. All of sudden, I was angry and I wanted someone to blame. I blamed the president for the movement restrictions because I was unable to visit my father; I loathed the police because even if I wanted to go against the restrictions, I wouldn’t get very far. In the same instance, I knew that the blame game wouldn’t help me a single bit. Dealing with the situation in a calm manner would. 

I wanted to call dad but I was afraid, what if he is unable to talk. I finally mustered the courage and when I called, he answered the call, but he sounded weak. He must have sensed that I was scared and crying because he struggled to sound stronger. He told me not to worry; he was going to be okay. I wanted to believe him but I couldn’t do that because my late brother said the same thing when he was dying; I needed the assurance that he was going to be okay. I knew I would only get the confirmation from other people, not him. 

In the meantime, I prayed. I prayed whispered prayers, I prayed while I cried out loud, I cried silently and then I begged God. I begged him to heal my father. I reminded him that I had prayed with the same fervency for my brother to live, and he had died instead. I pleaded that it is not the case this time. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to bear this. I am usually strong, so much has been thrown at me and I have either gracefully taken it in, or fought back. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to bear the pain, if my father died. There is so much we are yet to celebrate together, many more stories to tell, questions that haven’t been answered; and loads of life’s experiences to share.

Dad represents so many things for me. He raised us solely after our mother passed away. In his way, he has taught me so much; even things that we consider to be the role of women to teach in my part of the world, like preparing locally steamed food. More than that, my father is my friend. He understands me more than anyone else and his gentle quiet strength and wisdom have anchored me through storms.

I am usually cool about so many things, but not when it concerns my father. I have threatened to sue, shouted, scolded and parted ways with people even at a slight disrespect of him. He is the only man I would fight for without second thought.  To receive news that he was unwell, in a time filled with uncertainty and grief just simply was worrying, to say the least.

Later in the evening, my brother called me. I was afraid to pick his call, afraid that it might be horrible news. I mustered the courage and answered the call. He sounded calm; it was a good sign, right? He proceeded to tell me that dad would be okay. He had managed to take some juice, even if he failed to eat. This was a good sign, a sign that God had answered my prayers. We talked for some time with my brother, catching up on all the gossip. I don’t know if he did it so that I am not panicked. He probably did it to calm my nerves. And it worked; I was a whole lot calmer by the time we ended the call. 

I also realized that my family approaches me carefully each time there is awful news to be made. No one wants to be the one to call me, and when they do, they are always calm; they never blow the situation out of proportion. I burst out in tears at the tiniest bit of negative news concerning my family. You guessed right, I am always the last to know, well if it is my siblings delivering the news. When dad does it, it is with tactic and I am among the first people he calls; I never display the same emotions.  I never understand their calmness, like I didn’t understand why everyone I was talking to was calm. Ironically, their calmness helped me calm down as well.

When I called to following day to find out how he was doing, dad tried to sound like his normal self. He also told me how he had managed to eat his breakfast. Having a chat with my sister later in the day, she says, “I have been calling dad daily to check how he is. He seems stronger”. Then she adds, “I called him the other day and I told him you were scared and crying that he was critically ill. He said that you are only being a whiny child”. We laughed at that. Maybe it is true, I was being whiny, but I am grateful to God that dad is much better and his voice getting genuinely stronger each time we talk.