I remember his last words to me; they were uttered in a state of complete disorientation. It was something to do with my hair or some light—I can’t remember precisely. I wanted to ask him to stay, to always be there, wanted to tell him that I love him—despite the painful fights, angry tears, slamming doors and volley of arguments.
I remember the pride in his voice when I would sing—the only time I gave him that chance. I can still recall the first time I’d hugged him and the last time I didn’t. The last time I touched his feet, they were cold. I wish he were here to see me today; somewhere the “me” today is a result of his legacy.
I remember hating him with the same intensity with which I loved him. Even his last conscious words to me were to get out of the room. Yet his excitement at receiving me at the airport, his fierce protection, his generosity, and his stupid jokes are all I can remember.
It’s taken me more than a year to get this out. Yet, “Annu, I miss u more than you’ll ever know. I love you. I wish u were here to see me today. But, I’m sure you’re somewhere above looking down with pride—and smiling.”
I remember the pride in his voice when I would sing—the only time I gave him that chance. I can still recall the first time I’d hugged him and the last time I didn’t. The last time I touched his feet, they were cold. I wish he were here to see me today; somewhere the “me” today is a result of his legacy.
I remember hating him with the same intensity with which I loved him. Even his last conscious words to me were to get out of the room. Yet his excitement at receiving me at the airport, his fierce protection, his generosity, and his stupid jokes are all I can remember.
It’s taken me more than a year to get this out. Yet, “Annu, I miss u more than you’ll ever know. I love you. I wish u were here to see me today. But, I’m sure you’re somewhere above looking down with pride—and smiling.”
