In Memory of a Dad, who had given his all ... (Part 2)

My life in Canada began on March 6, 1990. I was twenty-six years old at the time.  陳慧嫻的千千闕歌 was the song that I liked to hum to myself. I was just then a simple soul. Believe in my course was all I know, and all I asked myself to focus.
  
I didn't have those "may be one day" big dreams of what Canada might have in store for me. I simply enjoyed my day-in, day-out courtship with this new country. Time that I wasn't working, I was in the company of Sam, my partner for life. Things for the most part was rosy indeed. But deep down, I have a hole left to be mended. The fact that my Dad passed away on the very day I was about to start a new life in Canada remained a sore place I dreaded to tread. 


But "when God closes a door,  He opens a window for you." So one day, I thought of this image of "curtain call" --- when individuals return to the stage to be recognized by the audience for their performance. "Hey, Dad, you stepped off your stage all right. I can continue to celebrate your great performance by keeping my memory of you alive, by living my life by your values,  and by giving you a big round of applause from the bottom of my heart." So here it goes, Part 2.

Part 2

"My Dad, always wore a smile on his face, whether it was the first thing in the morning before he got fully recouped from yesterday’s toil, or the last thing at night before he gladly looked forward to the comfort of his bed for he knew he had done his best for his family a day at a time. My Dad had a mild temperament. He put his spirit and strength in his family front and centre. Of course, I wouldn’t have realized it then, but now I could easily sympathize with him that the parental load (me being a part of it) and the family welfare had overshadowed his wants and dreams.

Thanks Dad for your unconditional love. With you, I felt I was the apple of your eye. I always volunteered to go on trams to the Central with you to get yarn for making sweaters. When we went out, you held my hand and I loved to hold onto your thumb. You took me to dim sum in Sheung Wan, Shanghai specialties in North Point, and my first MacDonald hamburger in Causeway Bay. I helped stocking up packs of cigarette and putting up stacks of lottery tickets in your Chung-Ying Convenience Store. When report cards came, you always put on a big grin and proudly autographed on the dotted line. You trusted me to help cutting your nails and trimming your hair. We found crushed ice-cream cups at the bottom of the freezer, with which we shared. We opened up a small bottle of soft drink and bottomed it up as fast as we could.

Dad, you had given me a blueprint of what a married man should be: put your family first. You have shown me how a good husband should behave: put your partner first. You taught me the spirit of sacrifice: put the interest of your children first. I couldn’t thank you enough for all these valuable lessons. They help me to realize that: When you’re little, happiness is a simple thing.  And when you grow up, simplicity is a happy thing. 

Dad, you were such a provider. You gave your family all you had and all you could ... sadly before I could find my own footprint in this new world, before I could tell you how naturally beautiful this province was, before I could share with you the joy of motherhood, before I could return your love: you left unannounced. From feeling terrified, confused, unease, to well adjusted and settled, it took me a good 20 years to complete the journey. Dad, I have no regrets. On the contrary and in a strange way, I felt blessed and wholesome to have seen your face last beaming on a white pillow, in anticipation of your exit into another existence.

On this 20-year milestone of your passing away, I honour your life with this article. I remember your love in the same gentle and subtle manner you delivered it.  I will continue to live life graciously the way you lived yours. I will keep my promise to watch out for Mom for you. Dad, I miss you dearly, yet sad no more."

- The End -

In Memory of a Dad, who had given his all ... (Part 1)

Father's Day is fast approaching, Jun 17, 2012.  I want to post my Dec 28, 2010 article, In Memory of a Dad, who had given his all ... (Part 1) as my FIRST BLOG.

Dad, I'm sorry, a lot of days have gone by that you weren't front and centre in my life.

Thank-you Dad, for showering me and my family with your blessings.

Dad, I'm listening, for I want to connect up with the spirit of your being.

I am content, as I'm writing this blog in the comfort of my home.

Dad, to honour you, is to live a life of graciousness. On that note, I pledge.

*                             *                             *

Part I

"It’s been 20 years I lived in Canada and called Vancouver home. It’s been the same 20 years I lived without my Dad, not a day more, not a day less. I seldom talked about this. Perhaps now is the time, after all, it’s been 2 decades. What if I never got to pen this down, would these memories buried got so faded and thin in the light of day that they are no longer there?

It came as a total shock, something pulled off from a nightmare, something close to inconceivable... no words got through my head, and nothing meaningful stuck in my mind ... the only thing I knew for sure at the time was that this was my Mom’s voice. We were having our first long distance call. I was supposed to phone home to let her know that Sam and I landed Vancouver all right. We made it. Though we knew very little of what tomorrow will bring, we arrived in one piece, safe and sound. Mom was not hearing me either. She asked me to stay calm. She told me that Dad had passed away. She wanted me to stay put. It was surreal. I could still feel the warmth of my Dad’s palms, soft and a bit chubby, for I held them dearly less than 20 hours ago. I could vividly recall his face looked calm and content, for I had cleaned it with a warm towel the night before. 


It was not even that dark outside the windows on March 6, 1990 in Burnaby, when this phone exchange took place. In my head, Dad had health issues but he was not ill. He was sharp and clear-headed, definitely better than other times I greeted him in the care facility. Sam and I went to bid Dad farewell late night, for we were set to fly out Hong Kong the next morning. I held his hands, and he held my heart. He asked Sam to take care of me, and me to treat Sam well. He told us to watch out for one another on this foreign land. He also said his life was not an easy one, but he wished us a better one. His last words were: please remember to take care of your Mom — for a moment I was puzzled — wasn’t Mom and I were supposed to be further apart by tomorrow when I set foot on Canada? Of course, it all makes sense years later, but who would have known at the time.

I didn’t remember when and how we wrapped up our phone conversation. The sun rose the next day. The cherry blossoms bloomed earlier than usual that March. I could hear the birds singing by the water at Deer Lake by the summer. My head was rid of the episode on one hand, and the new life consumed my being on the other. I thought I could survive the loss, if I didn’t allow the grief to get up-close. It worked. It was all well until ... until a night when Sam and I had a date with friends to try out French cuisine in downtown after work. Somehow we got lost in one of the heaviest downpour we experienced in Vancouver up to that point. I wasn’t afraid that we got lost. I didn’t feel particularly concerned that we would be more than fashionably late, or as it turned out to be the ever embarrassing no-show. Yet all of a sudden, the world inside me collapsed, I felt miserable. My tears kept running down uncontrollably. I was not listening. No words of comfort came through my head. A recent movie, “Rabbit Hole”, had scenes that reminded me how chaotic my mind was at the time. I was half a lunatic. I’m fond of imagining myself as a butterfly— “I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.” But at that very moment, I was exhausted. I wanted to fly no more. The rain continued to pound on the Honda hatchback ... my world retreated into a dark corner of the stairs where and when I got threw out of the flat once by my Mom for an incident I truly couldn’t recall. I was just as heartbreaking on those icy steps as a lonely girl, as I was behind the misty windshield of the Honda as a stubborn grown woman. Time froze ... a light bulb flashed ... it dawned on me that my Dad wouldn’t and couldn’t come to my rescue this time, as he used to. I have to save myself from this mess. I have to calm my seas of emotions. For as willing as he might have, he could only exist and be there for me by my own admission. I slept like a baby that night for I’ve found a way to get close to him again ... He was always there for me. I just have to open up and let him in."

 <<To be cotinued>>