He was not rich or famous.
He had an amazing simplicity, a strong faith, and a ready smile.
He also had a beautiful handwriting, an eye for detail, and an accuracy with numbers.
He was respected by his children, adored by his friends, and loved by his wife.
This was a man who had a great influence on my life.
Early this month, I sent several messages and emails, almost mechanically, stating:
My father-in-law, Joseph, passed away peacefully.
I had imagined that it would be a difficult task. I had imagined that I would break down immediately when I got the sad news. I had imagined several ways that I and the rest of the family would react.
Nothing of the sort happened.
Time had prepared us for the end when it came. A strange peace and calm descended on us all as we went about the rites and rituals. We believed that his warmth and good will would be with us wherever we went.
Our Daddy had influenced me in his own subdued way without even realising it.
I must have been in my teens when I met him for the first time. He did not judge me for visiting his son at odd times in the day during those youthful foolish years when the mind refuses to listen to reason. Instead, he always had a kind word and a smile for me.
He let me stay for as long as I liked and even invited me to join in the family prayers. He taught me how to pray. He showed me how to believe without seeing.
The week after my wedding, I was perplexed by the awful task of eating a crab that was served for dinner at the family table. Daddy came to my side, patiently took the shell apart, and expertly removed the tender flesh. It was the most delicious shellfish I had ever had.
A year after marriage, I was intrigued by the art of cooking in mud pots. I purchased a few of them from the Friday Bazaar. My mother-in-law and others thought it was a completely silly idea to cook in those pots on the gas stove and tutored me on how to use them. On the other hand, Daddy silently wove intricate stands from dried banana leaves to hold the pots. It was a gesture that really touched me. Those life-buoy shaped stands were a piece of art themselves.
On one of the darkest days of my life, as I lay struggling for survival in the hospital, Daddy came and sat next to me without saying anything. Just being there. He brought me tender green coconut water.
When S and I brought our baby home for the first time, he came to the door to receive her with child-like excitement. He called out to his wife, "Teresa, come, see, our little chicken has come home!"
A few years later, when we came home for holiday, after facing a merciless summer in the middle east, we stood under the pouring monsoon rain in our front garden. Daddy watched but did not send out a warning of catching a fever or a cold. He understood our need to get drenched completely.
S remembers his father as a strict disciplinarian. I, on the other hand, remember him as a Dad who let me enjoy the freedom that a daughter deserves.
May his soul rest in eternal peace! Amen.
He had an amazing simplicity, a strong faith, and a ready smile.
He also had a beautiful handwriting, an eye for detail, and an accuracy with numbers.
He was respected by his children, adored by his friends, and loved by his wife.
This was a man who had a great influence on my life.
Early this month, I sent several messages and emails, almost mechanically, stating:
My father-in-law, Joseph, passed away peacefully.
I had imagined that it would be a difficult task. I had imagined that I would break down immediately when I got the sad news. I had imagined several ways that I and the rest of the family would react.
Nothing of the sort happened.
Time had prepared us for the end when it came. A strange peace and calm descended on us all as we went about the rites and rituals. We believed that his warmth and good will would be with us wherever we went.
Our Daddy had influenced me in his own subdued way without even realising it.
I must have been in my teens when I met him for the first time. He did not judge me for visiting his son at odd times in the day during those youthful foolish years when the mind refuses to listen to reason. Instead, he always had a kind word and a smile for me.
He let me stay for as long as I liked and even invited me to join in the family prayers. He taught me how to pray. He showed me how to believe without seeing.
The week after my wedding, I was perplexed by the awful task of eating a crab that was served for dinner at the family table. Daddy came to my side, patiently took the shell apart, and expertly removed the tender flesh. It was the most delicious shellfish I had ever had.
A year after marriage, I was intrigued by the art of cooking in mud pots. I purchased a few of them from the Friday Bazaar. My mother-in-law and others thought it was a completely silly idea to cook in those pots on the gas stove and tutored me on how to use them. On the other hand, Daddy silently wove intricate stands from dried banana leaves to hold the pots. It was a gesture that really touched me. Those life-buoy shaped stands were a piece of art themselves.
On one of the darkest days of my life, as I lay struggling for survival in the hospital, Daddy came and sat next to me without saying anything. Just being there. He brought me tender green coconut water.
When S and I brought our baby home for the first time, he came to the door to receive her with child-like excitement. He called out to his wife, "Teresa, come, see, our little chicken has come home!"
A few years later, when we came home for holiday, after facing a merciless summer in the middle east, we stood under the pouring monsoon rain in our front garden. Daddy watched but did not send out a warning of catching a fever or a cold. He understood our need to get drenched completely.
S remembers his father as a strict disciplinarian. I, on the other hand, remember him as a Dad who let me enjoy the freedom that a daughter deserves.
May his soul rest in eternal peace! Amen.
