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He loved me. He loved me so much that most people thought that he didn't care that my mother had died. Most of my warm memories, involve my father. I don't know how he did it, but I never saw him grieve Mom one day. Even when we went to visit her grave, he still had a warm smile on his face and would tussle my hair telling me how much I looked like her.
"Did you not love, Mom?" I asked.
I was around seven, that time. I found his behavior odd. We were both having a quiet dinner when the question came up.
"Of course I did, and still do mind you," he replied. "Why do you ask?"
"I mean… you don't seem sad when you talk about her," I explained. "So, I thought you don't miss her.
"Oh, I understand," he sighed and put down the pizza he had ordered. "Do you miss her?"
I shrugged, "I don't know. I didn't know her. But I feel sad when you talk about her. She sounds like a great mom."
"She was," he said, "to me."
"So, why aren't you sad when you think about her?" I asked.
"I am sad. I miss her all the time, and I'm sad I don't get to see her anymore, except in pictures or memories," he answered. "But I guess that doesn't really answer your question, does it?"
I shook my head.
"I promised her that I'll always remember her and be happy for your sake and hers," he explained. "So I'm happy while I look at you because you remind me of her and how much she loved both of us."
"But that means you cry alone," I pointed out.
"Intelligent as her, aren't ‘ya?" he chuckled. "Yes, I do cry alone."
"Cry with me then. It's not fair you miss her secretly," I said and frowned.
He wanted to say something but stopped and looked at his food, "Like mother, like daughter."
He never explained what he meant by that statement and to this date, I still don't know what he meant. All I know, us that he was a good and kind man who loved me. What did Dad do? Everything.
I can't remember how many times I struggled to say what my dad's profession was. He was a construction worker, sales attendant in a convenience store, a handyman. Anything. People regarded him as Superman. He was mostly absent throughout the day and sometimes at night but never failed to come back by seven pm, to talk to me about my day, take a nap, and be out of the house.
I understood his sacrifices; and when I was done with high school, I wanted to work part-time to help him out as well. He refused - the stubborn man that he was.
I had graduated top of my classes and got a scholarship to study wherever I wanted. I was happy that Dad didn't have to work so hard anymore. I had yet to figure out what I wanted to do. It was going to be in the sciences, but I needed something that would give me the opportunity to watch over my father. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time for that… I mean he didn't have enough time.
Dad had worked himself to exhaustion, trying to raise enough money for my education, but his body was failing him. I was seventeen and still bothered about what school to attend when I got the news. He had collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. It was at that time, I noticed my superhuman Dad was just a normal man.
He looked so tired but was still smiling. He had suffered a lot for my sake and still smiled for me.
"You got a scholarship, so I guess your college funds will be enough to help you out," he said with a smile.
"What do you mean? You sound like you're…"
He managed to shrug and his smile weakened a little.
"Oh no," I covered my mouth, "You're just… you're just saying that. You just need a little rest."
"I.. I remember telling your mother that," he said weakly. "Well, now I think I understand a little how funny it sounds. But my body is really tired, my angel."
"Then you just need to rest a little then," I said, trying to lighten him up.
"True… that's right… have you decided what you want… to do?" he asked.
"That's not important right now," I replied. "Just save your strength, and we'll discuss it in the morning."
