Dad's room

I sat in dad's room and looked around. Piles of clothes folded on the table, his old duvet, neatly arranged at the bottom of his bed. The pillow casing littered with strands of his hair, hair he was beginning to loose from the chemo. If I were to lie in his bed and close my eyes, the scent of the sheets, and warmth of the blankets would together make it seem as if dad were next to me still... but of course, he is no more.

I took on the task of cleaning out his clothe cupboard. All the shirts, underwear, trousers, suits, ties, socks... each one a little memory, each one a piece of dad's life, and the moments that I shared within them. Some were new, brand new, and still inside their packaging. Dad had a lot of clothes, but most of the time he wore just a few, that became his trademark. This meant that a lot of T-Shirts were little more than rags that if you tore at them, they would simply rip.

Some clothes I had worn before, but dad had taken into his own closet to wear, because he did not think it necessary to buy new clothes for himself. This is the kind of self sacrifice dad made, so that I can live and lead a better and less worrisome life.

Most of the clothes I packed into a bag, ready to donate to charity. But others, I folded and piled away, as momento... Folded and piled away, like the pillowcase containing strands and smell of his hair.

Next were the medicine... dozens and dozens and dozens of packets of medicine for his illnesses, most still unopened and unused. There were needle-heads too, and wound cleansers, would he needed to inject insulin shots and keep dad's sugar levels under control. Mum said that dad lived the last few years of his life constantly under medication, constantly needing to go to the hospital for check-ups and diagnosis. But a lot of times he did not want to take the medicine. It was as if dad had given up... which explains the packets and packets of pills and tablets still unused, still unopened.

Later in the afternoon, dad's one of his three sisters and one of his two brothers came by to pay respects to dad's shrine. They had journey hours, standing all the way on the train journey from the south of the country, braving the holiday crowd all trying to get back home after the long vacation, just for a glimpse of dad.

We sat down in the living room, bowed before dad, and worshipped him with incense sticks, while we remembered dad for all he was, and all he gave.