by Metamorphoenix
There’s a special bond between fathers and daughters, one that we can’t even begin to fathom.
In a daughter’s eyes, a dad is invincible, infallible and the foundation of the family. He is the breadwinner (well yeah, mum is too, but dad generally earns more), and is usually the more stoic and less emotional. Traditionally, dads aren’t especially demonstrative of their love, but that love is something we always know is there.
My dad became a single dad in 1976 when my mum succumbed to cancer. Faced with raising four daughters ranged in age from 10 (me) to 18, he was suddenly faced with the monumental task of being both mother and father to us.
A staunch Christian, he was a quiet man who taught us to live by the tenets of the bible, very seldom criticised, but could with a stern tone fill me with remorse for disappointing him. Being the youngest, I had the opportunity to spend the most time with him before I got married.
Dad handled 4 daughters who wore bikinis, brought home foreign and local boyfriends, went out till late, became teachers or entered Public Relations (2 daughters per profession, I kid you not), got married, had kids, got divorced – through it all, he always advised and led by example. As he once told us, “I can only teach you right from wrong; the rest is your journey.”
When one sister introduced him to the Englishman she’d been quietly dating and asked for his permission to marry a week later, dad was calm. As he told an aunt over the phone later that night, “You have to let them make their own choices.”
He was a cool dad, way ahead of his time. But like any other father he worried. And that worry would pop out at the most unexpected times. A couple of years after that sis got married, he suddenly leaned over while we were both watching TV and declared, “Don’t ever do what your sister did, give me some warning.” I goggled as he returned to watching Mr Bean.
He agreed to sponsor a dinner & dance dress when I was in the uni, so I shopped around and when I had identified one, brought him to the fitting. It was high necked and black velvet, but when I turned to show him the rather non-existent back, he wryly remarked, “So where’s the rest of it?” and then paid for it.
One Christmas, I brought an Indian Catholic Malaysian male hostel-mate to a family gathering. A couple of years later, he dropped another classic statement out of the blue. “You know, you had me worried over that Indian boy.” Then he puttered off to the kitchen while I recovered.
Dad continued to lead by example to the third generation, mentoring his grandchildren and encouraging their passions wherever he could. He still threw out pithy one liners when he was concerned about the iffy choices we all made, a man of few words, but whom we always knew loved us and cared in his quiet way.
We once asked him why he never remarried. He smiled gently and said no one could take mum’s place, and then cheekily added that 4 women in his life were more than enough. My eldest sis has one clear childhood memory, of sneaking downstairs late at night and watching as mum and dad waltzed around the living room.
Last year, two months after he was diagnosed with liver cancer, we all gathered around his bed at home as he gasped his final breaths. And when my sister whispered in his ear that he could let go, that we were all going to be alright, he took his final breath. Till the end, he embraced the fact that he was going home to the Lord and that he would finally be reunited with mum.
My sisters and I miss him terribly, but one scene keeps us all going. Mum’s waiting for him with arms akimbo, gently berating, “What took you so long?” and then they waltz through heaven’s gates.
Metamorphoenix is an over-40 full-figured newly-divorced sister who’s in search of a happy life. It’s sometimes painful, sometimes funny, sometimes ridiculous … but she writes always from the heart. To find out more about Meta, click the ‘about’ tab.
