Man who never died!

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I had imagined this day in my head numerous times, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop crying, crying till the time my stomach felt sick, till my body had nothing else left to spare.

 But I didn’t.

 He was gone, and all I did was sigh!

 Sighed!

 As I replaced the receiver, I felt relieved. At least, He wont be bothered any more!

 I should have cried, bawled, for he was gone!

 I was mad at GOD, not for taking him but for the life he made him live and the way he made him die.

 I know he probably wasn’t the greatest father or may be the strongest human being, but he was the best Grand father in the whole wide world.

 He was the single most pleasant memory of my otherwise sick childhood. He was the one who turned me to books and story world.

 No one knew him like I did and all those secrets and stories were left in between, still waiting to be told.

 The oldest story he ever told me was his first childhood memory.

 How his mother had managed to bring him up, after his father’s sudden death. How the poverty was as common as a cheese burger today and staying alive was a miracle, no less.

His school days were magical! There were stories, of classmates haunted by past lives, strange animals and restless souls.  The teachers seemed like character out of different time and learning seemed like so much fun.

 I remembered how he told me about his Uncles and sisters.

How he missed my grandmother so very much.

He had lost his young wife – she was gone, even before he could know, she was sick.

He lost his eldest son at the age of 16, but he couldn’t say, he was hurt.

His faith in GOD was miraculous, I often argued with him, for not being there for my mother, and he would nod  and leave me to fuss.

He was always carrying my youngest cousin around as he was polio struck. He never complaint for having to nurse him or for when he kicked.  I didn’t understand why he did it, it wasn’t really his job.

He was this kindest, down to earth soul who never let any thing get to his head.

When I saw him suffer from throat cancer, I couldn’t help it, I was so angry with GOD, I know every one is going to die, why couldn’t he take him with less pain. He lost his voice, but we still shared our stories, I watched him fade away.

I remember asking GOD what was the point of his life, was he here to live a curse just like ‘Devrath‘?

It took me a while to find my answers as I was just a child myself. I saw myself growing and with each day, I looked more like my oldest crush! I couldn’t believe that out of all his offspring’s, his grandkids, I was the chosen one, who took after him. Even though he has been gone for more than a fifteen years now, but in me he will always live!

** Image is of Mary Pickford, thankfully borrowed from, http://elizs.tumblr.com/post/16006704518/legrandcirque-mary-pickford-writing-at-a-desk

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2 responses »

  1. This is very powerful and beautifully written. It’s been fifteen years, but the emotion sounds as fresh today as it was then. When people ask me about my father I get upset and say he died recently – but it was actually eight years ago!
    Last night I started writing a blog about first memories and I was touched when I saw you write about your grandfather’s first memories here. I’ll be posting my first memory blog Saturday 🙂

    • Thank you for stopping by Dianne, I am glad you liked the post. Even though people say time heals, it really doesn’t, it only distracts, just like we distract our babies. I am sorry to hear about your father. Losing someone you love is never fair or easy. I cant wait to read your post.

      Regards,
      BC

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