DEAR DAD: YOU'D BE 67 IF YOU WERE STILL HERE... in "REALISTICALLY-SPEAKING: BEING ROMANTICALLY-CHALLENGED"

Dear Dad,

I know I’ve already promised myself that I’d stop writing to you, only because some people out there think it feels like I haven’t really moved on. But you know what? There are others who disagree. They say it’s part of my self-healing process - and it’s really my call to decide when to stop.

October 23 is your birthday, so happy birthday.

Time flies. As cliche as this sounds, it always does. A lot has happened, but I’ve been so busy lately that I rarely have time to catch up with writing other stuff.

But that’s just life, I guess.

The last time I talked to Ma, she told me about her last dream about you. (I haven’t seen you in my dreams again lately.) She said she’d seen you in a very nice, plush apartment. You talked about going to have some things; like new furniture and a swimming pool outside your window.

How odd. We’ve never owned any apartment, not even when you were still around.

“Perhaps he just wanted to tell me that he was in a much better place now.” I could tell that Ma was trying her best not to get choked up. I knew how hard it was. We both know it still is.

Who are we kidding here? She’s still missing you. Me too. We’ll always be.

I know that you’d always wanted me to be and stay brave, strong, and independent - no matter what. Well, one can only try.

Six months after your funeral, I had a sudden, emotional meltdown that I’d scared one of the nicest men I’ve ever known in my adult life. He’d never seen me like that until that very day.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything. I thought I was okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought…if I kept myself as busy as possible, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“You mean, you’re talking about your father?”

I nodded and he held my hand. I’d never seen his steel blue eyes radiate so much concern before.

“It’s only been six months,” he told me gently. “It’s your father.”

Another friend of mine once told me about Sting:

“Two years after his father’s funeral, he suddenly had a serious meltdown,” she’d said. “He couldn’t work; he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even write any song.”

Long story short, after several therapy sessions and heart-opening moments with his loved ones, he could finally go back to work. The song “Why Should I Cry For You?” was based on that.

“Sometimes you need to talk about it. You can’t keep it bottled up inside and pretend you’re always okay - or that it has never really affected you.”

“Give yourself some time. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

And all that jazz. When my other good friends experienced the same, I ended up giving them an advice I’d never taken myself before:

“If you remember him and suddenly feel like you can’t take it, then cry as you may because it’s okay. You’re not a weakling, cry-baby. He wouldn’t mean so much to you if you didn’t feel anything. The whole world doesn’t always have to know or even understand what you’re going through.”

Sometimes it doesn’t matter how close or distant you’d felt about you and him. It doesn’t matter if you used to get on so well or fight all the time.

I know you’re not around anymore, Daddy…but still, I chose to celebrate the day you were born. Because if you and Ma had never existed and met each other in the first place, then I wouldn’t be here.

Rest in peace,

Love,

R.