Rules of Engagement
Chapter One
The day that my dad died I finally understood what it meant to be alone. A single child left with a widowed father was pretty much the bare description of my life. Not that it didn't have colour. If anyone knew my dad like I did, my life was the most colourful canvas on an empty beige wall. He used to joke with me as a child and ask me who my boyfriend was. I would always reply with,
"No one daddy, you're the only boy I need"
I still get goosebumps thinking about the sentiment in his eye. His wrinkled smile would stretch across his face.
"Thats my girl" he'd say.
Now I know that most daddy girls were princess' and were spoilt to the max. I never grew up that way. Just so we were clear. When I was fourteen my dad was diagnosed with cancer. We owned a farm, but he could never take care of it because of his cancer. So every morning he would ride with me on the atm to feed the stock, and every afternoon I would go out by myself to milk the cows. Every morning I would get him ready before going to school, and every afternoon I would comfort him in his pain. I never really had much of a social life, and I didn't really want to. I guess being the caregiver of an ill parent kind of makes you grow up and not be so materialistic. I was always scared to wake up every morning. It could've been any day that he would go and I just wasn't ready for it. Turns out, I was depending on him, more than he was depending on me.
I rushed my dad to the hospital and could barely carry him in my arms. Although it happened that he had become so thin, that his skeletal body could've slipped through my fingers. I remember as the doctors placed him on his bed I collapsed on the ground. My hands shaking in my face. One doctor came to my side and just cupped my shoulder. Small gestures of comforts. I had been in my pyjamas when I found him in his bathroom. And there I was waiting in a quiet ER room with my knees tucked under my chin and my bare feet peeking out from the cuffs of my pyjamas. The only thing I wanted to do was be the little girl curled up in her daddies lap. I remember begging god to reverse time just so I could tell him that I loved him one more time. As much as it pains me to say it, but I never regretted being selfish with his time. I just wasn't ready for him to leave me. Ever.
I was 22 when he died. That morning they came in to the waiting room. Two of them, and they started like this,
"We're sorry for your loss"
I can never remember what they said afterwards. I don't even remember when the tears started, or when they got hot. The only thing I can remember was the feeling of my heart turning in its cavity. I could feel the air in my lungs, but it wouldn't move. I couldn't breathe or move. It had almost been like a part of me had begun to rip itself away from me. Because of the beautiful man my dad was, I can safely assume that the part of me that left with him wasn't a small tiny strand of hair.
"No one daddy, you're the only boy I need"
I still get goosebumps thinking about the sentiment in his eye. His wrinkled smile would stretch across his face.
"Thats my girl" he'd say.
Now I know that most daddy girls were princess' and were spoilt to the max. I never grew up that way. Just so we were clear. When I was fourteen my dad was diagnosed with cancer. We owned a farm, but he could never take care of it because of his cancer. So every morning he would ride with me on the atm to feed the stock, and every afternoon I would go out by myself to milk the cows. Every morning I would get him ready before going to school, and every afternoon I would comfort him in his pain. I never really had much of a social life, and I didn't really want to. I guess being the caregiver of an ill parent kind of makes you grow up and not be so materialistic. I was always scared to wake up every morning. It could've been any day that he would go and I just wasn't ready for it. Turns out, I was depending on him, more than he was depending on me.
I rushed my dad to the hospital and could barely carry him in my arms. Although it happened that he had become so thin, that his skeletal body could've slipped through my fingers. I remember as the doctors placed him on his bed I collapsed on the ground. My hands shaking in my face. One doctor came to my side and just cupped my shoulder. Small gestures of comforts. I had been in my pyjamas when I found him in his bathroom. And there I was waiting in a quiet ER room with my knees tucked under my chin and my bare feet peeking out from the cuffs of my pyjamas. The only thing I wanted to do was be the little girl curled up in her daddies lap. I remember begging god to reverse time just so I could tell him that I loved him one more time. As much as it pains me to say it, but I never regretted being selfish with his time. I just wasn't ready for him to leave me. Ever.
I was 22 when he died. That morning they came in to the waiting room. Two of them, and they started like this,
"We're sorry for your loss"
I can never remember what they said afterwards. I don't even remember when the tears started, or when they got hot. The only thing I can remember was the feeling of my heart turning in its cavity. I could feel the air in my lungs, but it wouldn't move. I couldn't breathe or move. It had almost been like a part of me had begun to rip itself away from me. Because of the beautiful man my dad was, I can safely assume that the part of me that left with him wasn't a small tiny strand of hair.