Remembering My Father
My life changed forever on March 28 this year. My father, Md Abdus Satter Sheikh, died that day, and I lost the greatest man I've ever known in my life. When he died, a part of me passed away with him. It's very hard to believe that he would never call me and never implore me to come home early. Sometimes I would get annoyed or did not receive his call as I was busy with work. Now I think of him and miss him every moment of my life. I miss seeing his gestures, his voice - I would give anything to be able to talk to him just one more time.
For a long time, my father had been suffering from COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease). At times, he was admitted to hospitals and came back home after a little improvement. It happened repeatedly in the last years of his life. But this time when he was admitted to a hospital he went away forever. My younger brother and I were present when he breathed his last breath. He had been in a coma. We all knew that time was limited, and I made a conscious effort to build as many reminiscences as I could. I saw him whenever I got the chance at the hospital.
March 23 was the last day we were all together as a family. He was having trouble breathing that day, and by night, he was in the ICU, on a respirator. But his condition was rapidly deteriorating. At one stage, he was on life support and finally declared dead.
When I remember my father, I don't think of him as he lay lifeless on the hospital bed, his mouth open, eyeballs fixed and his soul departed. Rather, I think of him walking in our house with the newspaper or a book, laughing when my little son does something funny.
He was very fond of my son. When my son went out of the house, my father would become restless and anxious. After his death, my son keeps asking me—Where is Dada and when is he coming back? I don't give him the real answer.
I know my father really understood my interest in writing and I also know he loved me dearly. He was fond of reading my articles and discussed my writing. He was a voracious reader and had a large number of rare books in his collection. He liked to read any kind of book with passion but had a special attraction for history and anthologies. During my student life, he brought many books and magazines for me, particularly “Desh” (a literary magazine). He always liked to see us reading.
My father had a fondness for doing groceries and he did it with a great enthusiasm. He knew where fresh fish, meat and vegetables were to be found. He had a good rappport with the vendors.
My father had been a great fan of cricket all of his life and encouraged my brothers and cousins to play and watch the sport. During the World Cup Cricket and other cricket festivals, our house was in a jovial mood. I saw him watching test matches many nights. My brothers accompanied him those nights. He always sat at a fixed place on the sofa and expressed his opinion on balling, bating and fielding. He was well informed about cricketers' life as he read biographies of the players.
My father was simple, polite and quiet by nature. He also thought of life and death a lot. He prepared us for these realities in so many ways. He often reminded us that we only have a short time here and that we should respect our work and honour each other. Two weeks before his death, my father requested us to bury him at the family graveyard in our village. He was conscious that his days had come to an end. I don't know why he preferred the village for his last rest. He passed most of his life in the city. But he passed his childhood in the village and frequently talked about village life. His grave is beside the village mosque amidst greenery and tranquility. We were fortunate to have my father for 75 years. I believe that he's in heaven now with my grandparents, and other family members.
He played the role of father best. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his three sons and one daughter. He always took care of us and was never impatient with us. It is painful that I could not ever show my gratitude to him for all of the good things he taught me. He was one of my very best friends, and we always exchanged stories of our lives and experiences. He was humorous and was the heart of our family, and we relied on his judgment and advice.
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