Eight minutes left on Father’s Day before midnight strikes.
It’s been more than seven years since he left us for good to enjoy his deep sleep.
I wish I could tell Papa of the things that I and the rest of his children have achieved.
I wish I could see the twinkle in his proud eyes and hear him chuckle, “No doubt. Who’s their daddy?”.
He never said he loved any of us explicitly, but we now know he did. Ever so deeply.
Years ago, as an overseas student in Adelaide – living away from home for the first time,
I bumped my chin on the edge of my desk, next to my bed in my dormitory room.
I relayed the incident home in a letter.
“Dad cried when he heard that you hurt yourself.”
I know he loved us all.
If only I knew, that every cough, every smile, every scorn and every rebuke,
Every sneeze, every question, every habit – however annoying,
Every gaze, and every word,
Every vein and every wrinkle on his hands,
They were all blessings to cherish.
Happy Father’s Day, Papa.