I Should Have Loved Him Better

This one is especially dedicated to people in challenging circumstances, remember to be grateful and make the most of what you have, because, the little you have could be gone in the blink of an eye.

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I had been angry for as long as I could remember, even though I would never readily admit it. The subtle hotness of my wrath would subside when I was occupied with other things- school, friends, and the books I so willingly allowed myself to be absorbed into because compared to my life, the stories they told were perfect, full of victorious adventure and happy endings.

 “Let me spend some time with him”, I had told myself, “just sit in the same room and quietly bond.”

Feeling positive, I took my books into the dining room and sat opposite him at the long dining room table. He was fast asleep, his glasses askew on his face and a newspaper from several years ago open in his slack hands. To this day I wonder if he actually read those yellowed newspapers that he treasured so much or if he only pretended to read them. If indeed he did pass his eyes over the words in perfect order, did the words seep into his mind and make sense, or were they just words to him, unrelated and telling a story he could no longer understand? I didn't wake him; I sat opposite him and did my work quietly, hoping that our souls would bond in some sort of way. I would sit there and be pleasant and that would be my good deed for the day, proof that I was a good, strong person.

I day dream often, either I think back on events already passed or I create my own events- mostly wishes of what I want to happen. That day I thought back to a conversation I had had with my mentor.

“I try to love him,” I had said to her, “I just need to learn to love him for whom he is now.”

Today I curse myself for having taken so long to learn to love him, for taking so long to love the man he had become. I got up and went to my bedroom to get some stationary to do my homework and when I returned to the dining room table he was awake and staring at me with a concerned look in his eyes. Our eyes locked for a split second before I turned away irrationally irritated by the awkwardness of it all.

“Do you have a running tummy?” he had asked me.

My reply was dripping with irritation, or was it the anger that was starting to heat up? “Why?” I asked, perhaps a little too roughly.

“You keep getting up and walking to and fro so I thought you must be ill.”

The anger heated me up fast, and caused my blood to boil. I often asked myself who I was angry at. Sometimes it was at him, for not being alright, for not fulfilling what I thought to be his fatherly duties and taking care of me, advising me where to apply to university, what to study, for not being that cool dad that I was keen to show off to my friends, for being sick for as long as I could remember. But that is just it- he was sick and by no means was it his fault. He had not chosen to have Alzheimer’s and to forget simple everyday things or have thoughts and communication skills more child-like than those of an adult. It would make no sense for me to be angry at him, even though he was the recipient of my foul moods and sullen silences. Therefore, I was angry at God, for one simple reason- He let this happen. I am still angry today, but the heat of anger often melts into floods of sadness. Who am I angry at today? Maybe I am angry at myself for not loving him better whilst I still could.

I did learn thought, gradually, to love him better. My love was never perfect though, and never will be the mirror image of 1^st Corinthians chapter 13. I was fond of him; I would not leave the room when he walked in, even later when he was pushed in on his wheel chair, crippled by the cancer. Things about him that used to make me angry didn't upset me so much anymore; my mother had taught me not to think too deeply and to learn to laugh things off. I remember taking advantage of his feebleness and giving him a hug- something culture would hardly permit if he was well and able. He had smiled as I put my arm around him and he patted my shoulder ever so slightly. Warmth has risen up inside of me.

I did not get to actively love him for a long enough time to mask the guilt and regret I carry around with me now. By that time I was hardly at home and soon I had to go off to university. I did not get to actively love him for the remaining two months of his life.

We often take for granted the situations that we are in. Indeed they are more negative than positive and so we dwell on the anger, the pain and sorrow of it all. That is our human nature. I wish I had been good to him, I wish I could have done something for him, I wish, I wish, I wish. He himself once told me that if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. What a funny saying, one I still do not fully comprehend. I appeal to you reader, do not waste the precious time that you have with anyone in your life. Mend broken relationships yes, and let go of the ones God tells you to. Above all- learn to love, and may that love be as close to the love God describes in 1^st Corinthians chapter 13 as humanly possible. I love you dad.

Mum and Dad holding hands in the hospital