Burying the ghost on Father's Day

By a Tamil Son

Sunday June 20th, 2010 was just another day for me. Like many others, no frantic last minute-trip to get a cheesy Father's Day card. No elation at hunting down the perfect gift he wanted.

It was just me and painful and joyful memories. I am a grown up, but a scared 18-year-old all over again. Wanting, wishing and waiting that Father's Day passed quickly.

My father died unexpectedly and suddenly at the age of 53 - thanks to a single bullet. A piece of me gone, my flesh and blood, my father, myself.

A faithful Sri Lankan, proud Tamil, who enjoyed fine food, literature, and biking. Whenever he visited, my dad and I would be on our respective bicycles. I truly enjoyed biking around with him -so did he. It was 'The Dad Thing.'  Northern coastal city was ideal place for such activity, roads nestled by serene Indian Ocean, vibrant commercial activity and it was a good place for him to get away.

I remember sitting in the kitchen in Toronto, feeling suffocated by the news of his demise while yearning for a nostalgic past that I hadn't quite let go yet. Our shared activities in their camaraderie in nature played in my mind like a slideshow. Watching Ben-Hur at Savoy. Walking around the charming promenade along Colombo 'Galle Face Green' together with ice-cream in hand. Frequently discussing literature.

I miss the historic and little things about him: the way he'd mimic historic figures - his favourite was Benjamin Disraeli, the fist Jewish Prime Minister of England for his fiery words. I miss seeing such impersonation, which is now a fleeting memory I try desperately to recall. Our conversations were a constant noise in my ears.

He was my first English teacher. He taught me literature - his favourite was 'Hamlet' Once, he taught me how to recite 'Piping down the Valleys Wild' by William Blake during a long bike ride for a poetry recital contest at school - I got the second prize. Kid from Papua New Guinea beat me to it.

Ever since I lost my dear friend - also known as dad, 22 years ago, I have been trying to fill a hole. A hole in my heart so big I don't think it will ever close up. This void in my life haunts me. Walking around Toronto in the first few days, body and mind numbed by the shock, I did the things that have to be done in spite of the screaming inside and out. The right things.

But silly me, when I processed the news, I was waiting to hear the good news. My 18-year-old brain just kept thinking selfishly, "My dad is not dead, it is someone else's and the news I got was incorrect. Everything's going to be great again."

I had pushed the idea of my father demise so far back in my mind that when it was finally confirmed, I was crushed. Wrapped in my own arms, my body tried its best to reject the onslaught of emotion. Tears flowed. Anger rose. I couldn't breathe.

Plato understood that emotions could trump reason. After the tragic and untimely death of my father, I was a living proof of that for years after this life changing incident - I was engulfed in resentment. It was at that moment in that kitchen in Toronto the hole inside me began to burst open. While other 18-year-olds worry about girls and university entrance, I was struggling to deal with my father's death.

My son's birth marked one of the many special occasions where I felt this way too. Ever since, I have felt the most raw and exposed on Father's Day. While no amount of time could ever fully heal the pain. So I wait. I wait for this day to pass and I wait for a day when I can look back on my life and be at peace with my dad's death. That day may never come, but I'll keep waiting.

Father's Day arrived again; it's me versus melancholy - until this year. Spending a whole day with a joyful little guy who understood what father's day is all about as exhibited by his genuine and valiant efforts; who is also excited about learning to bike. When I got the bike out of his garage he was so excited, as evidenced by the wet, sloppy kisses he kept giving me.

If there's one thing I have taken from my loss, it's that you can find strength in vulnerability. His death has made me more resilient and strong. I am motivated to be an achiever at everything I do so something beautiful and positive can come out of my darkest and most painful experience. I want his death to be meaningful.

More than half of my life, I have lived without my father in it, a fact I still have a hard time accepting. I'm getting there. Slowly, but grudgingly. As someone who lost a parent as a teenager, I am part of a club that no one wants to belong to. Unfortunately, there are no perks in being a member. All I hope is that he thinks I turned out okay, despite his absence.

My son once asked me what happened to his 'appapah' (Granddad) and I lied, "He died in an accident" to spare the kid from my nightmares. My dad's death is, and will always be, the defining moment of my life. There are no words I could say, amount of tears I could cry or wishes I could make that will ever bring him back. Without fail, a deep ache follows.

For the first time this Father's day, however, witnessing my son's beaming smile and excitement in overdrive when I took him on his solo bike ride; I have no doubt that I am doing the right things to bury the ghost of the past.

I know that my son will, once again, have the time of his life riding his bike with his dad. What more can I want for my son? It is 'The Dad Thing' My dad knows my internal dialogue. It is all around, this casual talk that is suddenly so full of sharp and painful edges.

A daily salve for my red and angry wounds. With every passing day, no matter the rage inside me, no matter the pain in my heart, no matter the nightmares in my head, there is some moment, some beauty, some extraordinary display of life through 5-year-old helps me breathe, helps me smile, helps me be grateful for all that I have, all that I am, and all that I am becoming.

After this Father's Day, I have decided to cherish the memory of my father differently. I am committed to spending more time thinking about how he lived, and less time thinking about how he died. We both deserve that.

Time for more bike rides with my son along seawall by the Pacific Ocean for occasional fall and grinding of the gears, while listening to our own breathing - in, out, in, out, in, out.

I look forward to next Father's Day.