"Daddy's Girl"

Hi Everyone,

My mother passed away in 1988, when she was only 52, and I was 32 at the time. My father survived my mother by 14 years. As we were growing up, we had much different relationship with our father, than my children have with my husband. If you are from my generation, you would understand. Our parents generation, in my mind, was the

"golden generation". God does not make people like that anymore. The respect that I had for my father was a blend of my admiration for his "larger than life" presence and a subtle feeling of fear that my mother somehow engraved in my mind way before I could figure out who he was.

I remember my playful days, when us siblings would raise havoc around the house all day long, and would get away with anything and everything. The minute my father would step foot in the house though, the party was over for us. Although he would not be annoyed by us at all, but our mother made sure that we should "be seen, and not heard" and sometimes not even seen, (Hats off to my mother who went to great lengths, all her life, to make him comfortable.) Now when I see my husband walking into a room, neither sons, nor daughters giving up their seats for him, the contrast makes me wonder how did we went from one extreme, to the other in a mere one generation.

When my father retired from his government service around 1992, he started coming to America. every year to spend the summer with us. He passed away in 2002, and I think almighty Allah gave me these ten years, (rather a gift) to know this man inside and out. It was very hard in the beginning to bring that wall down, that took a lifetime to build. He went through two knee replacements, and a heart bypass surgery. It was hard for me to see him like that because in my mind he was "untouchable". We developed a companionship, he would tell me his childhood stories, he would recite Iqbal, Ghalib & Baba Bullhey Shah's poetry for me, and verses from Waris Shah "Heer". He told me that I was his most trustworthy child, and told me some things that I will take to my grave.

In 2002, his heart became very weak, and he was admitted to a Hospital. I dropped everything, took the first flight home, and stayed with him for eight weeks. Although it was very painful, to this day I consider it the best days of my life. My sister and I were at his side constantly. One day we decided to take turns (shifts), but he got really mad. I guess he knew he did not have much time, and wanted to keep both his daughters in front of his eyes. As he got a little better, I decided to come back to my other "obligations". Since I had to leave for the airport in the middle of the night, I said my goodbyes to him before he went to sleep. Although he asked me to wake him up before I left, I could not do it. I knew, deep down in my heart that this was the last time I would be seeing him alive, and I think he was more sure of it than I was. I tried to sneak out of the house with my sister and nephew, walking very slowly by his door, thinking he was sound asleep. I heard him calling my name out. As I walked in, I saw him sitting on his bed. I had no words, just tears running down my cheeks, as I bent down to hug him. He took my face in his hands and said, "jaa beti, khuda tainu khush rakhay", as he kissed my forehead.

A month later, he fell ill and was back in hospital, again. I tried to get out of here as soon as i could, landed in Karachi and was waiting for my connection. My brother-in-law was director of aviation at that time, so the crew was taking good care of me. They issued me a boarding pass, and I went to the lounge. I was feeling very restless and kept looking at the clock. A staff member came to me, asked me to come to the staff phone, as my brother-in-law had called for me. I took the phone, put it to my ear, thinking he just wanted to know if I am comfortable there. Instead, what I heard was, "Shehla, mama thori dair pehley foat ho gayey nain". I felt as someone had put a sharp knife through my heart. I was not crying but a stream of tears was running down my cheeks. For the first time in my life, I could not differentiate between physical and emotional pain.

I put the phone down, took 17 steps back to my seat, (I counted each step as I thought I was going to collapse at every single one) and felt like the ground was pulled from under my feet and the chadar was pulled off my head at the same time. As I was enduring this pain "standing alone", in a lounge full of people, I experienced the "glimpse" of my father's endurance of pain of loneliness for 14 years without my mother, while "standing alone" in this world full of people.

To this day, when I go through any kind of hardship in my life, I don't worry that much because I know my Abbi is looking over me and saying, "jaa beti, khuda tainu khush rakhay".

Much love, Shehla