I wanted to share this with all of you on 31 Aug 2004....the last day at work but I didn't manage to complete the posting then as many of my friends and colleagues came to say their goodbyes. Now, I share this with you.

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Today marks the 7th day of my abah's passing. From an outsider's point of view, my sadness, though eternal, seemed temporary. I am still the cheery, old me. A friend said "I really admire the fact that you could take your dad's passing so well. I doubt if I could be as composed as you were if I were in your shoes."

My calm composure prompted someone to ask me whether I could see it coming. It is NOT that I do not love my abah. It is NOT that I have forgotten him. It is definitely NOT because I do not miss him. I guess it has to do with my arcadian view of life. Death is inevitable. No matter how fast we run, No matter where we hide...It is the only definite thing in life. I accepted the grievous fact that my abah had passed on. Not even an avalanche of tears can bring him back. I have accepted the fact that he is not coming back.

As I reflected on my 32 years of relationship with him, I have no regrets. We had an excellent father-daughter relationship. We never quarrelled, we never had any misunderstandings. There was never once I raised my voice at him, neither was there a time when he raised his voice at me. We never walked out of each other's life. I know that he loved me tremendously and he knew that I loved him. I know that he knew that no matter what happened, I will be there for him.

My father was an amazing man. Patience was his virtue. He taught me patience without telling or nagging me about it...he taught me patience by just being him. As I digged into my childhood, I could only recall one incident when he was angry. Just one. I was around 7 and had cut my brother's forehead with a pen. My brother was bleeding.

I could see my father was angry but he did not shout, scold or even hit me. Instead, he went inside our room, rolled up a sejadah and hit it several times on the bed. He then told me in his gentle voice not to do it again and sent my brother to Tan Tock Seng Hospital when he got 7 stitches. My father NEVER laid a finger on me.

Now, as a mother, what would I do if it happened to me? I would probably hit the child that hurt the other and punished her. But not my father. He was an extremely gentle man. Even stray cats would be attracted to him, brushing their bodies against his legs and he never failed to stoop and stroke their heads.

One night when I was around 11 or 12, I laid on my bed pretending to sleep...I saw him peeped into the room to make sure that we were all asleep and I remembered making a wish that I could marry someone like him. And maybe...just maybe my wish did come true....I see a little bit of my abah in my DH. Patience, gentleness and love for cats.

I miss you, Abah. I know there is only one thing I can be so that you'd be blessed in akhirat, insya'allah....anak yang solehah.