Dear Dad,

I stare desolately at the view in front of me, not really seeing the towering components of the Manama skyline.  All I can think about is how sad I am, not depressed, just sad.  I recall how for a while everything was so perfect. It was just the three of us; you, mum and me.  Our own little tribe leading an idyllic existence. 

During my summer vacation, every year when mum and I used to go on holiday, you could not join us due to work commitments. You used to take me aside and tell me to always be watchful.  You would ask me to take care of mum and look after her.  I would, and I continued to do so even after we lost you to a heart attack when I was still in school.  I tried to support mum any way I could.  She was devastated and would burst into tears at the drop of a hat.  I would lock myself in the bathroom and have a good howl whenever I felt like it, always feeling drained. The years passed and life went on. My only way to vent, I discovered, was to write long winded poems and letters expressing my grief and at the same time, blaming you for not fighting hard enough to stay with us.  This stopped when I found out that mum had come across a few of my compositions and had taken them with her to your sister’s in India where they pored over it, and would sob uncontrollably. 

I would talk to you often, whenever I was confused or sad. I did my best to look after mum and would help her out.  Granted, there were times when I hindered rather than helped.  I went a bit wild after you left and for a while, even her silent, unstoppable tears failed to get me under control.  Then suddenly, one day, from out of the blue, I grew up.  Well, not exactly out of the blue.  I noticed that mum no longer had that spring in her step.  When I calculated her age, I couldn’t believe how the years had just flown by.  I took up my responsibilities and tried to ease her worries.  I never wanted her to feel alone or left out, so I included her in all my activities.  Many people used to call us the mother-daughter duo as one was never there without the other.  In August 2019, I noticed that mum looked more tired than usual and so I took her for a check-up in India, confident that she just need a little rest.  The hospital admitted her and ran some tests. One doctor in particular had a doubt due to her lowered blood levels and so he sent a sample off to a private lab.  The results were a shock, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think this would happen to us.  My private sobbing sessions began in full earnest.  We commenced treatment and things seemed to go on smoothly for a while. Then the pandemic started and we were stuck in Bahrain as travelling to India was inadvisable due to mum’s age and weakened immunity. 

Just when we thought things could not possibly get worse, we were hit with another thunderbolt.  There was a mass in mum’s head! That is why she was constantly throwing up.  I was numb.  No, it couldn’t be, not again. Radiation therapy was an expensive treatment and at this advanced age how could she go through so much? The medication she has been prescribed over the past two years has been mind-boggling and the side effects change with every passing month.  I have lost count the number of times she has been poked and prodded, needles being inserted into her parchment paper-like skin.  She would cry out in pain, tears running down her cheek, and then I would follow suit. Dad, she is so incredibly strong willed and resilient.  She is a fighter and I am so glad to have her as my role model. If I could be even half of the woman she is, she raised me well.  I have learnt so much from her.  And you know what, dad? Don’t worry, I will always look after her.  I know we’re going to be fine.