Seeing death so closely means never forgetting that moment and the events surrounding it. It is an experience that leaves a hole in the heart that never fills out again, no matter what one does or who else comes into one's life. I have never attempted to fill that hole. Instead I have made it a space that I can crawl into and be a child, and a princess anytime I want.
My Baba, my Dad, is my hero. He was an imperfect man - a regular human to most, am sure, but to me he was flawless. Just the father I needed, to make me feel adored, and always cocooned. Baba was a big man to me. He was tall, broad, warm, with a smile that I will always cherish. Being in his presence made me glow with pride. He was a good man, a disciplined man, a man of very few words but when he spoke his words had purpose and depth. He had a guffaw for a laugh - not very often heard and usually short ones. It was almost like he would swallow his laugh half way because he did not want to share that fun side of him - that part of him was his alone.
He was overly protective and hugely caring of his loved ones. The softness in his eyes betrayed his stern, silent demean. There was so much warmth in his very presence and yet people were never quite sure what he was thinking or whether or not he approved something - he mostly wore a scowl on his face - till that all pervading smile broke out.
He passed away on November 3rd 1975. He had been diagnosed with a galloping cancer in the brain less than 2 weeks prior. He was not his usual self for about 3 or 4 months at most. He left while at home in a coma while we watched him take his last long breath - then as we waited for his chest to rise again and nothing happened we knew that he had given up on life. He was 52.
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