Remembering

A mouth full of spaghetti isn't a good way to receive surprises. But in the good old fashioned way that events seem to befall me, that was exactly how it happened.

"It's Father's Day today! Did you know? Have you called home yet?" chimed Wency.

Shawn and Kat both let out a knowing nod, while I spluttered and choked. And let out a big gasp.

"Oh no! I forgot!" I exclaimed, rather horrified.

And then after a brief second, I remembered. I remembered why I would forget. I wouldn't have to call, just like I haven't had to call for the past four years. I was sitting with mum in the cold corridors of the Singapore General Hospital outside the ICU at around this time in 2003.

I tracked back my journal entries and found this one. I suppose this is my way of calling home, of remembering.


Dad
July 15, 2003

I have no words left
A soul that’s been poured out unto death
Strangely how my tears are trapped
Within a heart that strains to hear

Its own beat

These nights have felt as dark
As the valley of the shadow of death
Yet as morning breaks
Will I choose to walk down this road again

I would gladly weep
If tears could wash away this anguish
And drown out every memory
I can only stand

And remember

The legacy he’s left behind
The part of him that’s who I am
He lives even though he dies
In my heart, never too far away from my mind