Without Words

36- Big Brothers

I placed the bouquet of carnation, peonies and daffodil beside the tombstone and wiped a stray tear that fell out of my eyes. A month ago, on my birthday, I finally came home to my family, now, its dad's turn.

I stood beside Matt as mom knelt and gave her own bouquet, whispering soft words while we gave her the privacy.

Declan was able to make the final arrangements to exhume dad's remains back in Boston. I was glad that dad was finally able to return home to his family- that was all he ever wanted. Even in the most difficult parts of his treatment, it was our names he was calling out. When dad was regressing and unpredictable, I would remind him of our family back at the US. I would give him a pen or paper if it's safe, or I would volunteer to transcribe anything he wanted to tell mom and Matt. Some were gibberish and lacked no sense but I still wrote them, knowing that he too was fighting to stay sane and remember us. I collected all the letters he wrote and compiled them in a wooden treasure box I had ordered weeks ago. It was my birthday gift to Matt, giving it to him after his birthday dinner, knowing he wouldn't want to turn emotional in front of his friends.

I gave mom her letters too when we returned home. She stayed in her room the whole day after and when she went out the next day, her eyes were puffy and red, calling in sick at the hospital. I thought I did the wrong thing but she assured me that somehow, those letters gave her the closure and forgiveness she was searching for.

After a quiet sob, Mom stood up from the headstone and stood between us, holding our hands tightly as we all gazed at dad's name.

Charles Matthew Forbes

Husband, son, father and friend.

Remembered with love.

No words were exchanged as we looked at dad's name. There were so much hatred, misunderstandings and animosity between our family for years, so much wasted time and opportunities. But standing here now, united and finally at peace, everything made sense. In spite of everything that happened, all of it was for a reason. His death may have been tragic but the time for mourning had passed. Now, we stand here celebrating the life he lived, his legacy of strength, compassion and love. He wasn't perfect, he made mistakes like the rest of us but that didn't diminish or affect his capacity to love and forgive. Amidst the pain, sickness and distance, he remained a good father and friend. Until the end, he remained a loving man and in return, he will always be loved by his family and friends.

Goodbye, dad. You can now rest in peace.

..................

"I am so proud of you." Mom gave me a gleaming smile and squeezed me into a tight hug. "You are so perfect, my darling girl."

It's the night of the exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts and a lot of people came in to support the up and coming artists of Boston Arts Academy. Two of my paintings are in display after meticulous selection and critique by the academy's panel. The event was covered by the press and since I was the youngest of the participants, I was interviewed and commended by many people; some were even from Harvard professors. Dan is certain it's already a validation of my acceptance.

My family and friends were there to support me. Professor Sybil also introduced me to other faculties and artists. Some praised my works while some gave constructive criticisms. I couldn't be happier learning from them and humbly accepting that I could need more room of improvements in my craft.

I just finished talking to a curator from a local gallery in New York when I felt arms wrapping around my waist. Familiar with the touch, I relaxed. "And I thought I would drag that girl by the hair from being too close to you."