Two Questions

Is it true that when you are on your death bed, you would say almost anything? That secrets don’t really matter, all those things they hid from us to keep us safe is not needed anymore. Or is it because they want to punish us with all that burden or maybe they realized that we have matured enough to hold the responsibility.
Either way, I got my two answers from him, and I realized no matter how much you are close to someone, there will always be a part that you never show anyone. The part that makes you who you are. Some might call it, the vulnerable side but I’d like to call it, the soul.
My father never liked hospitals. He thinks they scam you for their business, which makes it more ironic when his last moments were on a hospital bed with the annoying beeping sound of the ECG machine, the smell of medicine, doctors and nurses constantly checking up on him.
After the doctor said that there was nothing he could do anymore and that we should say our goodbyes already, my father seemed serene. He was ready to leave but we were not ready to let him go. Everyone had their fair share of things to say to him. But I was always curious about two things, and I wanted to ask him that. I have asked them before, but he would never answer it.
It was my time to talk to him. Everyone left the room. They knew how much he meant to me and what kind of a relationship we had.
Me and my father did not exactly have an emotional relationship. We never wished each other on birthdays or festivals, even if we did it would be awkward. We never hugged or even said I love you to each other. But we were close. We knew each other like the back of our hand. Before he could even say it, I could easily guess it, like I was living inside his brain.
He had a faint smile on his face. The pain meds were too hard on him. He didn’t say a word. I finally decided to break the silence. “I don’t want to get all dramatic. I just want to know two things”. Before I could ask him the questions, he knew what they were. He said to me, “I will answer them this time”. I said, “You don’t have a choice”. We both giggled at my dark humor.
“Have you ever cried? and what were your happiest moments in life?”, these were my questions. “I just need to know which moment, you don’t have to explain it.”, I said. “You were there when it happened, but you wouldn’t remember. You were so small”, he said looking at the ceiling.

“It was February 11th, 2002, the first time your mother went to Saudi for work. Airports back then were so much more convenient. We could talk to the passengers until they board the flight, and we could also see them across the railing. You were four and half years old, you went running behind her crossing the security guard and customs officers. Everyone was laughing. You asked me why you couldn’t go with her. I lied, of course.
Until she went into the boarding place, I didn’t feel anything, I was only worried about how she would reach Saudi. It was her first time out of the country with no one to help her. It was a connecting flight, she had to go to Mumbai first and then from there to Saudi. We had no mobile phones back then; I was terrified without knowing what was happening.
But once we reached home, I was blank. I just sat down holding my head and cried because I didn’t know what to do next. What should I cook the next day, how should I take care of you, what would I do if you get sick, how can I leave you alone in the house when I am work. You were only a four-year-old girl. For the first time, I was terrified what I was going to do without her, alone. 
I was crying my heart out and you know what you did? You went to the next-door neighbor and said that my dad is having a headache, can you give me some tea. At that moment, I had a little hope that I could take care of you.
Slowly life changed, we were living a typical middle-class life of an average Indian. Monday to Friday, you would go to school, and I would go to my job. Saturday is for getting ready for the weekdays. We would clean the houses, wash cloths and make all kinds of curry for the rest of the week. And then comes Sunday.
We used to have a Sunday ritual.
There is no alarm for Sunday. We would wake up whenever we want, eat Pongal for breakfast and chicken curry for Lunch and then we would go to the beach. We used to take the bike. You would always sleep during the bike ride. We would play in the water till you would get tired. Then we would have some banana fritter for dinner and then go back home and sleep.
All those Sundays were my happiest moments”
I felt guilty for ruining their lives. All these years away from each other and yet loving each other in their own way.
He laid there looking at the ceiling without saying a word, tear drops rolling down his cheek, a relaxed smile on his face and the blank lines on the ECG machine. He was gone.
It looked like he was in so much pain but honestly his death was like that of a gentle blow on a dandelion or like how my mother described it, “The angels took him to paradise”.