A  KISS  TOO  LATE … A  TRIBUTE  TO  MY  DEAR  DAD 

Dear Dad, though long years have passed, I can still recall your walking back home from work; tired, looking too old for your fifty five odd years. Then you seemed to have had trouble with your breathing, trudging uphill to reach home.

You had rendered yourself into a cog wheel in the huge grinding machine of life. Always the same routine, day in day out, year after year. I can still picture you arriving home. You stop, and press the door bell.

On entering home, my younger brother and sister used to rush to you, to greet you; throwing their arms around your neck and welcoming you with kisses. THEY, used to shower you with kisses.

Then the sudden change, the miracle takes place; you become a new person, a different man from the one I had seen minutes before walking up the pensive hill.  The cog-wheel becomes alive; you are transformed into a new creature, full of life and smiles.

How often I wished to imitate my younger siblings; to embrace you and give you kisses. But, I was growing up, Dad, I thought you would realise; I was becoming a young man … and I started feeling aloof through shyness or, I don’t know … maybe,  that’s the way, I used to think, ‘men’ behave.

Today, I cry and pity myself for not behaving as I always wished to. Too late now, you are not with us anymore. Today I am a father, myself, I know what it means to be a Dad, how it feels to be greeted warmly and lovingly by your children.

With these thoughts in my mind, I re-live my childhood days; remembering your sleepless nights, Dad, your concern when I was sick or ill in bed, the endless hours to help me out with my studies, your round the clock work to make ends meet. I still recall your heroic gesture of love; bringing back home in the evening your packed lunch of some sandwiches. Yes, you would bring them back, not because you were not hungry, no, but to share them with your children six. No money could buy food in war-time days.

I can still hear, and appreciate your golden tenor voice singing to Mum, her favourite Irish song, ‘The Rose of Tralee’. I refresh these memories listening to John MacCormack singing, and still can’t distinguish between John and Patrick.

I thank you, Dad, for on your departing from this life, you left behind a treasure chest; you left behind you a priceless treasure, that no money can buy.  You instilled into our hearts the love for God and neighbours. Thank you Dad, for you have invested wisely, in wealth that no moth, no rust and no age can destroy.

I still long for you, I miss you badly. Only one regret I harbour still; the fact that I may not be the man you dreamt that I should be, certainly, not as good as you were . The last time I saw you, Dad, was when, after a short illness, you were called by your Lover on St.Valentine’s Day. Lovers have a curious way of contacting each other and making appointments.

I remember on your last Monday you asked me: ‘What feast is next Wednesday?’ I automatically answered: ‘Why, Dad, it’s St.Valentine’s Day, it’s lovers day.’ I was not curious to know why he had asked the question. But on the following Wednesday I knew the answer, just as I had feared.

You breathed your last on that Wednesday. Your ruddy face was still smiling, I approached your forehead covered in white hairs and … gave you … a kiss. That reminded me of  St.Augustine on his coversion when he confessed: “Late have I found Thee.” Likewise I said: “Dad, late have I kissed you, Dad.”

You know, Dad, I always loved you, maybe I never showed it, and I used to suffer much whenever I used to see you in a pensive and sad mood. I always loved you, still love you and keep loving you till the day we meet  … then I shall declare it: ”Dad, I love you.”

Do ask God Almighty to keep blessing us. Hope to meet you soon.