Oh, my father died the day after the first day of spring or Nowruz.
I should be grieving or crying or angry or....something but honestly the first thing I thought was how to get the body out of my parents' bedroom. Secondly, and selfishly, I didn't want to die myself.
It wasn't like he was fighting for his last breath and we were holding his hands whilst an IV dripped and some machine whirled in the background. He had some issues including water in his lungs around the time the Pope had issues. I joked with him that the Pope is 88 and has half of one lung so you should easily beat this, and he usually does and moves on in a slightly diminished status. You think things are okay for a day or two and then something else pops up and it has been like this for 2 years now.
I wouldn't have said he wanted to die that particular night. Before he slept I told him he'd have to wait a month or two before he could consistently be wheeled out in his wheelchair without a jacket and it's at least 18c. He told me he's looking forward to it. That was before he watched Bloomberg with me when I was clearing the dishes from the dishwasher. He then went to bed. By the time I saw him again his lips were turning blue but his eyes fluttered a bit like REM sleep.
I always said I wouldn't be one of those people who have regrets when it comes to the death of your parent because I would say everything I wanted to say in full force, no matter how blunt and with harsh language so there's no ambiguity in understanding what I mean even if it meant being like the 45th & 47th President. I'd do everything possible and leave no stone unturned. But still there were a few things I could have said that night. He recovered bits of his sight - enough to start watching some YouTube and CNN/CBC to send me links to things he found interesting. He had been practically blind over Christmas. I made sure to comment all of them but I missed one (it was about how mainstream media enabled Trump and his use of 'friendly' media). I also never told him why I didn't want kids. And there were a few other things.
When everything was settled down and everyone was fed that day, I went out for a walk. To everyone else it was sunny and everything was right as rain. I wondered why my father was the one that suffered and these people, why aren't they suffering like he did? Why can't the misery be shared?
Brazil, Israel, Russia, China, India, Belarus, Turkey, USA all have leaders who are in their 70s. Still trying to make their legacy so they can write their memoirs in their 80s or something and then give sage like one liners when they're 99, 100 or 101 like Jimmy Carter, David Attenborough or Kissinger. An old work mate of mine told me during Christmas not to think why it happens to certain people and not others. His own father fell ill suddenly when I was across the pond to see my old work mates (less him) years ago and subsequently passed away that year.
These days I queue at government offices and talk to a lot of people on behalf of my mother to help settle his affairs. People either start or end with "I'm sorry for your loss". "My condolences". It's usually said in an obligatory and scripted tone & manner. Are you really? Did you know him or me enough to actually say that or you're just saying it because you're taught to? At first I winced and found it annoying but I've learnt to use it now to extract compensation, additional fake sentiment or just a repeat of I'm "sorry".
In the meantime I have X months - X being a decreasing number from double digits to now just a quarter to get through everything so my mother can take the bag of money and go to some BRICS nation that I don't even have a visa to go visit because she's fully convinced the West is in terminal decline so she wants to hide in the relative calm of that place until her own death.
