Mum txt-ed me saying that dad is in hospital. I can hear her cry on her msg. I booked the ticket and told my boss "I am leaving first flight as my dad is sick and I'll lodge my leave whether you like it or not" as he always refused my leave application after that project signed off. Traffic was bad, well it was the last day of Ramadhan afterall, when I got to the hospital, no one actually let me in and surprisingly no doctor available to talk to [at all]. Problem with hospital in Indo that I can never understand I suppose.
I demanded the nurse to release the report otherwise they will have to face the court. I made a copy that morning and dragged my brother around to find larger hospital to accomodate my dad. Unlucky us, eight hospitals refused my dad until the ninth one the nurse said, "yes we have one room and full facility ready and we can also send the ambulance over, but we need the statement from the current hospital faxed to us". My brother was a bit cheered up when we heard that after roaming around on motorcycles. But, as we walked out of the reception, mum called and asked us to stop looking, dad is gone.
Heading back another 30 km, I told my brother not to rush anymore, it's no use. The three of us waiting at the morgue, I managed not to cry in front of everyone. I went to pay the hospital bill and leave my mum, bro, and sis inlaw waiting there. But I broke my tears after AP's dad called me if there's anything he can do. The hospital finally released my dad's body, mum and sis inlaw went with ambulance, bro drove my uncle's car and I ride the motorcycle.
At home, my cousins prepared the funeral process. I rushed myself to clean up and get ready for the funeral. My brother, male cousins and me lifted dad's body to the front yard and we wash him for the last time. My brother and I wrapped him, my uncle guided us how to tie the knots and put his body in the coffin. I opened the suitcase where mum dumped all my old clothings in when she moved back with dad few years back. I dig for my black shirt and pants and quickly get change as hundreds of people start flocking the front yard.
It was 4pm when we [my brother, and few of my cousins and I] started to lift the coffin from living room to the funeral car. Mum choose to stay home with my aunties. Some of my uncles had the grave dug already as we brought down the coffin. I grab a shovel and start filling up the grave. It was raining, people left as soon as the grave filled up. My brother and I still sat there by the grave as if we'll never leave. Rain just pouring in and we both soaking wet till we heard a car honk just at the entrance of the graveyard. I saw my unlce and my niece stood up with one big black umbrella and yell "boys, let's go home...!!!"
My brother stood up after his pray, tried to pull my left hand as I still sit on the freshly wet soil. As if my legs telling me not to leave, I regret not talking that often to my dad regardless whatever he did in the past. My brother then hug me and tried to lift me up to my feet then we walk towards the exit of graveyard soaking wet.
09.11.10. Two years has past. Despite how bad my relationship with dad, he's my dad afterall, it's not like I can choose. I keep telling myself at least I still managed to give him my last service for my dad. I stayed back another 7 days to see how mum deal with it before I flew back to Sydney. I offered her if she wants to stay somewhere else, with me or with my bro, or even with her mum. She refused, she wants to stay here in dad's house because this particular house, dad built it for her with his own hands she said, besides it's so quiet and peaceful here. I guess I know where I picked up my talent in building stuffs from.***