Dad

The eulogy I didn’t give

Dad,

These things I could not say in life, now I tell you in death.

You were loved, so loved, even when you did not know it. I cannot speak for your parents, but your brothers loved you. Your wife loved you. Your friends from school, your badminton buddies loved you. Your patients probably did too, you who were their dentist for decades, who gave every case your all, who never once overcharged, would have done root canals for free if your family’s livelihood didn’t depend on it.

Dad,

Did you know you were a brilliant artist? I think you did, I hope you did. You who taught yourself to paint and whose watercolour renditions of cats, because that's what you enjoyed at the time, drew admirers near and far. It was my honour to set up your Instagram, teach you to post, translate your captions so your art could transcend borders.

seekongchan

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I wish you could have spent more of your life painting, and not only when cancer had ended the career you never loved.

I wish I had asked you to paint that photo of me and my partner a few months earlier. I did not know your painting days were at an end…

Dad,

The world was never out to get you. Life is just hard sometimes, and people will often disappoint. You must know it was not about you, never about you.

I wish you’d said “no” more often, stood up for what you wanted instead of letting me walk all over you. But I guess that’s a father’s love. So I’ll take your silence as the gift it was.

Dad,

I will not say I cherish every lesson you taught—we both know that's not true—but you must know I realise you did your damnedest.

You who did not know love and affection, you made me feel loved. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear. But you did. Not in the way I needed you to, but the only way you knew how.

For in the short time we had together, and death took you too young, your love was never in doubt. I hope mine wasn’t either.

I loved you Dad. I love you. I hope, wherever you are, you’re no longer worried sick about me, about mum, about not being the provider you felt was your duty.

You have done so much for the people whose lives you touched. More than enough.

And now it’s time to rest. Sleep well, Dad.

I miss you.

What will you say?

My father died six weeks ago, exactly 1,390 days after he called from the hospital: It’s bad news.

For three years, nine months and 22 days, my dad fought a battle he was always going to lose. A battle that left him withered, confused, a negative of his former self.

I am glad he is no longer with us.

In lieu of a question this week, a nudge:

Tell your loved ones how you feel so you don’t have to do it in a eulogy they won’t hear.

You don’t know which goodbye will be your last, so don’t hold back. And if you have anything you’d like to say to me, just hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with someone whose eulogy you’d be honoured to give.

Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,

Val