My dad on his last days.

I love my dad.

and i am not the best daughter my dad deserved and it makes me wonder, what did he done wrong, to have a daughter like me.

I caused him so much trouble, since i was his little baby till i grew up being an emo teen. I always the difficult child in the family. He said it to me once - that im the difficult child.

"Am i not enough for you?" he asked me one day.
 oh what have i done.

i remembered on the night of the very last day of his life, that night before Allah take him forever, he called me.

"hello?" i heard his voice.
"hello,  why did you call?" i asked as worries rush down my veins because he never really calls if there wasn't anything wrong.
"nothing, how are you?" his answer washed down my worries.
"im good, you?''  my mind started to wonder what made him call me, but later did i know that was the last time i ever heard his voice.

On the last week of his life,  mom was admitted to hosp because of the reason i can't remember.
So that weekend, dad fetched me from tati and mom couldnt tag along as she was warded,  and it was the last father-daughter time i had with him, we have a good long conversations through out the 78miles journey.

I miss that moment.

Since i was a kid, apart from being the difficult one, i was the curious one, i asked a lots of thing, every single questions, although my dad maybe just an ambulance driver, he got all the answers for my questions, untill i grew up, the questions get tougher.

That weekend, we spent a lot of father-daughters times along with my youngest sister, i remembered vividly the places we went, dad took us to hardware store, i wouldn't called it hardware store as it sell everything you can think of, but it was, a hardware store, at least that was what written on the shop signage, i remembered buying this cheap pair of white socks with pink polka dots motif and only to realised it was mismatch on the way home, dad only laughed off my disappointment of the socks. that was the moment i realised our relationships are getting better.

im not a good daughter as my older sister. My sister always the obedient one, all the thing she did she always think about dad and mom first, always seeks their permission first. That is one of many reasons why i really look up to her.And to be honest, i secretly jealous of her relationships with dad.

And that last weekend we spent together, i remember,  i feel so content inside, because i can finally appreciating what i have taken for granted - my relationship with my dad.

The last weekend with him, dad took all of us siblings to our favourite restaurant by the beach for some tempuras, the restaurant was near the airport. On the way home, dad stopped on the roadside by the airport,  to just watch a flight take off .He shut off the engine, and got out from the car, my youngest sisters followed, i hate myself but i remember i being grumpy and just want to stay inside the car because i want to quickly go home for whatever stupid reason i cant recall, but later did  i know that was him "sending me" because when the actual time comes he   couldnt be there.

"Fini, look at that flight take off, when knis will be flying to russia, shes gona sit in there" i heard him talking to my youngest sister. My heart ached with regrets.

And to not have him on the day i flew and to be grumpy on the day that he "sent" me, it was just so hurtful.
And this memories flashes in my mind as i sat in the flight, getting ready to take off , i tried to hold up the tears, but when i look below i "saw" him waving on the roadside by the airport.

A week after, i dreamt of him, sending me to russia, he was in the airport, along with others.  i remembered not seeing him long , and i remembered i miss him,  he hugs me, tight, as i can tell he miss me too and that dream  i swear felt so real.

I remeberd on his last days,  he tried to give us everything we wanted, yes i noticed the first was the motorcycle, i told him that our hostel (in tati, during our preparation course) are so far from th campus, and  how i wish i can just ride a motorcycle, and that weekend when sending me back to tati, dad stop by his brother's place, he asked his brother to lend him the motorcycle for me, and he ride all the way from dungun to kemaman, and i remembered my older sister tearing up upon seeing my dad through the windows car.

Dad maybe not rich, but he make sure he did what he can for his children's happiness. My siblings and i very much aware that our parents cannot afford lots of thing, but being an ungrateful selfish difficult child, i rememberd asking to join a trip to gunung kinabalu, the fees was rm1000. for you it may be just a little sum but for us that is a lots, but dad still agreed as the trip fall on the same date as my birthday.
But then, one day, i remembrd watching tv with my dad, a show where they go and review nicest restaurants in thecity, and that episode happened to shoot in kuala kinabalu, the restaurant they went was fancy and explained the pricey food.

 " So, when you went to kk, i dont give you enough pocket money dont i?" my dad asked, i fall deep in my thought of partly blaming myself and partly trying not to, that moment i realised how selfish i was, for ever asking for th trip and for making my dad felt and think such way.

"no, you gave me just enough" i smiled, i love you dad, that maybe the best birthday present ever. i said, in my heart.

i remebered my days at tati, the starter of the smartphone era, my roommate had an ipad, that was the first ipad gen, she was really nice to let us play game and do stuff on her  ipad, i was really amazed on how smart and convenient ipad was at that time as so,that weekend when i came home, i decided to check the price on the website, rm 2000?

i didnt realised dad was looking from the back, "what are you looking for?"he asked.
i startled and  closed the browser, "no" i smiled, i know he cant afford it and i was matured enough to understand and not being as selfish as i was before.

When i know that was his last days, i solved the puzzle and realised my dad tried to fulfill our wishes before he go forever, at least allah give he chances,  he tried his best while he still got his time to make his children happy.

On that fateful day,
i noticed a miscalled from my mom, so i tried to call back but no one answer.
then, i called my dad, when he didnt pick up his phone, i just had an insticnt something wrong happened.

few minutes later, my uncle called me on the phone.

"hello knis, pack your things i pick u up in 30 mins'' he said.
"why?" i asked as my limbs starts to get cold, chills running down my spine.
''your dad accident... he passed away" i lost in my own world as every single memories with my dad start flashing before my eyes and tears streaming down my cheeks and i didnt realised when i started crying loudly on the floor.

i know he take half of my heart away with him.


Being a doctor was never my aspiration. But my dad is the reason why i chose this difficult career.

I still remember so clearly that one time, my family and i went out for a dinner at our favourite restaurant, dad take out his cigarette and pull his chair away from us. That was something he's so particular about, to never let his cigarette smoke reach our lungs. He light up the cigarette.

A month before,  he had an infarction and was diagnosed with heart disease. The doctor said he need to go under artery bypass surgery and to stop smoking. As a difficult child who also love his dad, i always, argue with my dad, about smoking, my sister didnt like it, she said i was being rude, maybe i was.

"Dad, you've been diagnosed with heart disease and still have the heart to smoke?" i blurt.

 and his answer that night was the reason  i didnt quit medschool.

" its okay, i will have my own personal doctor soon" he smiled and look at me. I can see hope in his eyes.

And everytime i feel so tired of med school, everytime i close my eyes to cry, i see the same hope in his eyes  and thats what keep me going.

ayah k.nis minta maaf, knis tau  knis banyak bebankan ayah, knis tau knis x berjaya jdi anak solehah, knis minta maaf. k.nis sayang ayah.