The Loss Within the Loss

 I lost my father in a car accident just a day after my 10th birthday, 28th September 1988.

In the days and years that followed, my mind still carried him in vivid fragments. I could summon his face, the way he walked, the scent of his clothes lingering in the almirah. Scattered moments of his laughter, his jokes, of his dance moves, the way he tied his turban, the way he called my name, would gather themselves into a mosaic of his presence. Memory stitched him together for me, keeping him close, almost within reach.

My father loved driving still remember his Car's number plate PB08 4848. 

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of vacations where he would take us on long drives in that car, keeping it spotless and shining no matter what and where we were, as though it were part of him. It feels deeply ironic, and almost cruel, that the very thing he loved became the cause of his departure from our lives.

He wasn’t just important to us, he was a vital part of everyone’s life he touched. The life of every gathering, always ready with the best advice, the funniest jokes, loudest laughs, the most genuine help, the warmest presence. His absence created a silence larger than words could hold.

Now, twenty seven years later, a quiet ache struck me, I can no longer remember the sound of his voice. The way he called my name has slipped away, like sand through open fingers.

They say grief has many seasons. At first, it is loud, raw, and unbearable and yet strangely full, because echoes still remain. Over time, it softens into silence, leaving behind a different kind of ache. The loss within the loss, the fading of details we thought were ours forever.

And yet, life has its strange, tender ways of weaving loss into love. The man who became the love of my life, my husband was born on the very day I lost my father. He is a mechanical engineer, like my father once was and he takes me and our children on long drives during vacations, just as my father did for me, the one who carries same genuineness like he did. In him, I find echoes of the warmth, care and love that once made my father the anchor of our world.

Perhaps that is how those we lose stay with us, not always in the sharpness of memory, but in the ways life gently brings their essence back to us, through people, through love, through moments that feel like continuations of what once was.