Submitted by : Poh Yew Tuan
Even on my hero’s deathbed, he whispered his punch line calmly, “Don’t worry, everything is under control.” An involuntary tear found its way to my lips .Hearing those familiar words; I recall painfully the bitter-sweet happiness that he had given me during the last years of his life.
My father was a chronic alcoholic who loved nothing more than the bottle in his hands. He drank inordinately. I abhorred his awful habit which robbed me of a viable relationship with my father in my growing years. In an almost laughable irony of life, I followed in his footsteps. I fell into the clutches of abject alcoholism. I shunned all my responsibilities especially that of being a parent. I had become my father.
He was a quiet man of few words. In my whole life he had hardly said more than ten words to me at any one time. One day however, he pulled me aside during one of my rare sober moments. In the few seconds that he had my attention, he made me a laconic promise which would have an impact for the rest of my life. He said he would give up the bottle if I gave up mine. Despite my mental state, I believed him.
I went through an unbelievably terrible time during my rehabilitation. Only true addicts would be able to empathise with me the demons I had to duel day and night. The pain was unbearable but I was adamant to change. Because of those few words my father rarely spoke, my sense of esteem was restored – I had mattered enough for him to give up his bottle. Though an adult and a parent by then, I was once again a child receiving the attention I never had. I wanted to earn his approval and I would have gone through the same pain even if it had been ten times worse. I drew strength knowing that my father too was struggling together with me.
During the five years of radical change, I received comforting notes from him which invariably ended with, “Don’t worry, everything’s under control.” He contributed greatly to the joy of my family. He kept his promise and kept his nose clean. He revelled in his role as my father and a loving grandfather to my child. However, despite the quiet happiness, I sensed intuitively that these were to be the best and last five years that I would ever know with my father.
He had been hiding something from me. That fateful day I found out the truth, his yells had been painfully incoherent. He shivered in convulsion and I had to put a metal spoon into his mouth to prevent him from severing his own tongue. My fingers dialled for the ambulance that would take away my hero forever. My desperate prayers were simple but I was a total mess. I could not comprehend what was happening although I was distinctly aware that my father was about to disappear from my life and I had not had enough.
As he battled on with little more than extreme pain , I felt my love for him flow as I whispered into his ears the words he often used. I said, “Don’t worry Pa. Everything is under control’. He smiled his last as I felt my world crumble away.
My father had been battling stomach cancer. It was more than a miracle that he lived on for two years when it could have been just six months. He had fought the battle alone motivated by the need to encourage me to escape the bottle. At the expense of his pain, he was rescuing me from mine. It was then I wondered what I had done to deserve such great love from my father.
He is my father and hero, so I write of these things to honour him. And to honour all the unsung heroes no one ever knows about, who are themselves imperfect but persevere in making a difference to the one person to whom it mattered. My hero had made the world a better place for me to live in.