Finding My Father

                            Finding My Father        

         

On March 17, 2012 it will have been thirty seven years since my father passed away. Every year when this date comes, I miss him and wish he were alive so I can call him father. Growing up my mother (Amee) told me that when I was three years old, my father passed away. I don’t have any memories of him. I miss the father I made up in my head. I remember as a child wishing that he wasn’t gone and that one day the doorbell would ring and he would be home. He would look very happy, healthy; he would hold me in his arms, swing me around and give me lots of presents as if he had just returned from a business trip. From that day on, my mother and my sisters would live happily ever after. The reality was and is that he did die, I was three years old.

I am forty years old. And today is the first time I am writing and thinking about my father about whom I have no memories at all. I have seen his pictures, his hand writing and his personal belongings such as his jacket, writing pad, briefcase and his camera. Through those things I have created memories about him.  

Growing up my Amee and other family members always told me that I looked like him. I always felt great about it.  I was born on a religious day and he was very happy about it, he picked my name “Zainab”.  The day after I was born he got a good business deal and I was his good lucky daughter. I was close to him. When I turned one year old, he threw a huge party for me. Amee tells me that I remind her of him. Every time I look at my face in the mirror I search for him in my own face. 

His name was Mohammed Madar Susi. He was born in India, Karghar on February 15, 1929.  My parents got married on March 12, 1966 when he was 37 years old.  He passed away on March 17, 1975 at the age of 46.  My mom didn’t know how he died the only thing she always says is that he was a heavy cigarette smoker, and he died in a hospital.  He was a photographer, his hobbies were writing short stories, drawing human sketches and he loved to take other people’s pictures.  He was tall like his own father, 6 ft 2 inches tall, normal built. According to my mother he was a heavy tea drinker. 

Just by writing about my father makes me want to meet him more. I wish I had memories with him. I am 40 years old and I am missing my dad. I guess when it comes down to it your parent’s age doesn’t matter because the feelings are the same.  Amee and my sisters have always missed him but we have never had an open conversation about him.  But today I called my mom and asked her to tell me whatever memories she had about him. She was okay about it and also two of my older sisters remembered him very well. I envy them. They were happy to share their limited and valuable memories with me.

After writing down what I know now and how I feel has made me miss him more but at the same time I am feeling relaxed and happy about it. I guess I didn’t know until now that I was withholding emotions towards him without knowing it.  I am proud to say that he was my father and I will always miss him.