zoya_brar

My mother and I never really talk about my father. Both of us in our own ways are reluctant to face that part of our life. When we sit together we try to restrict our conversation to happy things. We both are comfortable this way. I think it is our way of dealing with the pain.

That is the reason for my surprise a few years back. I was around eleven back then. I had just shown mom my latest poem. It was one of those poems I shared with her. I think it was called ‘rain’. In my hubbub of emotions, this was one of the few happy ones and I wanted to know what she felt about it. But unlike other times she didn’t go straight to her critique. This time she just sat there and stared at my poem. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wasn’t used to this silence between us. I was fiddling with my thoughts, trying to come up with something smart when suddenly she looked up at me with tears in her eyes. She simply said, “Did you know your father wrote you poems?”

For the first time in my life I felt like something had hit me right where it hurt. Her words and emotions stung my skin. I wasn’t used to seeing her weep. To me she had always been a strong woman. But then till then I thought that about myself too.

That was the first time I cried with my mother and perhaps the last. Even the weak moment was brief as I quietly slipped away from her room and went to my own.

I remember going in and hugging my teddy bear. Chimp had always been my best friend, the only one who had seen my tears. I hugged him and sat down with my memories.

…..My dad had always loved me more than anything. I was the first born and his angel. He would take me on animal rides, sing to me and laugh out loud when I did something funny. My first dance step was the one he liked best. He was the one who had taught me my name. He was the only man I ever looked up to, that is, until I was eight.

I will never forget that night. My mother had tucked me in as usual but I couldn’t sleep. I was just staring outside my window when I saw a shadow cross my door. I got up to look and saw my dad with a bag. I had wanted to stop him but I couldn’t get the words out. I just looked at him in silence as he slowly tiptoed down the hall. He didn’t want me to know and I pretended I hadn’t seen him that day.

I slowly learnt to live without him. My mother and I had our first breakfast without him, first lunch, first dinner, first outing, first animal ride, even first dance. I grew up as a strong girl, well taken care of by my mother. And I wont be stretching it too far if I say that slowly I stopped missing him.

Then one day, a year ago, I wrote a poem which I wanted him to read. He had been a fine poet and I wanted him to tell me what he thought about the best poem I thought I would ever write. So I searched for his mail address and sent it to him. He never replied and after a few days I lost hope. Yes, it hurt, but time did its trick and I slowly began to forget.

Yesterday morning as I was leafing through my mail to check if anyone had sent me birthday greetings I saw something that shocked me. Along with my various mails—spam, junk, even a few greetings—I saw his name. I had never expected this, least so on a day that meant so much to me. I was so excited he had remembered. Something in me wanted to believe that he had saved his comment on my poem as a birthday gift for my seventeenth birthday.

As the mail opened there was a single word written there. It was “goodbye”.

My dad always wrote poems for me. On my seventeenth birthday he sent me a single word which changed my life. To me it was the last poem he sent.

voicesinmyhead

This story is lovely and poignant. However, having read the poem about the same subject, I wondered if there wasn't a way to combine the two. To use the beauty in the structure of the poem- starting from the womb, not filling in too much background, and combine it with the power of prose.

Just an idea.

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My stories:
A Happy Story,Telling His Story,The Beaurocrat

My poems:
Satan,Orientation, For you, Sonnet to War, The Mikvah

zoya_brar

that sounds like an interesting idea.. but i am kinda confused do u suggest merging the poem and story.. combining the best of both... and creating some sort of a story with a few poetic lines?

gary_wagner

This is exactly what I had in mind when I made the suggestion. I like the length and you have a few more words available to fill out the story. I think having first written this story as a poem, you already had the most important points covered.

There are a few things I'm sure you could find with some proofreading (for instance, didn't your poem say that your father taught you to write your name and this story says he taught you your name?). But structurally and gramatically it is very sound.

I was intrigued by voicesinmyhead's idea too. I think it might be interesting if you ended your story saying that the word goodbye was the last poem he wrote but you carried on the tradition from then on and put your poem in after that. Then you could reduce the poem to the bare essentials and the reader would really understand it.

Anyway, great job on the short story.

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zoya_brar

i am glad then that i ended up doing it. On first impulse i rejected the idea thinking it would be really hard to pen it down in words. Poetry often is less painful because it can be abstract but with a story you need to be specific and i knew it would be a difficult task writing this one.
But on second thoughts i am happy i wrote it. In some ways writing heals.
i'll try doing something on the lines of what you and voicesinmyhead suggest.
thanks a ton for the inspiration!
Zoya

edit: he had actually taught me how to spell my name.

Syren

Quote:

To me it was the last poem he sent

How about "It was his last poem, a heavy complex piece" ? (something that punches, mine is just example, you could do better )

Love the whole thing, thought the end lost some of the strength found in the poem though. Still, beautiful and moving... thanks for sharing such an intimate portrait.

Cheers zoya, keep smilin' kiddo,

//Sy

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FollowingShadow

Intimate indeed. It was very personal and vivid. I felt pain as I read this story. The scenes are a bit jumpy, as recollections usually are. But the whole piece was consistent, and I really liked it. It's a good tweak of emotion.

-FS

zoya_brar

Sy,
to tell you the truth, even i am not quiet happy with the end. i fiddled with it for a long time but still couldn't come up with something that was good enough. i am still working on it and any suggestions will be highly appreciated. thanks for reading. its always a pleasure to see your post.

FS,
I am glad i could pull a few strings for you, that was the purpose. the story is very intimate but its a wonder how sharing your deepest grief makes it lighter. Thanks for reading.

Hawke

This had the same pull on me as your poem did. Very good. Very emotional.

Oh, and the suggestions you've already received are, of course, excellent. Maybe give them a go and see how they work out...?

Again, well done, zoya. Thank you for sharing.

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WiCkEd

That was really good. I especially liked the ending.

zoya_brar

hawke, thanks for reading! i am working on the suggestions.. just going through one of my dry periods.. guess i should be able to come up with something soon.. its so frustrating!
wicked, thank you! its always nice to get appreciation!

thamior

it was a good story, but I echo the same as a few others that I would have liked the beauty of the poem to be conveyed into the story. I tend to be a wordy, descriptive person, perhpas thats why I expected it, but never the less it was still poignant.

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zoya_brar

thankyou for finally reading it thamior! i am working on doing just that.. lets see what i can do!

Jemma

You're so brave to put yourself and your experiences out there in full exposure. Well done! I can relate to it in many ways too. I'll be sure to definitely check out some of your other stuff.

zoya_brar

Jemma,
thanks for calling me brave. to me, writing is healing and sharing it with the world gives one the feeling that you have accepted what happened and moved on. that gives me strength.
i also believe that if my experiences can in anyway help someone else to go through theirs, then the pain would dim by itself.
i am not too glad that you can relate to this one..
but i sure am happy that you'll be reading my other work
Cheers
Zoya