42 Years. Minus Dad.

Today is Fathers' Day and coincidentally it falls on my birthday this year.

And it will be my first birthday in 42 years without Dad.

Sure, there were years Dad was away on business trips or on holidays with Mum, or I wasn't home during my birthdays. Back in 1991 when I was a Junior College student, I participated in the Pre University Seminar Singapore: The Next Lap and my birthday fell in the middle of that week long camp. I was residing at Sheares Hall, National University of Singapore, and I remember receiving a handwritten note during meal time to head over to the general office. Mum had called and asked them to relay a Happy Birthday message since they weren't able to spend my birthday with me.

Mobile phones and social media hadn't exploded on the scene in the 1990s and we relied heavily on old-school communication methods like snail mail and land-line telephones.

But this year, Dad won't even be physically present because we're no longer residing on the same realm.

Many countries around the world, including Singapore, set aside the third Sunday of June to honour Fathers. I did my own little research and discovered that the first ever Fathers' Day was celebrated on 19 June 1910. Since then, Fathers' Day has taken place on 19 June 16 times and if Dad was around, we'd have enjoyed a double celebration for the seventh time.

Fathers' Day usually takes a backseat in our household because Dad doesn't like to be fussed over. A card, simple meal and a token of appreciation would suffice. When the grandkids came along, the atmosphere livened up considerably. My super strict disciplinarian Dad transformed into a super doting Granddad and I couldn't believe he's the same man who'd insist I consume every edible morsel on my plate but waved his hands nonchalantly when my girls had leftovers on theirs - "Don't finish, never mind." 

Our last Fathers' Day meal was at The Mouth Restaurant, NEX. I'd brought along home-cooked porridge for Qi and I recall how Dad was amused by her antics at the dinner table because she was curious about our food. He had commented, "Very soon she'll be running around and joining her sisters." 

Little did we know that it would be our final Father's Day dinner with Dad.

Anyway, I'm in no mood to celebrate anything. Not when one of the duo responsible for my existence no longer exists. While I've never been close enough to Dad to openly pour out my woes and chat about frivolous matters, I think we do share an unspoken bond that's hard to describe. To me, he's a man of few words (because he speaks to me only when the need arises), and I'd get all nervous whenever we sit down for a heart-to-heart conversation. He'd always appeared cold, unfeeling, disapproving and stern, and I was accustomed to being chided for every little thing that angered him.

It's akin to being hauled up by the School Discipline Master and waiting to be admonished for something you've obviously done wrong but clueless about what that is. 

Despite our apparent lack of communication, Dad was always there when I needed advice for life-changing situations. And he always knew the right things to say that would make the most sense. Those were the times when his words would matter most.

While I've accepted his passing, the sense of loss can be overwhelming and I'm still prone to the occasional sob 'n' sniffle. Unlike my mum, aunts, daughters and even the hub, I hadn't dreamt of him since he left us in March. Initially I was rather upset. Why wasn't I able to see him in my dreams at all? Because he's still upset and disappointed in me after all these years?

I'd slowly begun to accept that maybe - just maybe - Dad really didn't think much of his only child, and that I was more an obligation, a responsibility to him. I don't think he'd ever told me or made me feel that he loved me.

Until early Friday morning when he appeared in my dreams.

I was walking towards an elevator and there he stood, with his back facing me. He was dressed in a collared short-sleeved shirt (dark blue?) and beige/cream pants. I called out "Hey Dad!".

He turned, spotted me, his eyes lit up and gave me a huge warm smile.

"Hel-lo!" Dad called out in his usual manner. I hugged him.

"How have you been, Dad?"

"Good, good!" he replied in his usual fashion.

"We miss you!"

And then I jolted out of bed. It was in the wee hours of Friday morning. I sat up for a while, unable to believe that Dad had (finally) appeared in my dreams. I took that as a positive sign, that he's happy where he is and he's acknowledged me. And for the rest of the day, I was glowing.

Dad and I exactly two decades ago as we celebrated my 22nd birthday

Yes, I may be in my 40s but I still feel like a child yearning for a parent's approval. In my mind, Dad's extremely difficult to please and we were at loggerheads (mostly during my teens) because I constantly believed he was disappointed with everything I did.

His brief appearance in my dreams couldn't have come at a better time. And it lessened the heartache a little.

He gave me an early surprise birthday present and that's definitely worth more than physical gifts.

Thanks Dad for remembering my birthday.

And thank you for being My Dad. Happy Fathers' Day.