“My Dead Dad Came Alive—On This Birthday.”

My Dad Speaks on His Birthday: A Letter from Heaven.

DATE AND TIME—TODAY, 2:32 am (Time of death)

PLACE—ALL WITH YOU

MOOD—TO CHAT WITH YOU, MONGI.

I don’t remember you vividly these days, probably because I’m already in my fifties, na! But it’s okay, you know, in this phase. I exist in a place where the clock has stopped. I have timeless time and the powers of God. Maybe I am more than a god in this phase—omnipresent.

I find myself just strolling around with you, Mongi, as a silent companion in your everyday life. I miss your mother more deeply these days—sometimes even more than I miss the world I left behind. I am still watching this nonsense about my youngest son and observing my firstborn son settling in life.

But I am not here for others; I am just here for you, Mongi. I have all the time in the universe now, yet there is no one to talk to, truly, or a voice that reaches you. I can watch you, but I can’t make you feel. If thoughts could cross the boundary between worlds, I would use them to speak with you every day.

I wanted to talk to you. Because in my whole life, I regret this—I never asked you, "How are you, beta?" (Beta—daughter): Did I do enough for you? Did I make you feel loved, protected, and proud? Do you carry any unspoken complaints against me? How do you feel without me down on earth?

I have been watching you, so I know you always felt alone. You never share your emotions with anyone. I know, unfortunately, that after I left, you came closer to your mom.

You know, I still remember our nightly routine—10 pm, time for my medicines. It is a small and silly thing, yet each night at that hour, my thoughts naturally turn to you and your mother.

Everyone knows that I have less time. I want to reach out and sit with you. I want to look you in the eyes and say what I never said enough: You have made me so proud. I gave you responsibility for my wife. I am proud of the woman she has grown into, proud of her strength, kindness, and courage. Proud that I trusted you to find her path, and you did, even when life was unkind.

When I watch you these days from here, I do touch you and long for your hand exactly the same way I used to hold those little Mongi’s hands while dropping them off at school.

You have grown up now, so much so that you scold your mom. I wish you had scolded me some days for ignoring my health as well. To show me your true self, that you considered me not just a father but a companion in your journey, that would have made me feel more proud as a father.

Parents live for that moment when their children can stand in their shoes, take on the world, and shoulder responsibilities. I am grateful I could see you grow into that person, even if from a distance.

I know I am far away, but I am still watching you. I don’t have my specs here, but somehow, I see you even more clearly. I wish I could come down, give you and your mom a tight hug, and cry with you—not in sadness, but in gratitude for the life I got to share with you all.

My only regret is that, in all those years, I never hugged my family, not even once. This life was very short; forty years gone in the blink of an eye—I didn’t even get a chance to realize it, and I missed those small, precious moments.

I don’t wish for another life, Mongi. I am content and grateful for the family I was blessed with. I am happy to watch you all, to feel your presence even from afar.

When I was in bed in the hospital in my last 7 minutes, I was with you all. I was especially close to your mother. I wanted to ask her for her forgiveness for leaving her here in these cruel relatives’ place alone; I had never imagined that they would turn out so pathetic. I felt relief when my parenting didn’t go wrong, when my children stood tall like pillars around their mother.

I know there is no point in talking now from this far distance; when I had time, I didn’t value those precious moments. I thought I would do it all after my retirement, always putting health and happiness second to work and worry.

My greatest lesson came too late, after losing my life—never take your health for granted, beta.

Invest in yourself every day. I spent my life building wealth—land, stocks, mutual funds. I never invested in my most valuable asset, mistakenly believing it to be good health insurance. Having health insurance is not sufficient. I forgot to take care of the body that made it all possible. In the end, my own body betrayed me because I neglected it for too long.

Since I didn’t have my health with me, I lost everything, so much so that I could not recognise my own family and kids;

My soul screamed to let you know I was still there, but my body refused to cooperate. I saw your mother in tears holding my hand, begging me for a sign. I tried to move my fingers, tried to squeeze her hand—to let her know I was listening, that I was still fighting to stay. But my hands were flimsy; none of my body parts supported me that day. I couldn’t even blink and say yes. I felt paralyzed, and my body was already gone before my spirit had a chance to say goodbye. Finally doctors declare me in a coma, but I was there all those times.

Beta, the truth is, I betrayed my body first. I seeded thorns and expected flowers; that’s not possible.

I spent my days worrying about the future, saving and planning, and I forgot to care for the most precious thing I had: myself and the time with you all. Please, Mongi, don’t make the same mistake.

If I could give you one gift, it would be this lesson: Treasure your health. Love fiercely. Don’t wait for tomorrow to say what matters, to show your love, or to reach out for a hug. Life is shorter than it seems and unpredictable too; what matters most are the people we love and the moments we share.

There is no second chance.

Although I am no longer visible to you, I still miss everything. But I am always with you, Mongi. I watch over you with pride and unending affection. My blessings are with you and your family every day.

You will always be my daughter, my pride, and my joy

With all my love, Your Papa

Thank you for scrolling down until here. A special thanks to Ginger for being the bridge between worlds, helping my dad send his love, and writing this letter on behalf of my papa on his birthday.