My dad's 23rd anniversary

How time flies... my dad passed away 23 years ago today. He died from a blood clot in his brain. He had sustained it from a fall about a month ago back then.

Gosh… 23 years now. Many of his friends and relatives would have joined him now. For me, he left us when I was 13. My greatest regret was how I never got to know him well.

He would have been 72 this coming February. I guess I had never really accepted that he was gone at an age of 48. You see, my father was stout, healthy and strong. He rarely smokes or touches alcohol. He had good sight, working as an accountant and could beat any man at arm-wrestling.

He died so suddenly in the morning on 14 December 1983. It sure struck my family like a thunderbolt. He was a strict father, who did not flinch from scolding my siblings and me. It was his way of telling us that he cared. But during my youth, all I felt was nothing but resentment.

There is an ever-reminder of his presence in my mother’s place. His photo is hung high up the wall overlooking our dining table. How I wish he’s around this Christmas…his grand-daughter is coming this Boxing Day.