Old Age and Perdes

"I think we killed our father. My father was one heck of a happy man in Pakistan. He was in a plumbing and gas contractor company all his life. He enjoyed his naukri with colleagues he worked with. Besides co-workers, he had one best friend all his life with whom he shared everything.

First, my brother moved to Canada, followed by my sister and me. We sponsored our parents. My father never wanted to leave Pakistan, but at our mother's and our insistence, he gave up. But mentally, he never left Pakistan. He was destroyed by losing his work and his only friend. Over time Papa became more and more somnolent. He can be quiet without a single word for hours. He didn't want to do anything. We tried to get him to involved in dawats, parties, and community events, but he would not talk to any person sitting next to him, even as a courtesy. In the beginning, it was tolerable as he enjoyed grandkids, but as kids got more involved in their lives, he lost all interest in life as he had nothing to look forward to each morning. He stopped going to my brother's or sister's place. In the beginning, he enjoyed News from back home, but they didn't do any good as most News were depressing. He became more and more homebound in the severe, harsh cold weather of Canada, and his diabetes went out of control. His arthritis starts acting up. He started getting angry at himself since his body was not functioning well. He starts popping more and more pills.

We thought of sending him back to Pakistan, but if he goes to Pakistan, the mother also has to go with him, but she wanted to live here with her kids and grandkids. Also, we always lived in a rental place in Pakistan. We lived on the 4th floor, and last year when we visited, Papa couldn't even climb those stairs. He firmly believed that he came to this state of health because he came to Canada and became home-bound. If he had stayed in Pakistan, he would have been fine. When we went to Pak, only one person met with him - his only friend. Papa was extremely sad that day when his friend left. I considered leaving Papa back in Pakistan, but it was logistically impossible. Coming back, he was a stranger fellow.

One day he got a mini-stroke. He was prescribed a walker by his physical therapist, but he wasn't ready to use his walker though he continues to have attacks of vertigo. It was a massive blow to his ego as all his life, he was never dependent on anything and was never seen as a weak man. We thought he might listen to another man, so we asked my brother to 'talk' with him, but he didn't listen to my brother, and my brother doesn't have that much patience to talk with him over and over for the same reason. He lost his mind when Papa gave rough answers. Mom and I have been so stressed keeping an eye on each of his movements, ke abhi gire abhi gire.

On that day, we had a big argument with Papa. He, in return, decided that he would not eat his lunch. He fell due to hypoglycemic shock and died.

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