Suit and tie, briefcase in hand. Standing singularly in a white hall, marbled with silence. I had not been here for years, not much memories surged me. The notice was sent to me a few days ago, I rushed here as soon as I could, but it was too late.

Nada. I did not feel anything. Not even a single drop of tear was shed from me, cold-blooded. But, what could I do? I marched closer to the bed covered in white sheets, lifted a tattered part up to take a peek. So frail, and old. He does not look like my father at all. I recalled an image of my father, but to no avail.

What a failure in parenting… I could not even remember how my father looked like. I slumped down to the cold hard ground, ashamed of myself. But, haven’t we gone through this? like a million times. I admitted that I left my family because I could do better on my own.

Indeed. I skyrocketed with my career, my family, my everything except those breadcrumbs that I had left behind.

But, I never thought about the consequences when I decided to trade myself out of the family for my wellness with the price of demolishing my parents’ life, leaving an empty crater that they created for themselves.

I got up from my feeble position, fixating my sight to my father, touched his face. Nothing, no recognition, no memories, no whatsoever. It was as if I did not have a father. Imagine what if I…

A million images burst into my sight, I pictured my family living a happy life where communication is well-established since young. No hiding, no lies, all truth, building each other as a strong family. I dared not even come close with the empty parenthood that my parent had led me.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, as I realised I could have been better off if I had not left my family entirely, I could use myself as the catalyst to reignite the dread of the family. But, I chose not to, because it was not worth the risk. I rather live with a ‘restart’, kicking everything off with a clean note, progress well, and eventually building a joyous family.

I covered up the white sheet back, strolled away from the white hall, never looking back again. The experience acted as a reverse material for me to look to whenever I wanted to screw up with family bonding, or to act as an asshole in front of my family.

“Daddy! Who is he?” my daughter was standing at the rear entrance anxiously waiting for my visit to finish.

“Em…” I looked back, no lies, “This is a long story, it is about your grandpa. I’ll tell you along the way back home ya, sweetie.” She leapt with joy and the barrage of questions from her was answered with a level mode by me without being biased to any party.

I laid bared to my child where my father failed to do so.

I did this in order to build a family that my father failed to do so.

I am a better father.

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