The Story Of Dad

summary: Lewis never felt close to anyone as he was close to his father, Sanjay. He also never felt lost as he felt when he heard the worst news of his life.

Warning: Might include spoilers.

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28th February 2002:

This is the story of the world’s greatest dad.

The story of a man who was my best friend in the whole world.

The story of the man I wish I could talk to him all day long.

My dad, Sanjay Kumar, was the dad you could ever dream of-

the dad who understand everything you say, the dad who’d never embarrass you, the dad who can teach you a lot of stuff in your “language”.

I used to wear his clothes all the time as a kid, even though they were huge. It made me feel safe when I’m not around him as if he was right there with me. They were always warm and comfortable, like a huge blanket.

Mom told me that when she found out she was pregnant with me, dad was so overprotective. He used to sleep with his head on her stomach, listening and feeling my kicks, always spoke to me as if I was already born. After I came into existence, he was close to me. He was the one to feed me, to change my diapers, to get anxious about everything, to buy me toys… Mom said that he acted as if HE was the mother. As the first born, I was surprised because he never did any of these things with Milton or Edith. Maybe it’s because I was his first child and he wanted everything to be perfect.

He cared about me and my siblings so much. He used to cook a lot with us. He taught me 14 Indian food recipes, but I think he did it better than I did. He encouraged us to develop our skills and improve them. Milton and Edith improved their painting skills as dad taught me how to play the guitar. I always loved to listen to the music he plays and always tried to copy him.

When he had to go to a relief effort, I had an exam that day. He hugged me so tight that day, telling me that I’d always make him proud, no matter what. He said goodbye and left. I was stressed about two things that day.

Six days ago, mom got a phone call. I was in the living room, playing my game-boy, as Milton watched TV with Edith. I remember how mom talked to the person on the other side of the line, slowly hangs up the call and then she began to cry. She walked over to us, telling us to sit on the couch and that she has something important to tell us. In a broken voice and a face wet from tears, she said the words I’ll never forget-

“Your father is gone.”.

When Milton asked her for how long he’d be gone, mom just sat on the floor, sobbing loudly.

“He’d never come back, is he?” Milton asked.



I… I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I felt like I couldn’t breathe… like I couldn’t speak or do anything. I felt like a huge part of my life was erased, I could fill my heart beating so fast, my head was spinning, tears fell out of my eyes…

I just ran to my room without a word and closed the door. I held onto his jacket that I wore that day, sat on my bed and let my emotions come out. I screamed, I cried, I punched the wall until blood came out of my fists, trying to wake up from this horrible nightmare and refusing to believe that this is real. Mom just came into my room, closed the door, set next to me on the bed, hugged me and cried with me. I heard Edith crying from downstairs, probably mourning about him too.

When we decided to move into mom’s childhood house and started packing, mom wanted to throw away the box that was filled with all of his shirts and jackets. I remember I grabbed it, I remember both of us fighting over a box of the clothes that belong to a dead person, I remember how she finally gave up, allowing me to hold the box so tight as if it was dad himself.

I barely came out of my room for the past few days. I don’t feel like going outside. I don’t feel like getting out of bed. I just want dad to finally show up, telling us that it was just a prank, hug him and yell at him at the same time and be happy again… but… I know it ain’t going to happen.

Yesterday, mom encouraged me to get out of my bedroom and cook Indian food for everyone. When I was at the kitchen, making the dishes, I tried to act the same way that dad used to when he taught me how to cook- with a lot of humor and a smile on the face, but at the moment we sat at the table to eat… I remember I cried. Somehow it tasted as if dad himself made it. All the memories from the good days came back to me. I finished eating quick and ran into my room, again, refusing to come out.

Dad, if your ghost can somehow read this, I want you to know that I miss you, and… with how bad it’s going to sound-

I want to see you again soon.

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A/N: Okay, I tried to write this without crying. I failed. I mean, I tried to think how would 14 years old Lewis would write this, and… damn. I’m just going to post it here and cry in the corner because of this shit, okay? Okay.