R.I.P.

My father died almost a week ago, in Monday morning, 14 July 2008, at 03.18 AM, where the sun still hiding somewhere, where the rest of the people still in their dream.

I still remember that last Saturday clearly, when my nephew told me that my father seems sick and lost his balance. I got to his room and asked him whether he wanted to go to the doctor. He just said he didn’t want to see the doctor, instead he asked me to buy his favorite balsam.

I still remember he acted so weird on Sunday night, before my helper told me that my father suddenly could not walk. I still helped him put his short even though he insisted that he could do it by his own.

I still remember that day, when after that incidence, I saw him open his door, standing there, and told me not to close his door.

I still remember that day, that morning, when he finally decided to go to God’s home.

I couldn’t forget his face, his beautiful smile, his cold body, and I just standing there felt nothing, only the emptiness inside myself.

I wish it’s only a dream, I wish I still can hear the voice of his blender, I wish I still can see him sit in front of me during breakfast or dinner, I wish we still fight for the newspaper, I wish he still open the door for me when am back from the office. But it's only my wish, God has whispered in my ears that it's not a dream and it's about Time to Say Good Bye.

Yes, I know it's about Time to Say Good Bye but I can’t, somewhere inside myself, still hope that it’s only a dream ….