My Kidneys Failed Me, but You Failed Me First, Father
As I lie in this hospital bed, I can hear the machines next to me humming and beeping. They tell me that I’m still here and living, though not very well. It feels like my body is giving up on me because it’s so weak. My kidneys have failed me, just like life has done many times. It’s cruel, really—how the same illness that took my sister is now taking me too.
The air is heavy with the antiseptic aroma of medication and calm melancholy as I look about the poorly illuminated room. The only sound that breaks the dark silence is the conversation of nurses in the hallway. My mother is sitting close, her face worn out and sad, but my father stands by the door, as usual, far away and expressionless.
I understand that time is running out. My sister was in this bed and going through the same thing once. She failed to arrive. I know deep down that I won’t either. Some things hurt more than the weight of my dying body. It hurts to know that he never really loved me. I thought my dad would watch out for me, love me, and care for me. He never did, though. Not really.
He is still in Dubai, far from the truth he doesn’t want to face, while I lie here counting down the days until I die. I know he won’t come now that I’m writing this. He won’t hold my hand, comfort me, or state that he feels bad about the years he missed. He wasn’t here because he didn’t care enough.
As I look at the empty spot where he should have been, my voice is barely audible because it’s so full of the pain I’ve been carrying for so long. „Why did you bring me into this world? If you never loved me, if you never cared for me……?”
He’s not going to answer. He’s not even going to blink. He stays far away, as if my words were just empty air, just like they always are. I mean them, though. I mean them with all the strength I still have.
I want every parent in the world to hear me. Give birth to a child only if you can love and care for them. If all you will bring is pain and abuse, then don’t. Don’t give someone a life only to make them want something they can never have.
I close my eyes because I’m too tired to think. I doubt he will ever understand or feel even a small amount of the sadness I have. As my breath gets weak and the world around me fades, I make one last wish, but it’s not for myself. It’s for other people. That kids will never have to ask the question I did. That no one else’s heart will ever have to break the way mine has.
Note: This true story was originally shared in Pashto and has been translated into English by The Spine Times.
The views and opinions expressed in this article/paper are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of The Spine Times.
