In times of my growth, and certainly not by the time I became a rebellious teenager. My father was always busy with his work, struggling to make a living to support our families. At that moment, I could not understand why he was too busy to accompany me. I respect him, but I didn't love her.
Of course that doesn't mean I always fight with my father. Actually, there are also unpleasant times we spent together, for example, when our family out to dinner or get together with relatives when there is a party celebration. However, behind all that stored distaste, that comes out every time we quarreled. We argue about the value of my test bad, about my inability to do the simplest thing he asked about how dad doesn't understand me, and about the painful words. As a result, our relationship became more distant.
When my father reached the age of 50 years, we found that he was suffering from advanced cancer.
For two years, my father tried all kinds of treatments, both Western and Eastern medicine, but in vain. My father finally gave up, but in the condition it was I wasn't give a damn. I continue to harbor bitterness in our hearts and have virtually no sympathy for him. A few months after deciding not to undergo any treatment, my father died. I didn't cry at all during the time of keeping the his remains and the funeral takes place.
A week after the funeral, I took the bus and saw the passengers lively conversation with someone sitting next to. As he took a seat, I remembered my father who used to sit next to me, laughing, he joked, his words, his smile, and the times that I miss him at dinner. Suddenly felt my cheeks warm and wet. By the time I climbed on the bus a conversation with some people in the bus brought me goodness and sacrifice that the father has given me in the days she was still alive. I hurriedly got off the bus, sitting on the edge of the road, and for the first time after my father died, I burst into tears.
I began to regret the mistakes I've done, I cry over my father but it was useless, I know it is too late, but at the time I recall my heart would melt because given that he will never come back again.
That night, I told my mother about what happened in the way home. Mother then tells how the ropes are sometimes ridiculous, my father had attempted such a way as to make up for lost time when I was a teenager. He did his best to get involved with things that interest me, but I even consider going to interfere in my business and it makes me even to maintain bitterness against what my father did to me. Really I would regret all of this I can not even see what is really the love of a father for his son.
To this day, the memory of my father is still attached at the back of my mind, including utterances that first I did not understand or I consider "junk". I also now realize how my anger has become a barrier to relationships with people who have been seeking the best for me. I was too imperious to respond to it, until I, too, failed to apply the advice of the apostle Paul in Ephesians 4:26 Where the contents of Ephesians 4:26 is "If you are angry, don't sin: do not let your anger sunset"
This article is drawn from : [read more] Susahnya Mencintai Ayahku The Indonesian version
