My Dad

"I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the grains of sand in the world." These are the words my dad used to declare his love for me and my siblings. I can still remember sitting on his lap, awe-struck by the sheer magnitude of his love. "Woahhh, every grain of sand?! That's so many!" I would exclaim. He'd repeat those words until they were a mantra embedded deep in my heart.

From then, my dad put those words into action. Growing up, we weren't rich by any means. We were lower-middle-class at best, but my dad did everything in his power to give us a happy life. I reckon if we were rich, we might've ended up spoiled rotten. Luckily, our modest upbringing kept us grounded.

But, of course, my dad wasn't perfect. My oldest sister and him used to butt heads like you wouldn't believe. My entire childhood featured weekly screaming matches featuring broken windows, tears, the occasional threat of knives, and the even rarer black eye. Looking back, it wasn't just her being the problem child or him being too hard on her. They just brought out the worst in each other, and the rest of the family were caught in the crossfire. I was born in a dichotomy, it was a war zone where peace time was the greatest childhood I could have asked for.

Born and bred in Egypt, my dad was the embodiment of the proud Middle Eastern father. He'd bend over backwards for his kids, helping us with anything we needed, no matter how big or small. But the same pride that made him a pillar of strength for us also made him keep his troubles to himself. He'd lived in Australia for over thirty years and had become fluent in English, but he never seemed to learn the phrase "I need help".

Problems in the family came in whispers, a rumour mill that my dad tried to control. There would be leaks of information from my mum, who simply wanted outside support. Initially, it was all money concerns, we had large, overdue loans from both professional and less than lawful folk, and the house was in constant threat. We were drowning in a paddle boat but my dad made us think we were on an unsinkable cruise ship.

As we grew older, we noticed the signs of my dad's failing health, but he kept the severity hidden from us. So when I found out he only had a year to live, it was like a punch to the gut. And the worst part? I had to grieve in silence, pretending everything was fine in front of my dad.

After a while, his health declined, now with my siblings being older, the issues were more obvious, I now had major leaks from one of my sisters. But they were very much that, still leaks, never from the source itself. So when I learnt my dad had a year to live, I couldn't even talk to him directly, I had to grieve in silence as I talked to my dying dad, who held the secret tight. Making sure all I saw was rainbows when I could, in fact, see the black clouds looming.

With financial issues looming even greater due to his health, my dad stayed the silent warrior, his selflessness only grew. One day I woke up to paramedics resuscitating my dad, all he could manage to do was turn to my sister, and tell her he loved her.

In a miracle, he ended up going to hospital and was fine. Until, 2 months later, the exact same thing happened. Middle of the night, paramedics working on my dying dad, it was death looming its head, the day was coming. But, again, he ended up being fine.

As suspicions grew, my mum gave us the largest leak of information to date, dad had attempted suicide twice. My dad was so desperate to free us from our financial struggles that he saw fast-tracking his own death as the solution. It was a heart-wrenching testament to his love - a love greater than all the stars and grains of sand.

Once, when he was in the hospital, I texted him saying I'd visit after uni. He replied with, "I love you." Without thinking, I responded, "Love you more." It was a casual exchange, but I found out later that those words made my dad break down in tears. He'd always poured out his love for us, but he didn't quite realize how much we loved him back. That realisation changed me forever, I now never let anyone leave the room without letting them know how much they mean to me.

You might've guessed by now that I have anxiety. And I can trace its roots back to my childhood - to the chaos and uncertainty that my dad's struggles and fights brought into our lives. He is the reason for my anxiety, to an extent. And that is why I hold it so dearly to me, it isn't a curse that he's given me, it's an appreciation for life, it's a fear of things ending because I feel so deeply. It's struggling in relationships because it is so hard to find someone that loves me the way he has his whole life.

And that is a good thing. Because of my father, I accept nothing but the best love. Because of my father, we all know our worth, we all are strong. But also because of my father, we all learnt, indirectly, to talk about our issues, to be open to the world and we all learned, off by heart, the phrase "I need help".