Lubi Barre
Goodbye
Goodbye
The man staring at me through my iPhone screen is old. His hair is completely grey and close cropped. He’s lethargic, his eyes heavy, his voice slow. He used to know several languages but now can barely speak his native tongue. A tongue he had passed on to me but that I barely use in my new life.
I say “Father it’s your daughter, Lubna”.
He hardly responds, looking back with low lids at the iPad shoved in his face. My mother goads him to respond and like a good school boy he says ‘hello how are you doing’ rehearsed.
I say “Father, its Axado” and suddenly he bursts into a knowing smile, remembering the special nickname he gave me as a child; Sunday.
I say “Father, its Axado, look at my baby son, we say hello”. His smile widens, his soul remembering his love for babies even if his brain can’t comprehend that this one belongs to me.
I do not know this old man. The father I knew and left four years ago was old only in years. His voice was strong, leaving me pleading messages to return his calls as I erased them.
And now, I find myself picking up my son like a prop and presenting him to his grandfather on a phone screen. They both look at each other, like strangers, unaware they share twenty- five percent genetically.
I am not sure if they will get the chance to meet. I know for sure that my father can no longer give me advice, does not have the strength to hold his grandson, to make the connections needed. I know that he will not be able to change my son’s diaper when his own needs changing.
I wished it did not take me this long to become responsible, to understand how fixable everything is. I wished I knew the fragility of life before the feel of my son’s new skin.
I say “Goodbye father” and wave my son’s hands for him while his own lays limp. My mother prompts him to answer and he says like an old man ‘good bye, have a nice day’.
