My father lived with OCD since he was 12. He’s 75 now.
I have a lot to write about that,
but I’ll leave it for another day.
However for this piece to have weight,
I’ll share a single fact.
We Middle-Easterns kiss and shake hands in Eids,
So these two acts
in the two Eids of every year,
Were the only physical interactions to receive from my father.
I might have wished as a kid,
in more a curious manner than a longing sentimental one, to see how hugging my father feels.
But I understand.
My whole life, I understood.
I walked him with my brother to the car for his dialysis session.
We know now he had a bleeding in his brain.
But then we only dealt with what’s visible; heavy body, slow speech and rock solid limbs.
His 40kg body felt like a 100.
His slow speech, when comprehensible, were half in sorry whimpers and half in ranting insults.
His -literally- skin and bone limbs looked like Pinocchio’s.
We tried to get him in the car 3 times, in different positions and through different doors.
I’m shorter than my father and my brother has herniated disk in his lower back. It was a struggle.
After the three attempts,
We needed a break.
It was super cold.
It was 6° at 6am but felt like -1°
I suggested my brother get one of the chairs in the garden to rest my father on while we take a breather.
“Just lean him over me.”
He did and ran to get the chair.
In the cold
Looking at the grey sky.
My body tilted back with the weight of what felt like a large wooden wardrobe all over me as my father stood motionless between my arms.
It sounds like a movie scene.
It felt like that.
In my head, I could see a slow zooming out of a wide shot showing two figures Hugging in the cold.