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.


This morning,
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.


I stood
In silence
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.


Memorable.