In my first posting I wrote a little bit about my family, now in this posting I would like to write about my parents in my next two blogs. My mother's name is Lisbeth, she was a very loving, caring woman and mother I know. My father's name is Han and he was a very laid back, reserved father.
My mother grew up with her seven others siblings brothers and sisters. She was the third born in the family. My father grew up with his ten other siblings brothers and sisters and he was the seventh born in the family. We grew up not knowing all of my father's family, most of his sibling and his parents lived in a different island in Indonesia, from eleven brothers and sisters only 3 or 4 lived in the same city as my father. It was so unfortunate but at least we met some of his siblings and we knew about his parents from the story he and my mother told us.
On the contrary, we are very close to my mother's side of family because all of her siblings lived in the same city as her.
After my mother got married she moved to Jakarta with her husband....my father. Years after she moved to Jakarta she started to bring her siblings one by one to Jakarta and lived with her until they can support themselves, got married and lived on their own. She also brought her mother....my grandmother to Jakarta too, she stayed with my mother for a while and after that moved to live with one of my auntie. Unfortunately, I was not lucky enough to meet my grandfather, he died before I was born. I knew him from the story my mother told me.
I think in this blog I would like to write about my father first. My memory of my father I can say that is very faded, all I know that he had slightly dark skin, smoking - he rolled his tobacco and later on he smoked cigarette (555, Marlboro), reserved, a man of few words. He wore his baggy pants with button up shirt, well dress. He always put pomade onto his hair (I did not like the smell) and he had his regular barber (named Yunus) to come to the house once a month and had his hair cut or trim, even though he really did not need to have his hair cut.
My father was a businessman and a very good tennis player back in the forties. He told us that while he was playing tennis he fell and broke his right arm (this incident later on caused him to had Parkinson disease), it took a while for his arm to heal and he cannot played tennis because he was a right handed but he was not given up, he started to learned to play with his left hand.that's how desperate he was to play tennis. His determination paid off, he could play with his left hand, he did it. Ever since he can play tennis with both hands. Tennis was his passion.
He taught us how to play tennis, he was a tough and very good coach. From all of his children, my first brother was the one that following his footsteps. My first brother was one of Indonesia national tennis player, he was a tennis coach also back in the 70s and 80s. Now he is teaching tennis to his family, actively playing for exercise only, participate in Veteran tennis tournament and he can play with both hands. My second brother hung up his tennis racket in late 60s and became an accountant and lives in Netherland with his family. My third brother was a good tennis player and still is, he was a tennis coach back in the 70s and 80s and that was how he met his wife. He also can play tennis with both hands and still playing tennis. It runs in the family. My sister was a casual tennis player, she play well and she only play for fun. I love tennis, I played for exercise only, now I never play tennis and I miss it. I do not have partner to hit the ball. The only person did not playing tennis was my mother. She said I do not have to play, by watching all of you playing, I am playing too.
My father also taught one of Indonesia top female tennis player. He taught her to play with both hands. I believe she was the only female tennis player in Indonesia that can play with both hands...No kidding.
In the early sixties he decided to take his two sons (my first and second brothers) to Europe for tennis tournaments around Europe. He left my mother with 3 children back home in Jakarta. It was a very hard time for all of us, specially my mother. She had to support her 3 children by herself, my third brother, my sister and I. We helped our mother as best as we can, she was one tough lady, she had to cause she had family to take care off. She did the very best she can to do the impossible. She did, thanks mom.
My sister told me that my father had Parkinson disease since he was 36 years old, the progression of this disease is very slowly. I did not know that my father had it, for me he looked healthy but I notice that his right hand tremor often. My mother never told me what happened to my father, probably she did not want me to worry about him. I learned from my sister what happened to my father, I grew up watching the disease took away the live of my father in a slow motion. He was a very active man but the disease preventing him to moving around freely. My father had a hard time to take the first step to walk, once he was able to take the first step he had no problem walking but when he stop it took him a while to start walking again. It was really frustrated him. He felt pain because of spasms on his right arm and tremor constantly, we helped him by giving a massage on his right arm just to eased the pain. His right arm slowly started to get smaller and smaller because the muscles in that arm getting weaker and weaker everyday. My father was not a person that giving up so easily with his condition, he kept exercising his hand with a stress ball, he said he has to do it everyday to strengthen his muscles, sadly he lost the ability to use his right arm and the tremor was getting worse. My father won't let the disease stopping him from going to the place he loved, tennis court. He kept going there until he longer able to go. He was a tennis icon for us his children, he passed his love of this sport to us, you can say that tennis is in our blood, its running in our family.
He was getting skinnier and skinnier from year to year, he was still able to walk but very weak and unsteady. I was sitting in the living room and heard loud noise and glass broken coming from the dining room. I ran there and saw my father on the floor, when I tried to help him stood up I saw a piece of glass penetrated his back by the shoulder blade. I asked him if he feel any pain at all on his back, he said No. I did not say anything about the glass to my father instead slowly I pulled that piece of glass from his back, clean it and covered it with gauze. He did not feel any pain at all, not at all. Probably the disease already damage the nerve system of his body. Really sad and hard for me to see him like that. The man and father I knew who were strong and full of life ended up so skinny, vulnerable, fragile and empty. When I saw his eyes there were no more life in those eyes, his eyes sunken so deep, also his cheeks. I was sad but cannot do anything but watching him faded away from us.
September 09, 1982, I was at home, my sister at work, my mother in the kitchen. I walked passed his bedroom and looked inside to check on him. I saw him lying on his back, he probably sleeping I thought. I called him and got no responds from him, so I walked inside and stood by his bed and called him again, no respond. I touched his hand and I looked at his face, sunken eyes and cheeks, so skinny but so peaceful, I knew at that time that he passed. I took a mirror and put it under his nose and I saw no sign on the mirror. I put my ear on his chest to check his heart beat, I heard no heart beat. At that time I said a prayer for him and told him to go in peace, called my mother and told him and my father has passed. Both of us stood by his bedside and said a prayer for him.
I was so sad and relief at the same time, I had a mix feeling at that time. I was sad because I lost a father and relief to know that my father was no longer suffer, he was free at last. He suffered from Parkinson disease for 26 years, too long. I was happy and relief he was finally free.
I can say that I do not feel that I know my father very well. I feel like I close to him but at the same time I do not. I love and care for him, I just wish that he did not go to Europe and stayed in Jakarta instead so my mother did not have to struggle raising 3 children on her own. I also wish that he never had Parkinson disease, so we can play tennis together, so we can bond together and get more closer as father and daughter.
When the loved one gone what left for us to connect with them are memories. I always remember him at his best, like; I remember we always gone to this place in the mountain when my father took us for vacation, tennis court where he always there did what he love to do. His big massive Dodge car, he was a well dress man, always wearing his baggy pants with button up shirt or polo shirt, hair neatly comb with pomade, he always rolled his tobacco onto small paper and lid it to smoke until he stopped rolling and smoke his 555 or Marlboro cigarettes. I always try to remember him like that cause it always put smile on my face, good memories. I do not want to remember him when he was really sick , it make me feel sad and I do not want to remember him like that.
He no longer with us, it seems like yesterday, seems like not long ago he passed away. God loves him more and called him back home. May he Rest in Peace. Love you always Papi.
