The reason I had asked myself to sleep near him was painfully simple. I was afraid that his condition would get worse during the night and no one would notice. I wanted him to be close, not to scare me, but so he could ask for help. However, the doctor had not trusted his decision and had sent some health workers to our home.
“I should have told you before,” Dad said, struggling to hold back tears. But no father wants to admit to his daughter that he is afraid too.
I approached and hugged it tightly.
“You always tell me that you don’t have to be ashamed of being afraid. That applies to you, too.
That night I slept in the chair by his bed while one of the health workers stayed on the ground floor. The next morning, Dad was taken to the hospital. His treatment lasted several weeks, but he was successful.
A year later, we placed another chocolate cake on the table in the same kitchen. Dad was already feeling good again. When I took the knife, he came over, kissed me on the cheek and whispered:
You will sleep in your own room tonight. But tomorrow we’ll spend the whole day together.
I laughed and hugged him. On my previous birthday I had thought I would lose my father that same night. Instead, that was the night he finally realized that being strong didn’t mean having to carry all of him alone.
And I learned that sometimes behind the most terrifying request there is no dark secret, but only the simple desire of a frightened father: to wake up one more morning with his daughter.
