The importance of a father as your guardian angel

This Father's Day feels rather heavy — it is the first without the person this day is meant for. It won't be a day of celebration, but a sombre day of reflection on a man whose presence shaped my life and whose absence is shaping my life.

My father was a quiet, constant source of strength, even as he battled asthma and advanced in age. One recent incident comes to mind when I think of the towering support he has provided in my life. When my daughter was hospitalised and I was silently struggling with the costs, I couldn't bring myself to ask for help. But my father, without a word, stepped in and eased my burden. He always knew — even when I didn't say a thing.

As is practice in our society, parents impose their hopes and dreams on their children, often to the point of suffocation. But not my father. He once expressed his hope that I might follow in his footsteps and become a banker, but he wasn't insistent on this career path. As I completed my studies, he encouraged me to pursue whatever career I wanted. That quiet support gave me confidence — and a sense of independence — while always knowing I had him to fall back on if my plans didn't work out the way I wanted. Now, this sense of strength is gone forever from my life — I somehow have to find that fountain of strength in me to face life's trials and tribulations.

But I suppose he has prepared me for this stage of my life. As a practising Muslim, my father was deeply rooted in faith — and he instilled those values in me from childhood. No matter the time or situation, he would remind me to perform my prayers. His voice, sometimes firm and loud, would echo through our home during prayer time. At the time, it felt routine — sometimes even tiresome — but now, in the stillness, I long for those calls. I miss his reminders, his guidance, and his constant care for my spiritual well-being.

I suppose no matter how old you get, how independent you become, you never stop becoming a child to your parents. There was something endearing — and at times annoying — about how often he checked on me. If I was running late from the office or a social event, he would call me over the phone, "Rakib, where are you? Don't be late." I often responded with impatience. But now, I would give anything just to see his name appear on my phone again. It's the smallest gestures we often miss the most.

Whenever my daughter or I fell ill, no matter how minor the issue was, he grew restless with worry every time. Even at 79, he refused to let me go to the hospital or doctor alone. From a simple cold to more serious conditions, he insisted on being beside me. Today, those visits feel harrowing without him.

Since his passing, I often find myself wondering: What would Dad do? In my decisions, in my doubts, and even in my silence, I hear him. I feel him. Not in the same way as before — but through memories, instincts and the values he instilled in me.

Though his physical presence is no longer with me, his influence remains. He is my guardian angel now, watching over me in ways I feel more than I can explain.

This Father's Day, there will be no hugs, no gifts, no phone calls. Instead, there will be memories. Gratitude. And love — endless love for a man who gave without asking, who guided without demanding, and who loved without limits.

His legacy lives on in how I treat others, in how I raise my own child, and in how I strive every day to live with the same quiet strength and unwavering integrity.

Someone once told me that our loved ones never leave us, they just become unseen. I would like to think that my father is also watching over me today, so a Happy Father's Day, abba!

The writer is PR & Communication Professional