My Father. Killed by alcohol.

I could have helped, but I just blamed him.
I could have said the words of love, but chose not talking to him.

I was working abroad when my father died. My family decided not to tell me about his death as it happened. At that time I just met my future husband. We were going to the USA to meet his parents. As it came out later, my father died right before that trip. I did not see him dead. I was not present at his funeral. I flew home almost two month later. That’s when I discovered the truth; that’s when instead of seeing my father I saw a piece of marble with his name on it.

In those rare moments when he was not drunk, he was being his true self – a kind, calm, strong, confident and caring father with those eyes, as on my painting, the eyes I miss.