This man is my father – Cemal HANİLÇİ

When I lit a cigarette with tea and wrote a column, I did not understand the cause of my sorrow, I did not understand the cause of my sorrow, I felt that there was a strange loneliness inside me and there was a burden on my shoulder. Being heavy, as if I saw the date 30/052022 under the computer, I understood why my loneliness and the burden on my shoulders became heavier.
Yes, my father died on the night of 31/05.
The night before my father’s death, I was on my way to Adana to fetch my daughter, who had been bedridden for two years. I went to Adana and picked up my daughter from the road. As soon as she came home, I went straight to her without leaving the house. He looked at us, looked at my daughter, tried to smile, he had a bitter smile on his face, as if I didn’t understand at that moment.
As the last days of May approached, I now better understood the cause of the bitterness within me, meaning that the last days of May were a parting and a sad farewell for me.
I don’t know how much you can talk about a father, but I can’t explain my father’s anguish, my father’s grief in a book, in a line, in a page, after my father’s death, my indescribable pain. I can’t explain it to anyone here.
This reason has been burning inside me year after year. Whenever I look into my mother’s eyes, my father’s fire falls in her eyes, I see that pain in my mother’s eyes.
I have witnessed my father for seventy-five years, living in the pages of history for thirty-five years. The prison that I remember first was not far from our house.
My dad came home late because he had seizures, he left early, I didn’t see him most of the time, when I missed my dad, I went to jail as a kid.
Every time I went, the doorkeeper would immediately put his hand in my hair and say, ‘Have you come to see your father?’ I would take myself inside as if I were a watchman who would change guards. Everyone’s eyes are on me, my chest colored hair is a bit long and short, my brown eyes are attracting me in their eyes.
I don’t know if it was because I was my dad’s son at the time when the captive visitors waiting at the door searched up to the small bags in their hands and the female visitors, even when they took off their shoes. Inside, I was searched by female guards, but I was very proud to be able to go inside without being searched.
The guard on duty at the entrance of the prison was calling upstairs, Sabri’s son was coming up, almost every time I went to see him, I would meet him at the top of the stairs as if to greet me, the guards passing by me whispering to each other. That Sabri’s son has come.
When I entered my father’s house, there was a rich man with a mustache and a police cap on his head. The weapon he saw me, the big, hard-faced man with the hard, hard face walked away, as if an angel-faced man had taken his place.
This guy was my dad.
When I was little, how I knew after so many years, because of my father’s death, I would write these, write them down, I never thought I’d tell readers, people. I don’t know, people talk about my father.
Here, as I said at the beginning of my essay, whenever the end of May draws near, an indescribable pain settles inside me, especially when I look into my mother’s eyes, the indescribable event she told me silently in the mound. , Sits cross-legged in me and never gets up.
If you have a father, take care of him, don’t bother him to survive, don’t hurt him, there is no grief for you after his death. Respect him for his health, show him your love for his health, show him your love, kiss those tainted hands completely, then you will never kiss those hands again.
Yes, my dear reader, maybe I will talk about my father again in my next article.
Be well… ..
 

cemal@hotmail.com

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