H. Achmad Hudan Dardiri
April 7, 1924 - June 26, 2007
Grandfather, teacher, best friend
An Unsent Letter
It's still fresh in my memory
As if it just happened yesterday
That morning when a call woke me up
He's gone, she said. Please come back home.
I looked outside the plane's window
The sea was vast and blue below me
But I saw nothing but you
And the memories we shared.
Someday we'll go together
We'll take a journey, just you and me
And I'll show you things that I've seen
You promised me long time ago.
A tear rolled down, and then another
I bit my lip to stop myself from sobbing
I couldn't disturb the other passengers
For grief should only be shared with those who understand.
I remember when you lost your other half
A person that was, and still is, dear to me too
Don't cry, don't grief, you said
She has gone to a much better place.
My last sight of you is still clearly painted behind my lids
When you were alive, that is, but barely
I gritted my teeth to stop my tears
As I uttered my good bye (and you smiled to me).
The taxi pulled into stop
I could see people outside the house, so many of them
Black clothes, shadowed faces, tearful eyes
Did you know that you were so loved?
You looked like you were just sleeping
Laid down and wrapped in white
So cold, as I pressed my lips to your cheek.
Good bye, I whispered
And thank you, thank you, thank you
For almost 21 years of wonderful memories
Will God let me see you again, when the world ends?
One day I had a dream
You came home to us again
Will you stay this time? I asked
No, you answered. I have to go back to where I belong now.
(My pillow was wet when I woke up)
Two years, five months, and twenty-one days later
I want to see you
I want to tell you things that I've seen
But I can only wait and pray.
Today, I still miss you
And I will always do, until the day I meet you again
But for now I just want to say
I love you...