Conversations We Must Not Postpone
There is a belief that when someone passes away, we remember only the good. But I don’t think I would do justice to Papa if I didn’t speak honestly about our relationship. I think he would have appreciated that.
Like many father-in-law and daughter-in-law relationships, ours wasn’t easy. We were both strong people with our own convictions and our own way of doing things. We both carried responsibilities, so over time we learnt to avoid conversations—not because we disliked each other, but because neither of us wanted disagreement to become disrespect. There was distance, mutual respect, and perhaps an unspoken power play, too.
I still remember our morning walks. I would wish almost everyone I met a ‘Good morning,’ sometimes even a dog on the road. But Papa and I would walk past each other without making eye contact. One day, I asked myself: how could I greet strangers but not someone in my own family? I didn’t want that to become my regret.
So, I changed.
It began with a hesitant ‘Good morning.’ Then small conversations. Then understanding. Neither of us changed who we were, but our intention changed. And that changed our relationship.
A few days before he passed away, I told him about the void he would leave behind—not just as an elder, but as someone who shared the responsibility of holding our family together. We both broke down.
In that moment, we realised we were never competitors. We were counterparts.
The last few years became years of trust, respect, shared responsibility, and quiet affection.
Like many father-in-law and daughter-in-law relationships, ours wasn’t easy. We were both strong people with our own convictions and our own way of doing things. We both carried responsibilities, so over time we learnt to avoid conversations—not because we disliked each other, but because neither of us wanted disagreement to become disrespect. There was distance, mutual respect, and perhaps an unspoken power play, too.
So, I changed.
It began with a hesitant ‘Good morning.’ Then small conversations. Then understanding. Neither of us changed who we were, but our intention changed. And that changed our relationship.
A few days before he passed away, I told him about the void he would leave behind—not just as an elder, but as someone who shared the responsibility of holding our family together. We both broke down.
In that moment, we realised we were never competitors. We were counterparts.
The last few years became years of trust, respect, shared responsibility, and quiet affection.
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