On 17 July, my one and only son, Ezal Abdul Qaiyum, made a 'disappearing act'. The lady who drove him to n fro school could not find him at his school, so she left, thinking that I might have picked him up. At home, when she asked my parents, of course, my dad panicked as he hasn't reached home then. It was already 7p.m. My dad called me, who was in Prof Haz's class at UiTM.
Ya Allah, the moment I heard my dad asking me, "Along, mana Ayum tak balik lagi ni?", I almost dropped the phone in my hand. It was already 7.15 when I started the car. I reached his school in no time, and met my dad there. I immediately asked a few boys if they had seen any boy in the vicinity earlier, and... the good boys promptly moved to help when I told them my son might be missing. 2 minutes later, my phone rang. My Ayum told me he was home. Gosh, I was relieved, but at the same time mad for what he did. Well, when I reached home, dad was 'wobbly' with worry, being frail with his history of stroke and heart problems. Of course, he received our nags and scoldings, but nothing prepared me for what was about to happen the next day.
I was at work, when Aduk, my youngest bro called - Papa was at PPUM with a stroke. I rushed about, punched out, and reached PPUM in no time. Don't know how fast I drove, but with the guilt of what caused it - if anything happened to him, it's due to my son...Gosh... how is he supposed to live with it?
Alhamdulillah, my feisty Papa survived, but the ordeal all of us went through really made me realise how much my family mean to me...
