A Father’s Gratitude

He sat down, his head buried between his hands, holding himself from crying. It was a sad Saturday afternoon last weekend, cloudy, rainy and cold. The man, taller than me by at least a foot and much larger than me, was a defeated man. His three-month-old daughter passed away after a two-week ordeal in hospital.

I didn’t know what to say. There isn’t much I could have said, except to tell him that he could rest assured the doctors had tried their best to help his daughter live.

He looked up, nowhere in particular, then turned to me, and following a long breath that he let out, added: “I am grateful for everything they did. They asked me for permission every time they wanted to conduct a test on her. I felt respected and treated like a human being. For the first time in a long time, I was human. I wasn’t a minority, my skin colour did not matter, and my lack of English was irrelevant.”

For anyone who was born in Canada or anyone spent most of their life here, this man’s words may sound strange and out of context. But for someone who arrived here only a few months ago, respect, equal treatment, and non-discrimination are a treasure. Especially when you’re a Roma from Europe.

For all the pain that I felt for this father’s loss, I was inspired by this man’s humanity  to have such an appreciation of the kindness shown to him in the face of great difficulty.