Making My Late Father Proud: A Son's Quest

Salam. My father left this world during my junior year of college. It’s been over 2.5 years, and somehow, with each passing month, I miss him more. I find my memories of him getting a little blurry, and it scares me-astaghfirullah-I worry I might forget him. Let me share a bit about him. He arrived from Pakistan with just 200 dollars. He worked at a gas station and drove a taxi to build a life. Once he felt stable, he brought over my mom and her elder sister, who was a baby then. Later, he helped his siblings’ families come over, supporting them financially, buying an apartment, and letting them live with him until they settled. My siblings mostly saw his long taxi shifts-about 60 hours a week (I’m the youngest of five, born in the 2000s, while they were born in the 80s). He’s remembered as incredibly generous, always helping relatives with money or fixing things around the house. In his older years, I witnessed even more of this: he’d give rides to people walking home after Jummah, buy clothes for refugees from Walmart, and carefully sort and package them for donation. He lent his cars, repaired others’ vehicles… I’m surely forgetting so much. His generosity sometimes puzzled me as a teen. Alhamdulillah, Allah rewarded him-two of my elder brothers are doctors now. I’ll admit, I was a bit spoiled as the youngest, with the others already married and working. He gave me a lot of what I wanted, and I’d cry or yell when I didn’t get it, which I regret. With maturity, I stopped those tantrums. My siblings say he was gentler with me because he’d been stricter with them and felt bad as he aged. Then cancer came, and I foolishly thought he had more time. I was in denial. After a summer medical course away, I returned to find his cancer had spread, leaving just months. I spent every moment I could with him-visiting the hospital, caring for him at home. He told me, “Acha insaan bano.” I started telling him I loved him, something I didn’t say often growing up. But I said it then. He passed on a Jummah. Now, I need to ask-forgive me for pouring my heart out. How can I make him proud? He won’t see me become a doctor, get married, or meet my children. He’ll miss it all. How do I make him proud when he’s not here?