Roni and I turn four today; Four months. He has grown. As his father, I don't think I have. I still let my mind wander into what might have been my reality. When I've wandered too far, reality suddenly wakes up and strikes me hard, to hurt me once more. The unasked questions that everyone wants answers to show their ugly faces every now and then... Like on that day a few weeks back, when I sat out in the rain- The smell of the soil, among other things, made me wish you were here to enjoy it with me. I realize the futility of my wish, and this only serves to add on to my frustration. I try not to ask, knowing that it will hurt me; Sadly, ignoring the question is about as easy as not being reminded of you when I look at Roni. Again and again I wonder why... Each time I wonder, I get the same answer- that there is no answer. The more I wonder, the stronger my resolve not to wonder becomes, only to be shattered yet again by grief.1
Sorrow has replaced you as my life's companion. However, nobody snatches her away from me. It is she who accompanies me by night and day. It is her voice that beckons me to greet the sparrows at dawn, when memories make me smile at nothing and weep at everything. It is her hand that guides me through the dusty paths I move across everyday. It is she who sits by my side when the heavens weep. It is her arms that hug me when the rest of the world smiles. It is with her that I share the joys of raising a child. It is her I lead to an empty bed when the day is done. She watches over me when I sleep, and even visits my dreams... Sometimes she laughs at me, at the fact that I cannot let her go. I know I am to blame, but forcing her to leave would feel like forgiving myself, something I do not want to even think of doing.2
These thoughts bring me back to the unasked questions... I do not ask them out of my fear of realizing the truth all over again; that this is my reality. As for the unanswered ones- Asking for an answer seems foolish. Yet these questions will torture me till they are asked. I shall ask you,with the thought that you may have the answers to all my questions, and simply cannot convey them to me. Perhaps this thought may be more comforting than the thought of there being no answer. At any rate, I cannot let these questions torture me any further. So I ask.3
Why? First and foremost, and possibly the only thing that really matters, Why? Why did it have to happen, why to us? Why to our son? Why to you? Then, Where are you? Is there a place where I may meet you yet again? Or are we destined to relive our lives? Or are my memories all that is left of what we were, to die with me? What has become of the soul that once conquered my spirit? Were the words that once ensnared my imagination always a part of it? Is life but a dream, will it end with my awakening? Where is the power that once claimed my life? Or the eyes that saw me, my mind, body and soul? Are they still watching me unseen? Have the same hands that once gave, now taken away? Why then did I receive, if I was never meant to have? Why was I crowned with but a memory? I know I will not be answered, why then, do I ask? Why was I blessed with the power to see the beauty of the ages that emanated from your very being, if the memory of the same should blind me with tears? Why was I given the blossom, to care for and nurture, if the fruit was meant to be snatched away? Or was I never given? Were you never mine, even by the power of love? Or was it a greater love that claimed you?4
I have asked, but I do not await any replies. I know there shall be none. If it is possible, know that I love you, as I always have, if not more. And Roni? Maybe his gurgles repeat what I say. Maybe they say much more. I do know that he loves me, like you said he would. Right now he's watching me from his cradle, his smile at once banishing all the sadness from my mind... I try giving him all that he would have received from you as well. I may fail; but rest assured that I shall not fail to keep trying my best. I don't think I could do without him; I love him too much, for all for all that he is, and all that he always will be.5
Author notes
written to a wife who died at childbirth.
critical comments invited.
Comments
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Aww...that was beautifully sad, it was heartbreaking and...well, touching I suppose. Reminded me of my own parents, whom I sometimes take for granted
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Thank you!
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