It’s nearly 4 AM and I’m wide awake. Tossing and turning for nearly an hour after crawling into my bed, I gave up my efforts to sleep. Now I’m sitting at the desk, near my window to get a view of the early-morning-world. I look wistfully at the mid-august sky outside. The night is painted with little stains of silver specks.
I turn around to look at the little figure sleeping peacefully in my bed. The hazel-brown eyes, dark hair, charming smile and the angelic looks must be the handiwork of my wife’s genes.
It is about to dawn. The moon had come and gone. The chillness in the air promises an early winter. I feel like a poet who is about to resolve life’s little mysteries. My life for the past seven years has taught me nothing. I know it is no more in me to be alive to the wonders around me, yet it is life’s little things that make me wonder life beyond amazement.
Yesterday when I was on my way home, my heart tightened at the sight of the little girl reaching for her mother’s hand. That was a painful awakening in me. I lean over the window sill and try to pour my soul into the night, where I rightfully belong. I can never forget the lullabies that the night sings for this insomniac child. I hear a distant rumbling of a thunder. When I see the bright flash of lightning, my heart melts with an unfair longing. I’m at loss of words to tell what I’m missing.
I stood there for unknown minutes of my life, till I felt a gentle tugging at my shirt. I turned around to see my little princess standing with puffed up sleepy eyes and disheveled hair. It seems she had not been awake for more than a few minutes.
“Good morning. Puppin”
“Papa, Can I have Hershey’s?”
I knelt down, gave a tired smile and nodded a sleepy yes in return for a small peck. I pointed to the bathroom, “Get ready and brush your hair.” I went to the kitchen to fix up a cup of coffee and her favorite Hershey drink. By the time I finished with my kitchen work, she got dressed and made it to the table.
I took a sip of coffee, and looked at her. She resembled her mom in every bit of her table manners, she didn’t just drink directly from her mug, took it in her hand, looked at it, gently ran her fingers along the rim of the cup. Then took a sip and closed her eyes for a few seconds in appreciation. When she looked at me, I smiled tentatively at her.
She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, an expression so much like her mom. She took another sip. I thought she will close her eyes, but instead looked into my eyes and asked, “Do you miss mummy?” I stopped fidgeting with my mug and set it aside, then slipped an arm around her, “Yes I do.”
“Do you think about her, papa?”
Without knowing where the conversation is heeding, I answered, “All my life.” She continued with her drink and we sat in a long silence. I looked away and tried blinking back the tears formed in my eyes. She slowly asked me, “Do you feel sad?” I pulled her closer, kissed her on cheeks, “I try not to-”
I trailed off and tried a smile. “Do you think about mom?” She nodded and gave an yes
“Does that make you sad?”
“Sometimes. And when I feel sad, I think about you papa,”
I kissed her and snuggled her close to my heart. She felt soft and gentle in my arms. I ran my hands through her hair which smelled of her favorite shampoo. I held her in my hands and kept patting her shoulder, till she felt asleep.
I carried her to the bedroom, then put her in the bed, pulled the covers up, sat on the bed with a magazine. She looked so fragile. I ran my rand through her hair, bent down, ruffled her soft hair and whispered, “I love you, my little Princess”.
P.S. I dedicate this post to My Princess
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