Goodbye is just a word

Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our sons, ambition; but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express. ~ Joseph Addison

Writing after a long time, propelled yet again by love and some ounces of tears, maybe. Those unshed tears that are as essential  and intrinsic to me, as the morning cup of tea. There have been times when I so wished to write something in the last few months, yet I failed to craft the tears into words. So, I decided to wait till I can no longer hold it within. And tonight is such a night, where I must pour some of those tears on this page, to prevent the drizzling from turning into a downpour. Tonight, I shall share with you the story of a little girl and her loving father. A short story with a message that transcends life, time and death.

The only thought that has made me survive since the night my dear husband left, was, I am a mother too. And will have to live for our child. The only truth that drove me was there is no one to look after her if I am gone. No one she can call her parent. No one. And I have to be the good mother. I, for whom the only light that remains amidst all the darkness, is, his angel.

It was the 30^th of November last year, when I took her to meet him at the hospital. The surprise worked, and the moment she entered the room, his face lit up. To sunshine, on a cold windy evening. He looked weak, hardly able to turn to his sides, yet he tried. Tried to turn to his left, to face his daughter. Smiled and waved his palm asking her to come and sit close to him. And as I took a chair to prepare some green tea for him, I saw the two best friends having the warmest chat of their lives. Together. For the very last time.

She was wearing this olive green pullover and he looked at her and said, ‘I bought this for you last winter, remember?’ and smiled again. That grief washing smile. The smile that comes with the thought that he had once been fit enough to go and shop for his baby.

As we were about to leave, he said softly, ‘I will come and see you off’ and struggled to sit up. The joy of having seen his child after so long helped. She held his hand and they walked slowly to the passage wherefrom he could say bye. I followed, watching them from behind, walking hand in hand. Till it was time to leave.

And there he was. Standing alone till his angel got on the car. And waved him bye. He was crying as he waved back. Tears of a father who was destined never to be able to cuddle his angel to sleep. Tears of a papa who had a million plans with and for his daughter, that will never come true. Tears of a father who could not drive her home that winter night.

And I, saw it all. Heard it all. The magical union. The smiles. The little fingers. Helping a frail papa sit up and have his green tea. The jokes they shared. And laughed. The eyes that stared at her without a blink. The eyes that wanted to take papa home that moment. The gush of energy that helped him tread his way to the balcony. The inevitable separation. As the little fingers were set free reluctantly. As the unwilling hand now moved to wipe off those unleashed tears, and smile.

I, the wife and I, the mother, did not cry, that evening either. Undecided as I was, for I did not know whom to cry for. The helpless father who stood there in a blue t-shirt, wiping his tears, or, the silent, star-crossed man who looked on as his world moved away from him. In small, unsteady, hesitant steps.

Now that I look back, I wonder how did I manage to hold back my tears. How did I actually smile and wave back at him. As if all is fine and he will be home soon. He never came home again.

He will never come home again.

One year down, and I continue to relive those final moments he chanced to share with her. On 30^th November evening. I continue to make myself believe that we shall meet again. For where there is so much love, separation must definitely be a matter of time. I continue to tell myself every living moment that you are still there. Standing beside her. With her. Wherever she goes. Just that we can no longer see you.

For all the tears you shed that evening, all the lonely hours you spent crying on that painful iron bed, all the times you told me, ‘You know what, Guria won’t remember how her papa was, and that hurts. I will miss seeing my angel grow’, let me tell you just a few things.

Your angel is a part of you. She is you, actually. For everything she does reminds us all of no one else but you. The way she frowns, the way she sleeps, her gait, her smile, her double chin, the food she loves, her moments before the mirror, even her hug – it is you. The world looks at her and tells me that you live through her. And as I look at her, I never let the tears show.

Your angel will never ever forget her papa. You know now, when she speaks silently to you and asks for your blessings each time she sits for a test. You know now, when she plays her favorite song on your phone and proudly says, ‘Mamma, this is papa’s favorite too’. You know now, when she has come to believe that whenever we need you, you are just a soft, innocent prayer away.

She needs you. To smile and wave at her the way you did a year back.

Be there. We love you.