A letter in love
I told a bank clerk about us today. Her eyes widened when I told her that we were married for 33 years. But what can a mere number reveal? How can it ever capture the sight of you standing in our doorway, cutting the sunlight in your shape as you dried your hair? Or how you used to refuse to cook on Sundays because you were ‘cooked-out’? Or how you’d rest your legs on my lap and ask me to massage your feet? Do you remember how you cried when Kanna was born? Because you really wanted a daughter. You cried again when Kunjamma was born. Because she didn’t look anything like you. If only you could see her now!
And when you were diagnosed, how brave you were. Though I knew you were crumbling inside. You became a scared little girl afraid of the dark. And for the first time in all those years, I saw the light die from your eyes. Slowly, you started putting the toys away and began preparing for the next game. You arranged everything, even picking out a name for Kunjamma’s unborn child. Our grandchild was born yesterday. She’s got your beguiling, almond eyes. And when I call out to her, I will be calling your name. For I know you’ve come back to me.