Love is missing someone whenever you're apart, but somehow feeling warm inside because you're close in heart ~ Kay Knudsen
My dearest E.,
I've been extremely bogged down with work of late. It's the year-end frenzy, when companies want to close their accounts for their financial year, where deals are sought to be sealed, when people want to take a breather from the rigidities of daily working life and spend time with family and close friends during Christmas season. I have been working late every night, and don't get to spend as much time with you as I'd like to.
On Wednesday night, I was still at the office at 9.45 p.m., with no end in sight of the work I needed to finish by Thursday morning. I called my mother for a breather and she kindly offered to have you spend the night with them. We spoke on the phone a short while then, you and I, E. It was fun, and hearing your lilting voice cheered me up tremendously. You made little cooing sounds, as usual, and went on a frenzy of "words", "speaking" so much to your Mummy on the phone that my heart melted. I was, at least, comforted in knowing that your grandparents would take super good care of you. They are, after all, the only few people in this world I'd trust completely to take care of you.
By 11.30 p.m., I'd given up trying to complete all my work by the morning. Tired, hungry and exhausted, I wanted to just have a piping hot meal, a warm shower and my comfortable bed. And there was a terrible aching feeling inside me, that I wasn't able to place initially. I thought I was just tired out. Then the realisation hit me that I missed you. Tremendously.
Somehow, silence and emptiness greeted me when I came home. I mournfully surveyed your little blow-up swimming pool in the living room, your toy baskets in the corner, your jumbo Barney plush toy sitting by the piano. Images of you playing in the living room flashed before me. I heard your happy laugh ringing in my ears. I felt your warm arms close lovingly around my neck, your soft hair poking up my nostrils as you lay your head on my chest (You have such thick, lovely hair, sweet pea). I suddenly wanted to cry. The aching in my heart grew worse as I trudged upstairs slowly, dragging my feet.
I put my things down and meticulously removed my office clothes, changing into my towel to take a shower. Stood by your crib and looked into it for a long while, picturing you lying there with your chubby legs hugging your bolster, your repose peaceful and quiet, as you suckled on your Winnie the Pooh pacifier and twirled the corners of your blanket. I smoothed my hand over your silk quilt and "My Little Princess" comforter, folded your soft fleece blanket, fluffed your pillow and chased away the mosquitoes (if there were, indeed, any), doing as I do every night before you go to bed. I picked up your bolster and held it close to me, breathing in your sweet baby-scent. It was as if you were there with me, your lingering scent filling my nostrils.
I showered and allowed the water to run down my head, my face in warm rivulets. Standing there in the shower, I realised that I was crying. My heart ached ever more.
I went to bed rather depressed, but was comforted by your father's presence. I confessed to him how much I missed you, and he said that he did as well. We both snuggled close together, whispering in soft tones about your loveliness in general, and reminisced about how much youve changed our lives for the better.
My dearest E.,
I've been extremely bogged down with work of late. It's the year-end frenzy, when companies want to close their accounts for their financial year, where deals are sought to be sealed, when people want to take a breather from the rigidities of daily working life and spend time with family and close friends during Christmas season. I have been working late every night, and don't get to spend as much time with you as I'd like to.
On Wednesday night, I was still at the office at 9.45 p.m., with no end in sight of the work I needed to finish by Thursday morning. I called my mother for a breather and she kindly offered to have you spend the night with them. We spoke on the phone a short while then, you and I, E. It was fun, and hearing your lilting voice cheered me up tremendously. You made little cooing sounds, as usual, and went on a frenzy of "words", "speaking" so much to your Mummy on the phone that my heart melted. I was, at least, comforted in knowing that your grandparents would take super good care of you. They are, after all, the only few people in this world I'd trust completely to take care of you.
By 11.30 p.m., I'd given up trying to complete all my work by the morning. Tired, hungry and exhausted, I wanted to just have a piping hot meal, a warm shower and my comfortable bed. And there was a terrible aching feeling inside me, that I wasn't able to place initially. I thought I was just tired out. Then the realisation hit me that I missed you. Tremendously.
Somehow, silence and emptiness greeted me when I came home. I mournfully surveyed your little blow-up swimming pool in the living room, your toy baskets in the corner, your jumbo Barney plush toy sitting by the piano. Images of you playing in the living room flashed before me. I heard your happy laugh ringing in my ears. I felt your warm arms close lovingly around my neck, your soft hair poking up my nostrils as you lay your head on my chest (You have such thick, lovely hair, sweet pea). I suddenly wanted to cry. The aching in my heart grew worse as I trudged upstairs slowly, dragging my feet.
I put my things down and meticulously removed my office clothes, changing into my towel to take a shower. Stood by your crib and looked into it for a long while, picturing you lying there with your chubby legs hugging your bolster, your repose peaceful and quiet, as you suckled on your Winnie the Pooh pacifier and twirled the corners of your blanket. I smoothed my hand over your silk quilt and "My Little Princess" comforter, folded your soft fleece blanket, fluffed your pillow and chased away the mosquitoes (if there were, indeed, any), doing as I do every night before you go to bed. I picked up your bolster and held it close to me, breathing in your sweet baby-scent. It was as if you were there with me, your lingering scent filling my nostrils.
I showered and allowed the water to run down my head, my face in warm rivulets. Standing there in the shower, I realised that I was crying. My heart ached ever more.
I went to bed rather depressed, but was comforted by your father's presence. I confessed to him how much I missed you, and he said that he did as well. We both snuggled close together, whispering in soft tones about your loveliness in general, and reminisced about how much youve changed our lives for the better.
I don't think I could stand to have you being away from us again- even for a night, sweet pea. My heart pains too much to have to do that and not have you beside me. That room in my heart which you fill with your wonderful presence was left empty for those long, 18 hours. I don't think anyone else would be capable of filling that void you left that night.
When we finally saw you the next evening, your smile of happiness at seeing us, coupled with your rush into my arms, made my world complete. Once more, the flowers started blooming again.... And the sun began to shine onto my dark world again.
2 comments:
Hugs, dear! There's nothing more wonderful than a mother's love.
Hehe. I know....It's wonderful, isn't it? :)
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