A long post ...
A quarter of a century and a bit more.
It was early morning. The sun was about to rise. I stood at a glass window at the end of a long corridor on the 2nd floor. Staring down at the drive in below and the rose park at the centre of it. An enderly broad shouldered short man in his sixties perhaps, with an unkempt grey haired top walked briskly through the gates and took a full round of the rose garden on foot. He carefully picked a single rose, red if i remember right, sniffed it delicately, and walked into the building below the window i stood at.
The sun slowly rose. I stared at it. Tried to connect with God. I believed in him at that moment. The sun lost itself for a while behind the green branches of the trees along the boundary wall. I stared at its reflection in the still waters if the lake beyond the road outside the boundary wall. I didnt want to loose connect with the Almighty. To me the Sun was his personification at that moment. I could sense my relatives - in laws- hovering behind me. Someone mentioned that the doctor had arrived and entered the OT. Said he had a rise in his hand.
The Sun rose above the trees. I kept looking at it. Praying. For the safety of my wife. For a safe delivery. For a healthy child. But mainly for her safety. I was scared of loosing her. She was too fragile. Was not ready for a delivery. The doc had opted for a cesarean. Said the child was retro. Could not deliver normally.
Finally the news arrived. The mother was safe. And we had a daughter. I kept staring at the Sun. In prayer of thanksgiving. By heart so full of gratitude. He had stood by me this time. I rarely bothered Him though. This was one of the rare occasions.
This week we celebrated her birthday. A young lady. Ready to fly from the nest. Education done for now. Doing a job that pleases her. Gives her satisfacrion. Its been a tough year for her. Our pet crossed the rainbow bridge. Her close companion for a decade. She ran into serious health issues while down with depression. But she is smiling now. Or at least trying to.
Time heals. And time flies.
It was early morning. The sun was about to rise. I stood at a glass window at the end of a long corridor on the 2nd floor. Staring down at the drive in below and the rose park at the centre of it. An enderly broad shouldered short man in his sixties perhaps, with an unkempt grey haired top walked briskly through the gates and took a full round of the rose garden on foot. He carefully picked a single rose, red if i remember right, sniffed it delicately, and walked into the building below the window i stood at.
The sun slowly rose. I stared at it. Tried to connect with God. I believed in him at that moment. The sun lost itself for a while behind the green branches of the trees along the boundary wall. I stared at its reflection in the still waters if the lake beyond the road outside the boundary wall. I didnt want to loose connect with the Almighty. To me the Sun was his personification at that moment. I could sense my relatives - in laws- hovering behind me. Someone mentioned that the doctor had arrived and entered the OT. Said he had a rise in his hand.
The Sun rose above the trees. I kept looking at it. Praying. For the safety of my wife. For a safe delivery. For a healthy child. But mainly for her safety. I was scared of loosing her. She was too fragile. Was not ready for a delivery. The doc had opted for a cesarean. Said the child was retro. Could not deliver normally.
Finally the news arrived. The mother was safe. And we had a daughter. I kept staring at the Sun. In prayer of thanksgiving. By heart so full of gratitude. He had stood by me this time. I rarely bothered Him though. This was one of the rare occasions.
This week we celebrated her birthday. A young lady. Ready to fly from the nest. Education done for now. Doing a job that pleases her. Gives her satisfacrion. Its been a tough year for her. Our pet crossed the rainbow bridge. Her close companion for a decade. She ran into serious health issues while down with depression. But she is smiling now. Or at least trying to.
Time heals. And time flies.
56-60, M
