Sometimes he forgets me or so I think… my name is like a pebble in a vast sea of memories but rests comfortably at a depth that usually surfaces a day later. Sometimes he tries to tell that he loves me more than anyone else in this world and while his lips struggle to form the words, his wet eyes and his fingers stroke my hair with extreme tenderness that I know can only come from him
Sometimes we sit outside on our favorite red plastic chairs holding hands, watching the rain.
Sometimes he tells me about the days when his means were limited and the first thing after receiving his salary was to buy four cans of milk powder and cereal so that there was always enough food for me to last for the entire month. Sometimes he confesses that he is guilty of favoring me more than my brother.
Sometimes we remain distant to not let words contaminate our love and our five senses limit what we feel. Sometimes we simply laugh at age-old jokes targeted towards my mother and then we cry hard that time has passed without a whisper.
Sometimes he closes his eyes and tells me that he is afraid to die. Sometimes he tells me that his late father awaits in another world. Sometimes when the pressure of tumor rises in his brain, he gathers his grace and concedes that death sounds as a relief.
Sometimes I see the sparkling wisdom about the endless mystery of life and death in my father’s otherwise aged and tired eyes and I wonder of my mortality – standing in his place years later with my child, going through the same cycle of love, loss and hope – struggling to express our connection as life slips away and death smiles upon, yet feeling content and happy that in spite of all the shortcomings and sufferings, we existed in a space-time coordinate of this cosmos and life happened to us.
Word count: 329
Above in response to Trifecta writing challenge: word used is GRACE, reflecting the third definition