It was Mother's Day recently. I was feeling a little down because papa felt a little sad. He didn't say much, but I could feel it in him. This coincides with another significant milestone in papa's healing journey. We spent two nights staying at our home this month. It wasn't easy. Papa was nervous just thinking of sleeping in the same bed that they used to share. The concentrated raw memories of the bonds they forged together in this home were as fresh as the night I was born. The love of his life, no longer by his side. A house with two where there should have been three. He is afraid to face the unknown without mummy's reassuring presence. He grieves for her loss like a blind artist would for his gift of sight. The inability to share his innermost joys and dreams, no one to wipe away his tears and console his fears. It isn't just the memories that linger, but the debris of a lost future together that is so choking and suffocating.
He has been looking towards me in the hope of gaining some courage. If only I could talk. I would tell him that he will be ok with mummy and me by his side. Mummy, if you are out there, cradle papa in your arms and whisper in his ears the soothing melodies of your interwoven hearts. Grant him peace.