Memories always stay – big and small, beautiful and ugly,
happy and sad, new and old – they know the art of sustaining themselves through
ages and then reappear when least expected.
What disappears is the physical form but the essence lives
on in places, in words, in sounds. That chance hearing of a word that he always
used, having to take a detour through a road down which I drove with him,
clearing the cupboard and finding a box full of photographs that are his last
memory. Can they be erased because every time they make me cry? Do I really
want to erase them because they always make you cry? May be I don’t. Maybe,
just maybe, I like those tears because they still connect me with him.
I do still complain that he shouldn’t have left and I’ll
always crib and complain that he left. I’ll always be angry with him for
leaving me all alone, not being present when I need him the most, when no one
else is present and neither is he. And I’ll never forgive him for that.
But did he really leave me alone? May be I’m failing to see
something, something far greater and deeper than my tangible complains and
desires. He gave me the biggest gift of life. He gave me my essence and taught
me who I am and who I can be. He made me my own identity. And in that identity
he resides and he always will.
Love you always and forever.
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