This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 49; the forty-ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Relieving the shot glass of its content down my throat, I brace myself for the familiar gut wrenching moments. Cold sweat start to appear on my forehead as I fall off the chair onto the floor. Curling up along the carpet, my head starts to get heavy as I feel the force pulling me from all directions. Spinning around wildly, I wonder about my destination, hoping for a different destination, a different event, a different memory.Alas!! I know my hopes are of futile nature. Ending up in the same familiar room, the constant beeping, the blinding whiteness, I look from a distance as she holds onto arms tightly. Under her canopy of stars of the ceiling, I stand holding back tears, trying hard to remain strong, to swallow the choke in my throat, I try to smile. I really do. Looking into those big brown eyes and those smiling little lips, I find my comfort. Moments pass away as those eyes close. Only the smile is constant. I can cry now, I say to myself.
Looking at the watch, I wait for the force to take me back. Again the gut wrenching moment, my body being pulled from all sides as I spin wildly back to my living room. Tears, I have no control over, start to work their way out. Clutching her photo, I whisper to myself, “Only if you were here Vaani. Only if I could be with you.”
Maybe I’ll come again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be strong tomorrow. Maybe I’ll walk down memory lane again tomorrow, but today let me cry. Today, let me be weak, because a parent who has buried his child is not built to be strong.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 12