Not your girl next door!

He looked up from his bed and heard a familiar sound radiating from the television. With all the strength in his tiny feet and hands, he attempted to crawl on the bed, towards the magical box. There was a childlike innocence in his smile, a grin full of elation. In matters of seconds, his petite structure made it to the edge of the bed, one more step and he could have hurt himself. Twenty feet away in another room was the baby’s father, who on hearing the music predicted the baby’s next few steps. And, in absolute perfection, right before the child took its final steps before he lost surface, the father came and caught his son. At every step of our way, you have been there, waiting to open the safety net if we ever needed you. Thank you, papa. From now on, for every need of yours, give us the opportunity of being your safety net. We love you!

As I lay to rest, she walked into my room. I was surrounded by beige walls and burgundy curtains, not a thing familiar about it. No memory of me reaching there, and, no memory of the woman walking towards me. I met a stranger. The woman had an affectionate smile that passed assurance. She understood my confusion, I could tell. Her hand reached out to caress my cheek, a familiar touch. I met a stranger. She looked around the room, searching for memories. Was she lost, too? My hand attempted to get her attention, but, refused to lift. My failed endeavor made her smile grow fainter. Paleness and hurt overcame. I met a stranger. My mind couldn’t comprehend why my incapability hurt her. Did she know me? Could she help me out of here? She used her palm to hold up mine, leaning towards me, she whispered, ’I am here for you, maa.’ But, I had met a stranger. I used all my energy to pull away from her. I was scared and confused, and, I could see her sense it in my eye

He had soft uncalloused hands for someone his age. He was 89 with the childish innocence of an 8 year old, and the spontaneity of a toddler who did not hesitate before letting out a chuckle. My last memory with him is of me sitting beside him while he lay in bed, with his eyes closed, while I gently stroked his hands, attempting to reassure him that the suffering would be over soon, wondering whether or not I truly believed that. Both of us, him and I, needed the faith to believe that he'd be better soon, be able to remember faces of his friends and peers, people that he'd met every day, for the past four scores of his life. His memory was starting to fade, but, not his instinct. He couldn't remember names of his visitors, but, he had a smile across his face when his son walked in. His saviour was here. He trusted the eyes of his son, forever strong and caring. He believed that love could heal his pain. What he couldn't see was the fading faith in his son’s eyes.