Things have been fine.
Passed my first MB.
Your last baby got into college.
Your second baby is getting married.
Your first baby had a baby.
A baby boy.
It’s been a roller coaster.
I remember warm mornings.
Of Milo and milk and music.
Notes from your piano floating like daisies riding on the wings of the evening’s own wind.
And hot afternoons.
Of poetry and puzzles and petrichor.
And breezy evenings.
Of silence, that rare and warm and comforting one.
Of physical distances and other things that are beyond our myopia.
The rustle of fallen leaves and the sway of the trees a quiescent song, an unusual duet.
And moonlighted nights.
You, lovingly sharing your meals with me even though I had mine.
(Tsk tsk, ‘L.)
I, lovingly tucking you into bed because I
a.) needed an outlet for this love.
b.) was a tad overprotective.
Source of my ebony,
You should see your daughters.
Strong like Greek towers.
They are fire and flood.
Daring to take the world by its edges, demanding from it the best.
Not giving up.
No; never giving up.
You have given us (and all the others not of you) the gift of education, the gift that can’t help but keep giving.
Your belief in us… in me.. knew no bounds.
So on to become a stellar doctor I aspire.
You taught me to dare to live.. to soar.. to dream.
That being female is not (and never will be) a disadvantage.
That they are the pride of any nation (and perhaps, father(s)).
As you are my pride.
As I hope (and perhaps, somewhere inside, know) I am yours.
Wish I could fill the silence with the rush of your voice.
But you must rest.
So rest, Papa.
Yours’ always and forever,
Ebony and Kinks.