Hi Daddy,
Do you remember this time last year — when we pulled off the miracle of birthday miracles? You were in the ER in the wee hours of your birthday for a stomach ache that doctors thought was a heart problem. Mom was six floors above you, on her fourth night of confinement for an infection. Lex and I were on the phone at 3am agonizing over your conditions, and over whether we should cancel your party scheduled for that evening.
But lo and behold, you were discharged 7 hours later. Mom was discharged shortly after. And we went forth and partied.
While you were chatting with your friends, Lex asked you to sing. You curtly replied, “Don’t bother me.” We laughed. We were just drunk with happiness that we were able to celebrate. Why do the sweetest miracles only bloom out of pain?
That was your last birthday. I wonder; if you knew that it was your last, would you have done anything differently?
I know that I would have. And it’s not even the big stuff that I regret, but the small, easy stuff.
One particular instance comes to mind: I had just arrived from Madrid and had less than 24 hours to run errands before we left for Hong Kong. You were napping, in the strangely amazing way you do, at the dining table — head erect and unsupported but fast asleep. I was rushing to my room to send some emails. I saw you and thought of startling you awake with a hug. But I decided against it because I knew you would sit me down to chat and delay me. And I was busy.
Two days later, you would be gone. i regret that missed hug so much. Why are the most important lessons learned so painfully?
The thought of you gone still stings. But this pain of missing you just means that you came (on this day 87 years ago)! And that our lives intersected! What a sweet, blessed miracle that I will always be grateful for.
I know you’re again surrounded by your friends, Dad. And I also know that now, you’re finally singing your ethereal lungs out.
I love you forever,
Ani
p.s. Mom is amazing. But you already knew that.
