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Invisible Love

 

"O, it's going to be just another day for me," I lamented over a phone conversation, but truly, how much more obvious could it be when you looked at my week schedule. "Come on..."

"Really, I got lots lined up and I wonder if I will ever get past these stuffs."

My list of jeremiad fell short when he cut me off saying, "Look around, there are lots of things you can be a part of" and then a few seconds later, he argued positively,"your new year will depend on the way you perceive a new beginning."

Yeah, well. I wish I had the same optimism and I would get by any situation. Maybe that is why his life is so different from mine and just maybe that is why he is a winner. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever lead his life and many a times I wanted to live his life for just one day....feel like him, talk like him. There is just something about him that sets him apart from the rest of us. With his last statement, I sought to venture a new expedition -- for just one day I will be in his shoes.

Morning arrived rather slowly, much to my dismayed anticipation. By 9, I was ready to mingle with the crowd. At my own pace, I headed for his house. "He left around 4" so I was informed. I gasped, speculating what on earth may have happened at a time when half the world was still asleep.

I rushed to center he volunteered at. It was a charity organization that worked for the benefit of terminally ill patients. Irrespective of age, religion, and race, it assisted patients by fulfilling their earnest desire which would perhaps remain unachieved in the timely constraints. There was a spasmodic entrance of mixed race patients. I merely meant to hang around with Aryan while he went about his usual day, but little did I realize that I was being taken for a volunteer rather than a visitor. A wan, haggard lady wheeled in. She went about her usual way in greeting others. When she came to me, she whispered, "how do you do?" I learnt that at a very early age, she marveled at the idea of being a singer. Reluctantly, she embarked a different career but still she lent her voice when chance permitted, and when she lost her voicebox to cancer, she cried a tear not so much for&nb! sp;being fraught with sickness but for losing the ability of doing something that makes her happy. She resigned to fate, yet she lived on, searching new avenues of joy. I did spend time talking to her and really strained my ears to decipher her whispers. I reckoned, she just wandered here as an audience to nature's symphony.

I loitered around like a vagabond, observing people crossing my way. A blind boy whimpered while moving in the crowd. He spoke little. With great effort, I managed to have him just speak, "I lost my mom."

"Tell me your name. I'll help you find her." "My name is Jason Smith, but you can't find her." He retrieved.

 

All along the way to the announcement room, I muttered in disgust, "how can she just lose her son." To my horror, he was right, I could never find his mother. She had died. I suppose, the thought of his mother evoked heart wrenching memories which transformed to the grief heard in his voice. I hoped so much his sorrow would ease, but what would I know about his true feelings, I was not him. I strolled silently and stumbled upon a small faded photograph, seemed like a woman accidentally dropped it. Behind it imprinted a familiar name accompanied by a strong 3-word emotion -- we all say it at least once in our lifetime -- it is called I love you. Yes, I found her if I was not mistaken, but Jason was nowhere to be seen. I made a note that if I could not find him, I would hand it over to Aryan so that Jason could have his mother again.

It was early evening. I called Aryan to find out how much longer I needed to wait. His mobile was not reachable. "Okay, another 15 minutes and I'll go home straightaway" I decided. I moved out of the center only to find myself walking back in for Jason. I wondered if he was drowned in his tears. The search began again.

He seated facing the crimson sun with his back resting against a stump. His eyes were puffy and he choked with feeble tears. He calmed a little. Gradually, he confided, "my mom would sit next to me with her arm across my back to the side. She would tell me what happened through the day. Sometimes she never spoke at all, but I always felt her with me. This picture is all I have. When I hold it, I feel I am holding her, and then I tell her what happens through the day. Sometimes when I have nothing to say, I tell her in my heart that I love her." "She loves you too," I interrupted. "How do you know? You never met her." "I know....she left an I love you note." I flipped the photo in his hands.

At a trice, he wailed like the little child that he is. I hugged him tight. We spoke no more. A long time later, my mobile beeped. Aryan came around. Jason got up to leave, hugged me, and said, "pass it on." A wry smile appeared. Aryan flinged his arms wide open, "I'm all for it." "Aryan, where have you been? You know, I've been waiting for you all this while."

"Hey, easy. You could've spent time with them. There are so many here." Then, he went on to tell me that he had taken little Rose to Sienna cliff. I learnt she was in the final stage of leukemia. "She can leave us at any time. I just thought I'd give her the sunrise and sunset that she longs each day. You know, she simply loves it, so I spent an entire day with her." He heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry, hun, I made you wait, but I just had to be with her."

"Don't worry. The wait was worthwhile." I glanced at Jason who sat far away, feeling the joy of sunset, holding his mother in his hands.

The night is slipping away. It is almost 2 a.m. I am awake, thinking of Jason and hoping he is happy. I am thinking of little Rose, that each day someone will be able to give her the kind of sunrise and sunset she wants. I am thinking of Aryan and admiring him for the little things he strives to do to make each moment different. I am thinking of you and making a wish that wherever you go, you will have enough love to give so that wherever you will be tomorrow, it will find its way back into your heart. 

Contributing Writer: May Young - Hi. I'm working in the healthcare sector in quality assurance. I'm in Bangalore. I have keen interest in reading, writing, photography, trekking, and music. I believe that all of us have talent, which, when used, can make a difference in the world, or at least, in someone's life. The choice is ours. My writings are usually from personal experiences. melodyyoung@lycos.com  


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