When she wanted to play with my laptop and I was working, I would ask her to keep her fingers away from the keyboard. She would show no signs of sleep even past midnight. She would get anything she can reach in her height and throw them away on the floor and we would get upset soon.
Today I am begging her, Rupu, let’s go play on the laptop. You have my phone – do whatever you wish to and throw it away when you are done with it. Get up, open the tap water and run away from it. Make a mess of the house. Throw away everything you can reach with your tiny hands. Just get up. I won’t try to put you to sleep, we’ll play all along. She isn’t saying anything. All she passes me is a faint, tired look and some mumbling of pain. She has forgotten how she used to call me, her mother, grandmother or that crow sitting on the lamp post next to our apartment. She is lying on her bed in the hospital as some intravenous medicines flow into her body.
I love you my dear child, I have loved you more than anything I have ever loved in my life. I can not see you like this. God has put me through a test. A difficult one but I am not sure how long it will be if I burn out completely. Only hope is that there are so many who are also on their battle with hope. Writing these words on my blog shouldn’t change things apart from earning me some sympathy at best. However, I feel a little bit of strength is coming back to me.